the artistic pigs, advanced people, and all that sort of
cuckoo," as Mr. Purcey called them--a section of society supplemented by
persons, placed beyond the realms of want, who speculated in ideas.

Had he been required to make confession of his creed he would probably
have framed it in some such way as this: "I disbelieve in all Church
dogmas, and do not go to church; I have no definite ideas about a future
state, and do not want to have; but in a private way I try to identify
myself as much as possible with what I see about me, feeling that if I
could ever really be at one with the world I live in I should be happy.
I think it foolish not to trust my senses and my reason; as for what my
senses and my reason will not tell me, I assume that all is as it had to
be, for if one could get to know the why of everything in one would be
the Universe. I do not believe that chastity is a virtue in itself,
but only so far as it ministers to the health and happiness of the
community. I do not believe that marriage confers the rights of
ownership, and I loathe all public wrangling on such matters; but I am
temperamentally averse to the harming of my neighbours, if in reason it
can be avoided. As to manners, I think that to repeat a bit of scandal,
and circulate backbiting stories, are worse offences than the actions
that gave rise to them. If I mentally condemn a person, I feel guilty of
moral lapse. I hate self-assertion; I am ashamed of self-advertisement.
I dislike loudness of any kind. Probably I have too much tendency to
negation of all sorts. Small-talk bores me to extinction, but I will
discuss a point of ethics or psychology half the night. To make capital
out of a person's weakness is repugnant to me. I want to be a decent
man, but--I really can't take myself too seriously."

Though he had preserved his politeness towards Cecilia, he was in truth
angry, and grew angrier every minute. He was angry with her, himself,
and the man Hughs; and suffered from this anger as only they can who are
not accustomed to the rough-and-tumble of things.

Such a retiring man as Hilary was seldom given the opportunity for an
obvious display of chivalry. The tenor of his life removed him from
those situations. Such chivalry as he displayed was of a negative order.
And confronted suddenly with the conduct of Hughs, who, it seemed,
knocked his wife about, and dogged the footsteps of a helpless girl, he
took it seriously to heart.

When the l