is, you’ve not yet, though you’re on a healthy leap for the practices of Nature, hopped to the primary conception of what Nature means.  Women are in and of Nature.  I’ve studied them here—­had nothing to do but study them.  That most noble of ladies’ whole mind was knotted to preserve her child during her time of endurance up to her moment of trial.  Think it over.  It’s your one chance of keeping sane.

And expect to hear flat stuff from me while you go on playing tyrant.’

‘You certainly take liberties,’ Fleetwood’s mildest voice remarked.

‘I told you I should try you, when you plucked me out of my Surrey nest.’

Fleetwood, passed from a meditative look to a malicious half-laugh.  ’You seem to have studied the “most noble of ladies” latterly rather like a barrister with a brief for the defendant—­plaintiff, if you like!’

’As to that, I’ll help you to an insight of a particular weakness of mine,’ said Gower.  ’I require to have persons of even the highest value presented to me on a stage, or else I don’t grasp them at all—­they ’re simply pictures.  I saw the lady; admired, esteemed, sufficiently, I supposed, until her image appeared to me in the feelings of another.  Then I saw fathoms.  No doubt, it was from feeling warmer.  I went through the blood of the other for my impression.’

‘Name the other,’ said the earl, and his features were sharp.

You can have the name,’ Gower answered.  ‘It was the girl, Madge Winch.’

Fleetwood’s hard stare melted to surprise and contemptuous amusement.  ’You see the lady to be the “most noble of ladies” through the warming you get by passing into the feelings of Madge Winch?’

Sarcasm was in the tone, and beneath it a thrill of compassionateness traversed him and shot a remorseful sting with the vision of those two young women on the coach at the scene of the fight.  He had sentience of their voices, nigh to hearing them.  The forlorn bride’s hand given to the anxious girl behind her gushed an image of the sisterhood binding women under the pangs they suffer from men.  He craved a scourging that he might not be cursing himself; and he provoked it, for Gower was very sensitive to a cold breath on the weakness he had laid bare; and when Fleetwood said:  ‘You recommend a bath in the feelings of Madge Winch?’ the retort came:—­’It might stop you on the road to a cowl.’

Fleetwood put on the mask of cogitation to cover a shudder, ‘How?’

’A question of the man or the monk with you, as I fancy I’ve told you more than once!’

‘You may fancy committing any impertinence and be not much out.’

‘The saving of you is that you digest it when you’ve stewed it down.’

‘You try me!’

‘I don’t impose the connection.’

‘No, I take the blame for that.’

They sat in dumbness, fidgeted, sprang to their feet, and lighted bedroom candles.