Carteret got on his feet and walked away a few paces, continuing to
heckle himself with merciless honesty and rather unprintable
humour--invoking even the historic name of Abishag, virgin and martyr,
and generally letting himself "have it hot."

A self-chastisement which may be accounted salutary, since, as he
administered it, his thought again turned to a case other than his own,
namely, that of Charles Verity. To pronounce judgment on his friend's
past relations with women, whether virtuous or otherwise, was no business
of his. Whatever irregularities of conduct that friend's earlier career
may have counted, had brought their own punishment--were indeed actually
bringing it still, witness current events. It wasn't for him, Carteret,
by the smallest fraction to add to that punishment; but rather, surely,
to do all in his power to lighten the weight of it. Here he found safe
foothold. Let him invite long-standing friendship, with the father, to
help him endure the smart of unrequited love for the daughter. To pretend
these two emotions moved on the same plane and could counter-balance one
another, was manifestly absurd; but that did not affect the essence of
the question. Ignoring desire, which to-night so sensibly and
disconcertingly gnawed at his vitals, let him work to restore the former
harmony and sweet strength of their relation. If in the process he could
obtain for Damaris--without unseemly revelation or invidious
comment--that on which her innocent soul was set he would have his
reward.--A reward a bit chilly and meagre, it is true, as compared
with--Comparisons be damned!--Carteret left his pacing and came back to
the stone bench.

"Well, I have formed my own conclusions in respect of the whole matter.
Now tell me what you actually want me to do, and I will see how far it
can be compassed, dear witch." he said.

Damaris had risen too, but she was troubled.

"Ah! I still spoil things," she wailed. "I was so happy telling
you about--about Faircloth. And yet somehow I've hurt you again. I
know I have."

Carteret took her by the elbow lightly, gently, carrying her onward
beside him over the wide pallor of the asphalt.

"Hurt me, you vanitatious creature? Against babes of your tender age,
I long ago became hurt-proof"--he gaily lied to her. "What do you take
me for?--A fledgling like the Ditton boy, or poor Harry Ellice, with
whose adolescent affections you so heartlessly played chuck-farthing at
our incom