He could not comprehend how its aspect affected others, even quite how it
affected Julian. Only he could comprehend, as he looked at the Christ,
its imperfection, and a longing, not felt before, came to him to be
better than he was. This new aspiration was given to him by Julian's
confession. He knew that well. He protected his friend now without
effort. Could he not protect him more certainly with effort? Can a soul
be beautiful that never strives consciously after beauty? A child's
nature is beautiful in its innocence because it has never striven to be
innocent. But is not an innocent woman more wonderful, more beautiful,
than an innocent child? Valentine felt within him that night a distinct
aspiration, and he vaguely connected it with the drooping Christ, who
touched with wan, rewarding lips the ardent face of the merciful knight.
And he no longer had the desire to know desire of sin. He no longer
sought to understand the power of temptation or the joy of yielding to
that power. A subtle change swept over him. Whether it was permanent, or
only passing, he could not tell.

A tingling cry from the electric bell in the passage told of Julian's
arrival, and in a moment he entered. He looked gay, almost rowdy, and
clapped Valentine on the shoulder rather boisterously.

"Why on earth are you in here?" he exclaimed. "Have you been playing?"

"No."

"Are you in an exalted state of mind, that demands the best parlour for
its environment?"

"Hardly."