’ He closed the panel and came slowly out of the little dressing-room, Roding at his heels. Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. "Put it in your teeth and light it. His lawful wife; but nothing more; beyond that she was only an idea, a trust. Conscience drove him to this side of the world, to this bed. . The Protestant Flagellant, who whipped his soul rather than his body, who made self-denial the rack and the boot, who believed that on Sunday it was sacrilegious to smile, blasphemous to laugh! Spurlock had gone back spiritually three hundred years.
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