an't tell you. I only
tell you, watch for it. Myself I've found it in books. Some people find
it out of doors or in each other. Never mind. It's the same spirit, and
I trust myself to know it anywhere, and to use it rightly."

But at this point the superintendent sent a message.

Widdrington then suggested a stroll in the galleries. It was foggy: they
needed fresh air. He loved and admired his friend, but today he could
not grasp him. The world as Ansell saw it seemed such a fantastic place,
governed by brand-new laws. What more could one do than to see Rickie
as often as possible, to invite his confidence, to offer him spiritual
support? And Mrs. Elliot--what power could "fuse" a respectable woman?

Ansell consented to the stroll, but, as usual, only breathed depression.
The comfort of books deserted him among those marble goddesses and gods.
The eye of an artist finds pleasure in texture and poise, but he could
only think of the vanished incense and deserted temples beside an
unfurrowed sea.

"Let us go," he said. "I do not like carved stones."

"You are too particular," said Widdrington. "You are always expecting
to meet living people. One never does. I am content with the Parthenon
frieze." And he moved along a few yards of it, while Ansell followed,
conscious only of its pathos.

"There's Tilliard," he observed. "Shall we kill him?"

"Please," said Widdrington, and as he spoke Tilliard joined them. He
brought them news. That morning he had heard from Rickie: Mrs. Elliot
was expecting a child.

"A child?" said Ansell, suddenly bewildered.

"Oh, I forgot," interposed Widdrington. "My cousin did tell me."

"You forgot! Well, after all, I forgot that it might be, We are indeed
young men." He leant against the pedestal of Ilissus and remembered
their talk about the Spirit of Life. In his ignorance of what a child
means he wondered whether the opportunity he sought lay here.

"I am very glad," said Tilliard, not without intention. "A child will
draw them even closer together. I like to see young people wrapped up in
their child."

"I suppose I must be getting back to my dissertation," said Ansell.
He left the Parthenon to pass by the monuments of our more reticent
beliefs--the temple of the Ephesian Artemis, the statue of the Cnidian
Demeter. Honest, he knew that here were powers he could not cope with,
nor, as yet, understand.

XXI

The mists that had gathered round Rickie seemed to be breaking. He ha