staked his life on being unsullied purity. Their relations were to him a
delightful variation upon the intimacy of master and pupil. Either he
was listening to her or was answering her questions--and the time flew.
And there never was a moment when he could have introduced the subject
that most concerned him when he was not with her. To have introduced it
would have been rudely to break the charm of a happy afternoon or
evening.

Was she leading him on and on nowhere deliberately? Or was it the sweet
and innocent simplicity it seemed? He could not tell. He would have
broken the charm and put the matter to the test had he not been afraid
of the consequences. What had he to fear? Was she not in his power? Was
she not his, whenever he should stretch forth his hand and claim her?
Yes--no doubt--not the slightest doubt. But--He was afraid to break
the charm; it was such a satisfying charm.

Then--there was her father.

Men who arrive anywhere in any direction always have the habit of
ignoring the nonessential more or less strongly developed. One
reason--perhaps the chief reason--why Norman had got up to the high
places of material success at so early an age was that he had an
unerring instinct for the essential and wasted no time or energy upon
the nonessential. In his present situation Dorothy's father, the
abstracted man of science, was one of the factors that obviously fell
into the nonessential class. Norman knew little about him, and cared
less. Also, he took care to avoid knowing him. Knowing the father would
open up possibilities of discomfort--But, being a wise young man,
Norman gave this matter the least possible thought.