een
overcome with a greater loathing of this false and theatrical old man.
Inglis and the man who wanted her were at least slaves of some passion
that was the fruit of their affairs. But this man was both of them. He
had not wished this girl well. He had rejoiced in her poverty because it
stimulated the flow of the juices of pity; he had rejoiced in her
disappointment; he had rejoiced in Inglis's villainy because he could
pity her; he had rejoiced in the unknown man's lust because he could
step protectively in front of Ellen; and, worse than this, hadn't he
savoured in the story vices that he himself had had to sacrifice for the
sake of standing well with the world? Had he not felt how lovely it must
be to be Inglis and hunt little weak slips of girls and make more money?
Had he not felt himself revisited by the warm fires of lust in thinking
of this unknown man's pursuit of Ellen and wallowed in it? Yaverland had
risen quickly, and said haltingly, trying to speak and not to strike
because the man was old and his offence indefinite. "No doubt you've
been very good to Miss Melville." Mr. Mactavish James had been amazed by
the grim construction of the speech, the lack of any response matching
his "crack" in floridity. He had expected comment on his generosity.
Positive resentment had stolen into his face as Yaverland had turned his
back on him and rushed up the wet streets to rescue Ellen from the
world.

Alas, that it should turn out that he too was something from which her
delicate little soul asked to be rescued! He could not bear the thought
of altering her. The prospect of taking her as his wife, of making her
live in close contact with his masculinity, dangerous both in its
primitive sense of something vast and rough, and also as something more
experienced than her, seemed as iniquitous as the trampling of some fine
white wild flower. But then, she was beautiful, not only lovely: destiny
had marked her for a high career; to leave her as she was would be to
miscast one who deserved to play the great tragic part, which cannot be
played without the actress's heart beating at the prospect of so great a
role. Oh, there was no going back! But he perceived he must be very
clever about it. He must make it all as easy as possible for her. His
heart contracted with tenderness as he took vows that could not have
been more religious if they had been made concerning celibacy instead of
concerning marriage. He regretted he was an