"Their inevitability is what people do not seem to understand."
Leaning forward, he again looked into the fire, his hands between
his knees. "The teachings of Christ having been twisted into a
system of theology, and the Church into an organization based on
dogma and doctrine, re-action is unescapable. However, we won't
get on that." Again he straightened. "Was it re-action that
brought you to Scarborough Square? I beg your pardon! I have no
right to ask. There was something you wished to ask me, I believe."

For a moment there was silence, broken only by the flames of the
fire, which spluttered and flared and made soft, whispering sounds,
while on the window-panes the snow, now turning into sleet, tapped
as if with tiny fingers, and my heart began to beat queerly.

I did not know how to ask him what I wanted to ask. There was much
he could tell me, much I wished to hear from a man's standpoint,
but how to make him understand was difficult. He had faced life
frankly, knew what was subterfuge, what sincere, and the
restrictions of custom and convention no longer handicapped him.
Between sympathy and sentimentality he had found the right
distinction, and his judgment and emotions had learned to work
together. My judgment and emotions were yet untrained.

"The girl down-stairs," I began. "You and Mrs. Mundy seem to know
her. If she belongs, as I imagine, to the world down there," my
hand made motion behind me, "Mrs. Mundy will think I can do
nothing. But cannot somebody do something? Must things always go
on the same way?"