people. Probably--no, assuredly--there is some principle prisoned in
their souls, or in the windings of their brains, which, when escaped,
leaves them insipid, unprofitable and devoid of interest to us.
Sometimes this essence--not necessarily the finest element in a man's or
a woman's nature, but soul-stuff that we lack--disappears. In fact, it
invariably disappears. It may be that it has been transformed in the
processes of their growth; it may also be that it has utterly vanished
by some inadvertence, or that we ourselves have absorbed it."

"Then we throw them away?" Ethel asked, pale, but dry-eyed. A shudder
passed through her body and she clinched her glass nervously. At that
moment Reginald resembled a veritable Prince of Darkness, sinister and
beautiful, painted by the hand of a modern master. Then, for a space, he
again became the man of the world. Smiling and self-possessed, he filled
the glasses, took a long sip of the wine and resumed his narrative.

"That boy was followed by others. I absorbed many useless things and
some that were evil. I realised that I must direct my absorptive
propensities. This I did. I selected, selected well. And all the time
the terrible power of which I was only half conscious grew within me."

"It is indeed a terrible power," she cried; "all the more terrible for
its subtlety. Had I not myself been its victim, I should not now find it
possible to believe in it."

"The invisible hand that smites in the dark is certainly more fearful
than a visible foe. It is also more merciful. Think how much you would
have suffered had you been conscious of your loss."

"Still it seems even now to me that it cannot have been an utter,