after last night's racketing! Here was primitive and material comfort,
the secret of content, if you liked! Here was this poor hunter-fellow,
with enough to eat and to drink, earning it every day by every day's
labour, and, like Robinson Crusoe no doubt, living in a serene self-
sufficiency and an elysian retirement. Probably he had no
responsibilities in the world, with no one to say him nay, himself only
to consider in all the universe: a divine conception of adequate life.
Yet himself, Charley Steele, an idler, a waster, with no purpose in life,
with scarcely the necessity to earn his bread-never, at any rate, until
lately--was the slave of the civilisation to which he belonged. Was
civilisation worth the game?

His hand involuntarily went to his head. It changed the course of his
thoughts. He must go back to-day to put Billy's crime right, to replace
the trust-moneys Billy had taken by forging his brother-in-law's name.
Not a moment must be lost. No doubt he was within driving distance of
his office, and, bandaged head or no bandaged head, last night's
disgraceful doings notwithstanding, it was his duty to face the wondering
eyes--what did he care for wondering eyes? hadn't he been making eyes
wonder all his life?--face the wondering eyes in the little city, and set
a crooked business straight. Fool and scoundrel certainly Billy was, but
there was Kathleen!

His lips tightened; he had a strange anxious flutter of the heart. When
had his heart fluttered like this? When had he ever before considered
Kathleen's feelings as to his personal conduct so delicately? Well,
since yesterday he did feel it, and a sudden sense of pity sprang up in
him--vague, shamefaced pity, which belied the sudden egotistical flourish
with which he put his monocle to his eye and tried futilely to smile in
the old way.