of God."

"Of an infallible fixed Power. Is that a true definition of your
principle?"

"Yes," said Miltoun, between his teeth, "I think so."

"Exceptions prove the rule."

"Hard cases make bad law."

Courtier smiled: "I knew you were coming out with that. I deny that
they do with this law, which is altogether behind the times. You had the
right to rescue this woman."

"No, Courtier, if we must fight, let us fight on the naked facts. I have
not rescued anyone. I have merely stolen sooner than starve. That is why
I cannot go on pretending to be a pattern. If it were known, I could not
retain my seat an hour; I can't take advantage of an accidental secrecy.
Could you?"

Courtier was silent; and with his eyes Miltoun pressed on him, as though
he would despatch him with that glance.

"I could," said Courtier at last. "When this law, by enforcing spiritual
adultery on those who have come to hate their mates, destroys the
sanctity of the married state--the very sanctity it professes to uphold,
you must expect to have it broken by reasoning men and women without
their feeling shame, or losing self-respect."

In Miltoun there was rising that vast and subtle passion for dialectic
combat, which was of his very fibre. He had almost lost the feeling
that this was his own future being discussed. He saw before him in this
sanguine man, whose voice and eyes had such a white-hot sound and look,
the incarnation of all that he temperamentally opposed.

"That," he said, "is devil's advocacy. I admit no individual as judge in
his own case."

"Ah! Now we're coming to it. By the way, shall we get out of this heat?"

They were no sooner in the cooler street, than the voice of Courtier
began again:

"Distrust of human nature, fear--it's the whole basis of action for men
of your stamp. You deny the right of the individual to judge, because
you've no faith in the essential goodness of men; at heart you believe
them bad. You give them no freedom, you allow them no consent, because
you believe that their decisions would move downwards, and not upwards.
Well, it's the whole difference between the aristocratic and the
democratic view of life. As you once told me, you hate and fear the
crowd."

Miltoun eyed that steady sanguine face askance:

"Yes," he said, "I do believe that men are raised in spite of
themselves."

"You're honest. By whom?"

Again Miltoun felt rising within him a sort of fury. Once for all he
would slay this