really all right."

"Of course you are, Phil; I know it, but you don't seem to realise it.
You're morbid, I'm afraid."

"You've been talking to my sister!"

"What of it? Besides, I knew there was something the matter--"

"You know what it is, too. And isn't it enough to subdue a man's spirits
occasionally?"

"No," said Lansing--"if you mean your--mistake--two years ago. That
isn't enough to spoil life for a man. I've wanted to tell you so for a
long time."

And, as Selwyn said nothing: "For Heaven's sake make up your mind to
enjoy your life! You are fitted to enjoy it. Get that absurd notion out
of your head that you're done for--that you've no home life in prospect,
no family life, no children--"

Selwyn turned sharply, but the other went on: "You can swear at me if
you like, but you've no business to go through the world cuddling your
own troubles closer and closer and squinting at everybody out of
disenchanted eyes. It's selfish, for one thing; you're thinking
altogether too much about yourself."

Selwyn, too annoyed to answer, glared at his friend.

"Oh, I know you don't like it, Phil, but what I'm saying may do you
good. It's fine physic, to learn what others think about you; as for me,
you can't mistake my friendship--or your sister's--or Miss Erroll's, or
Mr. Gerard's. And one and all are of one opinion, that you have
everything before you, including domestic happiness, which you care for
more than anything. And there is no reason why you should not have
it--no reason why you should not feel perfectly free to marry, and have
a bunch of corking kids. It's not only your right, it's your business;
and you're selfish if you don't!"

"Boots! I--I--"

"Go on!"

"I'm not going to swear; I'm only hurt, Boots--"

"Sure you are! Medicine's working, that's all. We strive to please, we
kill to cure. Of course it hurts, man! But you know it will do you good;
you know what I say is true. You've no right to club the natural and
healthy inclinations out of yourself. The day for fanatics and dippy,
dotty flagellants is past. Fox's martyrs are out of date. The man who
grabs life in both fists and twists the essence out of it, counts. He is
living as he ought to, he is doing the square thing by his country and
his community--by every man, woman, and child in it! He's giving
everybody, including himself, a square deal. But the man who has been
upper-cut and floored, and who takes the count, and then goes and squats