Nesta was happy to stay; and Victor set forth.

The visitor? plainly Dudley.  Nataly’s trusting the girl to the chance of some lady being present, was unlike her.  Dudley might be tugging at the cord; and the recent conversation upon Society, rendered one of its gilt pillars particularly estimable.—­A person in the debate had declared this modern protest on behalf of individualism to represent Society’s Criminal Trial.  And it is likely to be a long one.  And good for the world, that we see such a Trial!—­Well said or not, undoubtedly Society is an old criminal:  not much more advanced than the state of spiritual worship where bloody sacrifice was offered to a hungry Lord.  But it has a case for pleading.  We may liken it, as we have it now, to the bumping lumberer’s raft; suitable along torrent waters until we come to smoother.  Are we not on waters of a certain smoothness at the reflecting level?—­enough to justify demands for a vessel of finer design.  If Society is to subsist, it must have the human with the logical argument against the cry of the free-flags, instead of presenting a block’s obtuseness.  That, you need not hesitate to believe, will be rolled downward and disintegrated, sooner than later.  A Society based on the logical concrete of humane considerateness:—­a Society prohibiting to Mrs. Burman her wielding of a life-long rod . . . .

The personal element again to confuse inquiry!—­And Skepsey and Barmby both of them bent on doing work without inquiry of any sort!  They were enviable:  they were good fellows.  Victor clung to the theme because it hinted of next door to his lost Idea.  He rubbed the back of his head, fancying a throb there.  Are civilized creatures incapable of abstract thought when their social position is dubious?  For if so, we never can be quit of those we forsake.—­Apparently Mrs. Burman’s unfathomed power lay in her compelling him to summon the devilish in himself and play upon the impish in Society, that he might overcome her.

Victor’s house-door stopped this current.

Nataly took his embrace.

‘Nothing wrong?’ he said, and saw the something.  It was a favourable moment to tell her what she might not at another time regard as a small affair.  ’News in the City to-day of that South London borough being vacated.  Quatley urges me.  A death again!  I saw Pempton, too.  Will you credit me when I tell you he carries his infatuation so far, that he has been investing in Japanese and Chinese Loans, because they are less meat-eaters than others, and vegetarians are more stable, and outlast us all!—­Dudley the visitor?’ ‘Mr. Sowerby has been here,’ she said, in a shaking low voice.

Victor held her hand and felt a squeeze more nervous than affectionate.

‘To consult with me,’ she added.  ’My maid will go at ten to bring Nesta; Mr. Durance I can count on, to see her safe home.  Ah!’ she wailed.

Victor nodded, saying:  ’I guess.  And, my love, you will receive Mrs. John Cormyn to-morrow morning.  I can’t endure gaps.  Gaps in our circle must never be.  Do I guess?—­I spoke to Colney about bringing her home.’