"And Theo?"
The younger dropped his head against the other's knee.
"I think your part will be harder than mine," John rejoined, after a long silence. "It is less difficult to suffer than to watch another endure. I can very well believe we are taking the wrong way, but I do not see a better. And for the—smudge—I have one consolation."
"That is, John?"
"The crime chosen is one the state finds it advisable to condemn for reasons of policy. It is not so actual a wrong to our fellow-men as a fortune made in Wall Street or in speculating on their necessities. I am going to break man's regulations, not God's law."
"I hope you are right," said Robert with equal reverence. "But you are taking an unblazed trail, and the safe road lies far aside."
Down the smooth slope of the country-side crept the vibrating throb of an automobile, accompanied by laughter and the faint sound of gay voices. Some one in the party was singing—a man whose clear tenor reached the two on the veranda, filtered to purest pathos through the veil of distance:
"Sconto col sangue mio
L'amor que posi in te!
Non ti scordar—non ti scordar di me—"
"That is Billy Clive," Robert identified wearily. "He is an arrant humbug, is Billy; I do not believe he ever had a serious moment in his life. Theo is coming; will you speak to her? It may be you, after all, you know."
"I think not, Bertie."