“I know what he means, but I can’t exactly explain. You ought to see life, Rickie. I think he’s right there. And Mr. Tilliard was right when he said one oughtn’t to be academic.”
He stood in the twilight that fell from the window, she in the twilight of the gas. “I wonder what Ansell would say,” he murmured.
“Oh, poor Mr. Ansell!”
He was somewhat surprised. Why was Ansell poor? It was the first time the epithet had been applied to him.
“But to change the conversation,” said Agnes.
“If we did marry, we might get to Italy at Easter and escape this horrible fog.”
“Yes. Perhaps there—” Perhaps life would be there. He thought of Renan, who declares that on the Acropolis at Athens beauty and wisdom do exist, really exist, as external powers. He did not aspire to beauty or wisdom, but he prayed to be delivered from the shadow of unreality that had begun to darken the world. For it was as if some power had pronounced against him—as if, by some heedless action, he had offended an Olympian god. Like many another, he wondered whether the god might be appeased by work—hard uncongenial work. Perhaps he had not worked hard enough, or had enjoyed his work too much, and for that reason the shadow was falling.
“—And above all, a schoolmaster has wonderful opportunities for doing good; one mustn’t forget that.”
To do good! For what other reason are we here? Let us give up our refined sensations, and our comforts, and our art, if thereby we can make other people happier and better. The woman he loved had urged him to do good! With a vehemence that surprised her, he exclaimed, “I’ll do it.”
“Think it over,” she cautioned, though she was greatly pleased.