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Updated: May 24, 2025
Although it was Saturday night, there were few people about, the bad weather keeping many indoors who would otherwise be out. She was within a few paces of the booking office when she felt a hand on her arm. "Don't stop me! Let me go!" she cried. "Where to?" asked Perigal's voice. She pressed forward. "Don't be a little fool. Are you mad? Stop!" He forced her to a standstill.
Yes, morality owes its existence to the fact of the well-to-do requiring to be confirmed in their possessions without having to defend them by force." Mavis was now paying no attention to Perigal's talk: mind and heart were in Pennington Churchyard.
He had always liked Mavis and would have done much more for her than he had already accomplished, if his womenfolk had permitted him to follow the leanings of his heart; he knew her well enough to know that she was not the girl to bestow herself lightly upon Charlie Perigal. He had not liked Perigal's share in the matter at all, and the whole business was still much of a mystery.
She returned so carefully that Perigal's train was steaming into the station as she reached the booking office. She walked over the bridge to get to his platform, to be stopped for a few moments by the rush, roar, and violence of a West of England express, passing immediately under where she stood.
She walked towards Regent Circus, hoping to find a post-office, where she could get a stamp for Perigal's letter. She wondered if she should go to church, if only for a few minutes, but decided to keep away from a place of worship, feeling that her thoughts were too occupied with her troubles to give adequate attention to the service. A new, yet at the same time familiar dread, oppressed her.
Windebank did not heed the interruption; he went on: "Old Perigal, Charlie Perigal's father, is a rum old chap; lives alone and never sees anyone and all that. One day he asked me to call, and what d'ye think he said?" "Give it up." "Boy! you're commencing life, and you should know this: always bear in mind the value of money and the worthlessness of most women. Good-bye."
She had been Perigal's desire, but, once won, another had taken its place, which, so far as she could see, was sea-fishing. She smiled grimly at the alteration in his taste. Then, an idea illuminated, possessed her mind. "Why not make myself desirable so that he will be eager to win me again," she thought.
He's proved it to a poor, weak girl like me!" Thus she prayed, all unconscious that Perigal's consideration in leaving her was the high-water mark of his regard for her welfare. "Beloved!" "My own!" "Are you ready to start?" "I'll see if they've packed the luncheon." "One moment. Where are we going today?" "Llansallas; three miles from here." "What's it like?" she asked.
And the pity of it is, he's no fool; if anything, he's too many brains." "How can anyone have too many?" "Take Perigal's case. He's too analytical; he sees too clearly into things. It's a sort of Rontgen ray intelligence, which I wouldn't have for worlds. Isn't it old Solomon who says, 'In much wisdom there is much sorrow'?"
For all the splendid egotism born of human passion, the immense intercourse of night and earth seemed to reduce her to insignificance. She crept closer to Perigal's side, as if he could give her the protection she needed. He too, perhaps, was touched with the same lowliness, and the same hunger for the support of loving sympathy.
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