ffice
from disaster. And Darius had proved his satisfaction therein, not by
words certainly, but beyond mistaking in his general demeanour towards
Edwin. And after all that, a letter--mind you, a letter!--proposing
with the most damnable insolent audacity that he should be an architect,
because he would not be `happy' in the printing business! ... An
architect! Why an architect, specially? What in the name of God was
there to attract in bricks and mortar? He thought the boy had gone off
his head for a space. He could not think of any other explanation. He
had not allowed the letter to upset him. By his armour of thick
callousness, he had protected the tender places in his soul from being
wounded. He had not decided how to phrase his answer to Edwin. He had
not even decided whether he would say anything at all, whether it would
not be more dignified and impressive to make no remark whatever to
Edwin, to let him slowly perceive, by silence, what a lamentable error
he had committed.

And here was the boy lightly, cheekily, talking at breakfast about
`going in for architecture'! The armour of callousness was pierced.
Darius felt the full force of the letter; and as he suffered, so he
became terrible and tyrannic in his suffering. He meant to save his
business, to put his business before anything. And he would have his
own way. He would impose his will. And he would have treated argument
as a final insult. All the heavy, obstinate, relentless force of his
individuality was now channelled in one tremendous instinct.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

SIX.

"Well, what?" he growled savagely, as Edwin halted.

In spite of his advanced age Edwin began to cry. Yes, the tears came
out of his eyes.

"And now you begin blubbing!" said his father.

"You say naught for six months--and then you start writing letters!"
said his father.

"And what's made ye settle on architecting, I'd like to be knowing?"
Darius went on.

Edwin was not able to answer this question. He had never put it to
himself. Assuredly he could not, at the pistol's point, explain why he
wanted to be an architect. He did not know. He announced this truth
ingenuously--

"I don't know--I--"

"I sh'd think not!" said his father. "D'ye think architecting'll be any
better than this?" `This' meant printing.

"I don't know--"

"Ye don't know! Ye don't know!" Darius repeated testily. His
tes