The pursuit of Barbara with any other object but that of marriage had naturally not occurred to one who had little sense of conventional morality, but much self-respect; and a secret endeavour to cut out Harbinger, ending in a marriage whereat he would figure as a sort of pirate, was quite as little to the taste of a man not unaccustomed to think himself as good as other people.
He caused the car to deviate up the lane that led to Audrey Noel's, hating to go away without a hail of cheer to that ship in distress.
She came out to him on the verandah.

From the clasp of her hand, thin and faintly browned--the hand of a woman never quite idle--he felt that she relied on him to understand and sympathize; and nothing so awakened the best in Courtier as such mute appeals to his protection.

He said gently: "Don't let them think you're down;" and, squeezing her hand hard: "Why should you be wasted like this?
It's a sin and shame!" But he stopped in what he felt to be an unlucky speech at sight of her face, which without movement expressed so much more than his words.

He was protesting as a civilized man; her face was the protest of Nature, the soundless declaration of beauty wasted against its will, beauty that was life's invitation to the embrace which gave life birth.
"I'm clearing out, myself," he said: "You and I, you know, are not good for these people.

No birds of freedom allowed!" Pressing his hand, she turned away into the house, leaving Courtier gazing at the patch of air where her white figure had stood.