ons knew nothing of. Weak and ill, dependent upon
the strength of others, his former opinions seemed singularly uncertain.
How much more easy and comfortable was it to fall back upon the ideas of
all and sundry? One cannot help being a little conscience-stricken
sometimes when one thinks differently from others. That is why society
holds together; conscience is its most efficient policeman. But when one
shares common opinions, the whole authority of civilisation backs one
up, and the reward is an ineffable self-complacency. It is the easiest
thing possible to wallow in the prejudices of all the world, and the
most eminently satisfactory. For nineteen hundred years we have learnt
that the body is shameful, a pitfall and a snare to the soul. It is to
be hoped we have one, for our bodies, since we began worrying about our
souls, leave much to be desired. The common idea is that the flesh is
beastly, the spirit divine; and it sounds reasonable enough. If it means
little, one need not care, for the world has turned eternally to one
senseless formula after another. All one can be sure about is that in
the things of this world there is no absolute certainty.

James, in his prostration, felt only indifference; and his old
strenuousness, with its tragic despair, seemed not a little ridiculous.
His eagerness to keep clean from what he thought prostitution was
melodramatic and silly, his idea of purity mere foolishness. If the body
was excrement, as from his youth he had been taught, what could it
matter how one used it! Did anything matter, when a few years would see
the flesh he had thought divine corrupt and worm-eaten? James was
willing now to float along the stream, sociably, with his fellows, and
had no doubt that he would soon find a set of high-sounding phrases to
justify his degradation. What importance could his actions have, who was
an obscure unit in an ephemeral race? It was much better to cease
troubling, and let things come as they would. People were obviously
right when they said that Mary must be an excellent helpmate. How often
had he not told himself that she would be all that a wife should--kind,
helpful, trustworthy. Was it not enough?

And his marriage would give such pleasure to his father and mother, such
happiness to Mary. If he could make a little return for all her
goodness, was he not bound to do so? He smiled with bitter scorn at his
dead, lofty ideals. The workaday world was not fit for them; it was m