to be destroyed
that first instinctive purity, that fragile, delicate innocence which
dies young in almost every human being, and that one sees evaporating
under the earliest taint of vice with a smile partly of contempt,
partly of pity, partly of genuine regret.

Next it had been his father. The Old Gentleman had exerted a great
influence over Vandover; he had never forgotten that scene the morning
after he had told him of his measure of responsibility in Ida Wade's
suicide, the recovery from the first shock of dazed bewilderment and
then the forgiveness, the solicitude and the encouragement to begin over
again, to live it down and to do that which was right and good and true.
Not only had he stopped his ears to this voice, but also, something told
him, he had done much to silence it forever. Despite the Old Gentleman's
apparent fortitude the blow must have carried home. What must he not
have suffered during those long weeks while Vandover was away, what
lonely broodings in the empty house; and then the news of the wreck, the
days of suspense!

It all must have told; the Old Gentleman was not strong; Vandover could
not but feel that he had hastened his death, and that in so doing he had
destroyed another influence which would have cultivated and fostered his
better self, would have made it strong against the attacks of the brute.

The other person who had helped to bring out all that was best in
Vandover had been Turner Ravis. There was no denying that when he had
first known her he had loved her sincerely. Things were vastly different
with him when Turner had been his companion; things that were unworthy,
that were low, that were impure and vicious, did not seem worth while
then; not only did they have no attraction for him, but he even shunned
and avoided them. He knew he was a better man for loving her; invariably
she made him wish to be better. But little by little as he frequented
the society of such girls as Ida Wade, Grace Irving, and Flossie, his
affection for Turner faded. As the habits of passionate and unhealthy
excitement grew upon him he lost first the taste and then the very
capacity for a calm, pure feeling. His affection for her he frittered
away with fast girls and abandoned women, strangled it in the foul
musk-laden air of disreputable houses, dragged and defiled it in the
wine-lees of the Imperial. In the end he had quite destroyed it,
wilfully, wantonly killed it. As Turner herself had said, she c