of two-reason man."

"How do you mean 'a two-reason man,' Ideala?"

"Well, he has only two reasons for everything; one is his reason for
doing anything he likes himself, which is always a good one; and the
other is his reason why the rest of the world should not do likewise,
which is equally clear--to himself. He thinks there should be one law
for him and another for everybody else. I don't believe in him."

"Nor I," said one of the gentlemen. "Underhand bowling was all he was
celebrated for at school; he bowled most frightful sneaks all the time
he was there."

"Talking about Clare Turner," Charlie Lloyd put in, "I've brought a new
book of poems--author unknown. I picked it up at the station to-day.
There's one thing in it, called 'The Passion of Delysle,' that seems to
be intense; but I've only just glanced at it, and don't really know
what it's like. Shall I read it?"

"Oh, do!" was the general exclamation, and we all settled ourselves to
enjoy the following treat.

Charlie began softly:

O day and night! Oh day and night! and is this madness?
O day and night! O day and night! and is this joy?
Whence comes this bursting sense of life, and love, and gladness,
This pain of pleasure, perfected, without alloy?
Lo, flowing past me are the restless rivers,