adiant. In
spite of his obstinacy and conceit, Stephen was an easy person to live
with. He never fidgeted or nursed hidden grievances, or indulged in a
shoddy pride. Though he spent Rickie's money as slowly as he could,
he asked for it without apology: "You must put it down against me," he
would say. In time--it was still very vague--he would rent or purchase
a farm. There is no formula in which we may sum up decent people. So
Ansell had preached, and had of course proceeded to offer a formula:
"They must be serious, they must be truthful." Serious not in the sense
of glum; but they must be convinced that our life is a state of some
importance, and our earth not a place to beat time on. Of so much
Stephen was convinced: he showed it in his work, in his play, in his
self-respect, and above all--though the fact is hard to face-in his
sacred passion for alcohol. Drink, today, is an unlovely thing. Between
us and the heights of Cithaeron the river of sin now flows. Yet the
cries still call from the mountain, and granted a man has responded to
them, it is better he respond with the candour of the Greek.

"I shall stop at the Thompsons' now," said the disappointed reveller.
"Prayers."

Rickie did not press his triumph, but it was a happy moment, partly
because of the triumph, partly because he was sure that his brother must
care for him. Stephen was too selfish to give up any pleasure without
grave reasons. He was certain that he had been right to disentangle
himself from Sawston, and to ignore the threats and tears that still
tempted him to return. Here there was real work for him to do. Moreover,
though he sought no reward, it had come. His health was better, his
brain sound, his life washed clean, not by the waters of sentiment,
but by the efforts of a fellow-man. Stephen was man first, brother
afterwards. Herein lay his brutality and also his virtue. "Look me in
the face. Don't hang on me clothes that don't belong--as you did on your
wife, giving her saint's robes, whereas she was simply a woman of her
own sort, who needed careful watching. Tear up the photographs. Here
am I, and there are you. The rest is cant." The rest was not cant,
and perhaps Stephen would confess as much in time. But Rickie needed a
tonic, and a man, not a brother, must hold it to his lips.

"I see the old spire," he called, and then added, "I don't mind seeing
it again."

"No one does, as far as I know. People have come from the other side of