women is an end for a life. For all they now condemn Mike McCarthy who
went to the asylum because of them and who, while loving life, came near
to taking life, the women of Caxton do not condemn his madness for
themselves; they do not blame him for loitering away his good years or for
making an abortive mess of his good brain. While he made an art of the
pursuit of women they applauded secretly. Did not twelve of them accept
the challenge thrown out by his eyes as he loitered in the streets?"

The man, who had begun talking quietly and seriously, raised his voice and
waved the lighted cigarette in the air and the boy who had begun to think
again of the dark-skinned daughter of banker Walker listened attentively.
The barking of the dogs grew nearer.

"If you as a boy can get from me, a grown man, an understanding of the
purpose of women you will not have lived in this town for nothing. Set
your mark at money making if you will, but drive at that. Let yourself but
go and a sweet wistful pair of eyes seen in a street crowd or a pair of
little feet running over a dance floor will retard your growth for years.
No man or boy can grow toward the purpose of a life while he thinks of
women. Let him try it and he will be undone. What is to him a passing
humour is to them an end. They are diabolically clever. They will run and
stop and run and stop again, keeping just without his reach. He sees them
here and there about him. His mind is filled with vague, delicious
thoughts that come out of the very air; before he realises what he has
done he has spent his years in vain pursuit and turning finds himself old
and undone."

Telfer began jabbing at the ground with his stick.

"I had my chance. In New York I had money to live on and time to have made