it can be avoided.  As to manners, I think that to repeat a bit of scandal, and circulate backbiting stories, are worse offences than the actions that gave rise to them.  If I mentally condemn a person, I feel guilty of moral lapse.  I hate self-assertion; I am ashamed of self-advertisement.  I dislike loudness of any kind.  Probably I have too much tendency to negation of all sorts.  Small-talk bores me to extinction, but I will discuss a point of ethics or psychology half the night.  To make capital out of a person’s weakness is repugnant to me.  I want to be a decent man, but—­I really can’t take myself too seriously.”

Though he had preserved his politeness towards Cecilia, he was in truth angry, and grew angrier every minute.  He was angry with her, himself, and the man Hughs; and suffered from this anger as only they can who are not accustomed to the rough-and-tumble of things.

Such a retiring man as Hilary was seldom given the opportunity for an obvious display of chivalry.  The tenor of his life removed him from those situations.  Such chivalry as he displayed was of a negative order.  And confronted suddenly with the conduct of Hughs, who, it seemed, knocked his wife about, and dogged the footsteps of a helpless girl, he took it seriously to heart.

When the little model came walking up the garden on her usual visit, he fancied her face looked scared.  Quieting the growling of Miranda, who from the first had stubbornly refused to know this girl, he sat down with a book to wait for her to go away.  After sitting an hour or more, turning over pages, and knowing little of their sense, he saw a man peer over his garden gate.  He was there for half a minute, then lounged across the road, and stood hidden by some railings.

‘So?’ thought Hilary.  ’Shall I go out and warn the fellow to clear off, or shall I wait to see what happens when she goes away?’

He determined on the latter course.  Presently she came out, walking with her peculiar gait, youthful and pretty, but too matter-of-fact, and yet, as it were, too purposeless to be a lady’s.  She looked back at Hilary’s window, and turned uphill.

Hilary took his hat and stick and waited.  In half a minute Hughs came out from under cover of the railings and followed.  Then Hilary, too, set forth.

There is left in every man something of the primeval love of stalking.  The delicate Hilary, in cooler blood, would have revolted at the notion of dogging people’s footsteps.  He now experienced the holy pleasures of the chase.  Certain that Hughs was really following the girl, he had but to keep him in sight and remain unseen.  This was not hard for a man given to mountain-climbing, almost the only sport left to one who thought it immoral to hurt anybody but himself.