pite of all these qualities, should Rickie feel that
there was something wrong with him--nay, that he was wrong as a whole,
and that if the Spirit of Humanity should ever hold a judgment he would
assuredly be classed among the goats? The answer at first sight appeared
a graceless one--it was that Herbert was stupid. Not stupid in the
ordinary sense--he had a business-like brain, and acquired knowledge
easily--but stupid in the important sense: his whole life was coloured
by a contempt of the intellect. That he had a tolerable intellect of his
own was not the point: it is in what we value, not in what we have, that
the test of us resides. Now, Rickie's intellect was not remarkable. He
came to his worthier results rather by imagination and instinct than by
logic. An argument confused him, and he could with difficulty follow it
even on paper. But he saw in this no reason for satisfaction, and tried
to make such use of his brain as he could, just as a weak athlete might
lovingly exercise his body. Like a weak athlete, too, he loved to watch
the exploits, or rather the efforts, of others--their efforts not so
much to acquire knowledge as to dispel a little of the darkness by which
we and all our acquisitions are surrounded. Cambridge had taught him
this, and he knew, if for no other reason, that his time there had not
been in vain. And Herbert's contempt for such efforts revolted him. He
saw that for all his fine talk about a spiritual life he had but one
test for things--success: success for the body in this life or for the
soul in the life to come. And for this reason Humanity, and perhaps such
other tribunals as there may be, would assuredly reject him.

XVIII

Meanwhile he was a husband. Perhaps his union should have been
emphasized before. The crown of life had been attained, the vague
yearnings, the misread impulses, had found accomplishment at last. Never
again must he feel lonely, or as one who stands out of the broad highway
of the world and fears, like poor Shelley, to undertake the longest
journey. So he reasoned, and at first took the accomplishment for
granted. But as the term passed he knew that behind the yearning there
remained a yearning, behind the drawn veil a veil that he could not
draw. His wedding had been no mighty landmark: he would often wonder
whether such and such a speech or incident came after it or before.
Since that meeting in the Soho restaurant there had been so much to
do--clothes to bu