"No," he returned. "To what profit would it be?" There was just a trace
of bitterness in his voice.

"But you are strong and a man," she spoke now with unveiled scorn. "You
wouldn't be content always to sit up in a mountain cabin by the fire
like an old woman."

"Wouldn't I?" he asked. "Why not?" The bitterness was more apparent now,
and a shadow had fallen over his face. Pearl realized that, for the
moment, at least, he had forgotten her presence, and in truth, his mind
had traveled back over the years and he was living over again the
experience which had made him a wanderer on the earth and finally a
recluse in the lonely and isolated mountains.

It was a more or less conventional story. All events which penetrate
deeply into human experience are. They are vital and living, because
universal; therefore we call them conventional. Seagreave had been left
an orphan at an early age, and as he inherited wealth and was born of a
line of gentlemen and scholars who had given the world much of service
in their day, his material environment offered him no obstacles to be
overcome. There were no barriers between him and any normal desires and
ambitions, nothing to excite his emulation with suggestions that there
were forbidden and therefore infinitely desirable gardens in which he
might wander a welcome guest. But life sets a premium on hard knocks. It
is usually the bantling which is cast upon the rocks who wins most of
the prizes, having acquired in a hard school powers of resistance and
endurance.

Seagreave's pleasant experiences continued through youth into manhood.
When quite young he became engaged to a charming girl about his own age