ris, as beheld in the
fantastic loveliness of the moonlight, her searching, unseeing eyes
meeting and dwelling upon his own, the look of disappointment and defeat
crossing her sweetly serious countenance, wrought upon him begetting a
dangerous madness in his blood. That it was dangerous and a madness, and
therefore promptly to be mastered and ejected, he would not permit
himself an instant's doubt. Yet it very shrewdly plagued him, daring even
to advance specious arguments upon its own behalf.

For, when he came to consider matters, was he not in perfect health, more
sound and fit than many a man but half his age? And were not his
fortunes just now at a specially happy turn, his sister, Mrs. Dreydel,
having lately been blessed with a windfall, in the shape of yearly
income, which--did he so choose--relieved him of much expenditure on her
account. Her eldest son had received his commission. The three younger
boys had done well as to scholarships thereby materially reducing the
cost of their education. Never had he, Carteret, been so free to consult
his private desires; and never, as he knew too profoundly well, had his
desires taken so definite and delicious a form. Nevertheless it remained
a madness to be mastered, to be ejected.--His last thought, as his first,
pronounced it that.

Unconsciously, pushed by this stress of rather turbulent sensations,
Carteret walked the length of the verandah and drew up in the full glare
of the moonlight. From here he could see the curve of the shore; and,
beyond the quay and esplanade and last scattered houses of the little
town, the lighthouse marking the tip of the western horn of the bay. He
could hear the soft stealthy plunge and following rush of the sea up the
white shelving beach. Could hear also--less soothing sound--through the
open windows of the drawing-room of the Pavilion, just across the garden,
Marshall Wace singing, with all the impassioned fervour of his rich and
well-trained baritone, a ballad, then much in vogue, entitled "The Lost
Chord." The words, to Carteret's thinking, were futile, meaning anything,
everything, or nothing, according to your private interpretation of them.
But as to the fine quality and emotional appeal of the voice there could
not be two opinions, as it palpitated thus in the mild night air. Was
Damaris Verity a member of the singer's devout audience? Were her hands
among those which now enthusiastically applauded the conclusion of the
song? U