The cause in the Law Courts lingered, and the seasons changed Paul’s friendships stopped away—not by ones or twos, but in battalions. Poor little Madge could go nowhere, and ceased to wish to go anywhere, to find herself brushing against offended skirts whose owners drew them away from pollution.
‘In all my foolish life,’ Paul told Ralston, ‘I have known one thoroughly good woman.’
‘Lucky bargee!’ said Ralston. ‘Not one man in a million has your chance.’
‘One woman,’ Paul went on, ‘as pure as a daisy, who could surrender her whole life for the sake of love—a creature who never spoke an unkind word or thought an unkind thought of any living sister, or dead one, for that matter.’
He choked. He could go no further for the time.
‘I know her,’ said Ralston—‘I know her.’
‘And women,’ said Paul, ‘who are not worthy to unlace her shoes cold-shoulder her, and look at her with contempt. I dare cry the history of two or three on the housetops.’
‘And if you dared—what good?’ Ralston asked.
‘There is no God,’ cried Paul; ‘there is no justice in the world.’
‘There is a God,’ said Ralston, ‘and there is very little justice. Who are we that we should cry out for justice? We are here to learn. And look here, Paul Armstrong: the biggest and hardest lesson set us is to learn long views.’