doubled his obligation to atone by rescuing Lily, out of very
thankfulness to God that his own mother had escaped the evil which had
come to her. How wretchedly puny now seemed all his own repinings. All
he had gained for his own character had been a vague dissatisfaction
that he could not succeed to the earldom in order to prove the sanctity
of good breeding. There had been no gratitude; there had been nothing
but a hurt conceit. The horror of Drake's news would at least cure him
forever of that pettiness. Already he felt the strength that comes from
the sight of a task that must be conquered. He had been moved that
morning by the tale of Manon Lescaut. This tale of Lily was in
comparison with that as an earthquake to the tunneling of a mole beneath
a croquet-lawn. And now must he regard his father's memory with
condemnation? Must he hate him? He must hate him, indeed, unless by his
own behavior he could feel he had accepted in substitution the burden of
his father's responsibility. And he had admired him so much dying out
there in Africa for his country. He had resented his death for the sake
of thousands more unworthy living comfortably at home.

"All my standards are falling to pieces," thought Michael. "Heroes and
heroines are all turning into cardboard. If I don't make some effort to
be true to conviction, I shall turn to cardboard with the rest."

He began to pace the room in a tumult of intentions, vows and
resolutions. Somehow before he slept he must shape his course. Four
years had dreamed themselves away at Oxford. Unless all that education
was as immaterial as the fogs of the Isis, it must provide him now with
an indication of his duty. He had believed in Oxford, believed in her
infallibility and glory, he had worshiped all she stood for. He had
surrendered himself to her to make of him a gentleman, and unless these
four years had been a delusion, his education must bear fruit now.

Michael made up his mind suddenly, and as it seemed to him at the moment
in possession of perfect calm and clarity of judgment, that he would
marry Lily. He had accepted marriage as a law of his society. Well,
then that law should be kept. He would test every article of the creed
of an English gentleman. He would try in the fire of his purpose honor,
pride, courtesy, and humility. All these must come to his aid, if he
were going to marry a whore. Let him stab himself with the word. Let him
not blind himself with euphemisms. Hi