will force him on and carve the figure of a brave man out of that mass of contradictions.  In return for such benefits, he pays forfeit commonly of the dearest of the things prized by him in this terrestrial life.  Whereat, albeit created man by her, he reproaches nature, and the sculptor, circumstance; forgetting that to make him man is their sole duty, and that what betrayed him was the difficulty thrown in their way by his quondam self—­the pleasant boonfellow!

He forgets, in fact, that he was formerly led by his nose, and sacrificed his deeper feeling to a low disgust.

When the youth is called upon to look up, he can adore devoutly and ardently; but when it is his chance to look down on a fair head, he is, if not worse, a sentimental despot.

Wilfrid was young, and under the dominion of his senses; which can be, if the sentimentalists will believe me, as tyrannous and misleading when super-refined as when ultra-bestial.  He made a good stout effort to resist the pipe-smoke.  Emilia’s voice, her growing beauty, her simplicity, her peculiar charms of feature, were all conjured up to combat the dismal images suggested by that fatal, dragging-down smell.  It was vain.  Horrible pipe-smoke pervaded the memory of her.  It seemed to his offended dainty fancy that he could never dissociate her from smoking-booths and abominably bad tobacco; and, let us add (for this was part of the secret), that it never could dwell on her without the companionship of a hideous disfigured countenance, claiming to be Wilfrid Pole.  He shuddered to think that he had virtually almost engaged himself to this girl.  Or, had he?  Was his honour bound?  Distance appeared to answer the question favourably.  There was safety in being distant from her.  She possessed an incomprehensible attractiveness.  She was at once powerful and pitiable:  so that while he feared her, and was running from her spell, he said, from time to time, “Poor little thing!” and deeply hoped she would not be unhappy.

A showman once (a novice in his art, or ambitious beyond the mark), after a successful exhibition of his dolls, handed them to the company, with the observation, “satisfy yourselves, ladies and gentlemen.”  The latter, having satisfied themselves that the capacity of the lower limbs was extraordinary, returned them, disenchanted.  That showman did ill.  But I am not imitating him.  I do not wait till after the performance, when it is too late to revive illusion.  To avoid having to drop the curtain, I choose to explain an act on which the story hinges, while it is advancing:  which is, in truth, an impulse of character.  Instead of his being more of a puppet, this hero is less wooden than he was.  Certainly I am much more in awe of him.

CHAPTER XIV