for an old song, no time was to be lost. It would not do to trust too
long to Dicky's ignorance. At any moment knowledge might enter into
him and corrupt his soul.

No; clearly, he would have to go; he didn't see how he was to get out
of it.

Isaac became uneasy, for the spirit of imprecation sat visibly on his
son's brow. "When I said I'd make it worth your while I meant it."

"I know. It isn't that--"

"Wot is it? Wot is it then? Wot's the matter with you? Wot tomfoolery
are you up to? Is it--" (Isaac's gross forehead flushed, his speech
came thick through his stern lips.) "Is it a woman?"

He had also been young; though he had denied his youth.

The boy's white face quivered with a little wave of heat and pain. He
clasped his forehead with his hands.

"Let me think."

His fingers tightened their hold, as if to grasp thought by holding
the dizzy aching head that contained it. He could think of nothing but
Poppy. He had seen his father's point quite steadily and clearly a
minute ago; but when he thought of Poppy his brain began to turn round
and round again. He gripped his forehead harder still, to stop it.

His thinking drifted into a kind of moody metaphysics instead of