She went away in a state of nervous prostration that was an illness,
feeling the horror of it all in her very bones, and clinging with a
silent hopelessness to Hal in a way that was more heart-rending than
any hysterical outburst.

Yet that Hal was there was good indeed. Hal, who, though only
twenty-one, could look out on an ugly world with those clear eyes of
hers, and while seeing the ugliness undisguised, see always as it were
beside it the ultimate good, the ultimate hope, the silver lining
behind the blackest cloud. Hal, who could criticise unerringly, with
direct, outspoken humour,and yet scorn to judge; who had learnt, by
some strange instinct, the precious art of holding out a friendly hand
and generous friendship, even to those condemned of the orthodox,
sufferers probably through their
own wild and foolish actions, without in any way becoming besmirched
herself, or losing her own inherent freshness and purity.

It was not in the least surprising that a man as wedded to his books
and profession as Dudley should fail to realise what was, in a measure,
phenomenal. By the simple rule of A B C, he argued that ill necessarily
contaminates, if the one to come in contact is of young and impression-
able years. There might of course be exceptions, but hardly among those
as frivolous and obstinate as Hal.

He worried himself almost ill about it all, until Lorraine was safely
out of England, adding seriously to poor Hal's troubled mind, seeing
she must stand by the one while longing to soothe and please the other,
and fretting silently over his anxious expression. But once back in
their old groove, he quickly recovered his spirits, and even tried to
make up to Hal a little for what she had lost. Unfortunately, however,