ered the fervour, the exaltation
with which he had gone to France that first year of the war. The belief
in a righteous cause which would bring peace on earth and good will
toward men; the belief in a human fellowship which would grow out of
sacrifice; the belief in a fairer social order which would flower from
the bloodstained memories of the battlefields,--what was there left of
these romantic illusions to-day? Was it true, as Vetch had once said,
that organized killing, even in a just cause, must bring its spiritual
punishment? Could the lust of blood be changed by a document into the
love of one's brother? "I gave my youth in that war," he thought, "and
I won from it--what? Disillusionment." With the reflection he felt again
the exhaustion of the nerves, the infirmity of purpose against which he
had struggled ever since his return. "If there were only something worth
fighting for, worth believing in! If I could only believe earnestly, or
desire passionately--anything!"

Just as Corinna had longed for perfection, for something to worship, he
found himself longing now for a cause, for any cause, even a lost one,
to which he could give himself. He wanted facts, deeds, certainties. He
was suffocated by shams and insincerities--and phrases.

Then suddenly, this was one of the symptoms of his nervous malady, the
reaction swept over him in a wave of energy which receded almost
immediately. If he could only find deliverance from himself and his own
subjective processes! If he could only be borne away by the passion he
felt and yet could not feel completely! He wanted Patty, he knew, but
did he want her enough to justify the effort that he must make to win
her? Would she be worth to him the break with his mother, with his
traditions, with his inherited ideals? He saw her small, slight figure
in the dappled sunlight under the budding trees. He saw her vivid
flower-like face, her romantic eyes, and the arch and charming smile
with which she watched his approach. Yes, he wanted her, he wanted her,
and she was the only thing on God's earth, he told himself rhetorically,
that he did want with the whole of his nature!

Quickening his steps, he turned in the direction of the Capitol Square,
which stretched, like the painted curtain of a theatre, across the end
of the street. A singular intuition, a presentiment, had come to him
that if he could sustain this impulse, this tide of energy until he saw
Patty, he should be cured--he s