assage. Is there a light
at the far end, Martin?"

"Yes," said Martin gruffly.

"I don't see it."

Martin looked at him.

"Hamlet!"

Hilary did not reply.

The young man watched him sideways. "It's a disease to smile like that!"

Hilary ceased to smile. "Cure me, then," he said, with sudden anger,
"you man of health!"

The young "Sanitist's" sallow cheeks flushed. "Atrophy of the nerve of
action," he muttered; "there's no cure for that!"

"Ah!" said Hilary: "All kinds of us want social progress in our different
ways. You, your grandfather, my brother, myself; there are four types
for you. Will you tell me any one of us is the right man for the job?
For instance, action's not natural to me."

"Any act," answered Martin, "is better than no act."

"And myopia is natural to you, Martin. Your prescription in this case
has not been too successful, has it?"

"I can't help it if people will be d---d fools."

"There you hit it. But answer me this question: Isn't a social
conscience, broadly speaking, the result of comfort and security?"

Martin shrugged his shoulders.

"And doesn't comfort also destroy the power of action?"

Again Martin shrugged.

"Then, if those who have the social conscience and can see what is wrong
have lost their power of action, how can you say there is any light at
the end of this dark passage?"

Martin took his pipe out, filled it, and pressed the filling with his
thumb.

"There is light," he said at last, "in spite of all invertebrates.
Good-bye! I've wasted enough time," and he abruptly strode away.

"And in spite of myopia?" muttered Hilary.

A few minutes later, coming out from Messrs. Rose and Thorn's, where he
had gone to buy tobacco, he came suddenly on the little model, evidently
waiting.

"I was at the funeral," she, said; and her face added plainly: 'I've
followed you.' Uninvited, she walked on at his side.

'This is not the same girl,' he thought, 'that I sent away five days ago.
She has lost something, gained something. I don't know her.'

There seemed such a stubborn purpose in her face and manner. It was like
the look in a dog's eyes that says: 'Master, you thought to shut me up
away from you; I know now what that is like. Do what you will, I mean in
future to be near you.'

This look, by its simplicity, frightened one to whom the primitive was
strange. Desiring to free himself of his companion, yet not knowing how,
Hilary sat down in Kensin