As the Professor left the house his depression of the morning returned
upon him. He was dissatisfied with himself. He had intended to show no
anger, no resentment, and, nevertheless, his temper had run away with
him. He recognized that he had made a grave mistake, for he was
beginning to foresee the consequences of it. Trained to severe thinking,
but unaccustomed to analyze motives, the full comprehension of
Hutchings' attitude and its probable effects upon his happiness only
came to him gradually, but it came at length so completely that he could
remember the very words of the foregoing conversation, and recall the
tones of the voices. He could rebuild the puzzle; his understanding of
it, therefore, must be the true one. The irrationality of the defence
was a final proof that the lawyer had played him false. "Hutchings sold
himself--most likely for place. He didn't fear a quarrel with me--that
was evident; perhaps he wishes to get rid of me--evident, too. He
believes that I shall be dismissed, or else he wouldn't have laid stress
upon the importance of my keeping my position. When I spoke of May he
was curt. And the explanation? He has wronged me. The old French proverb
holds true, 'The offender seldom forgives.' He'll probably go on to harm
me further, for I remind him of his vileness. This, then, is life, not
as I imagined it, but as it is, and such creatures as Hutchings are
human beings. Well, after all, it is better to know the truth than to
cheat oneself with a mirage. I shall appreciate large natures with noble
and generous impulses better, now that I know how rare they are."

In his room he found May awaiting him. Across his surprise and joy there
came an intense admiration of her, a heart-pang of passionate gratitude.
As she moved towards him her incommunicable grace of person and manner
completed the charm. The radiant gladness of the eyes; the outstretched
hands; the graceful form, outlined in silver-grey; the diadem of honey-
coloured hair; something delicate yet courageous, proud yet tender in