To which I replied: "What under the sun is the object of this Society of yours?"
"Proximately to complete our investigations—already far advanced—into the origin of the Universe."
"And ultimately?"
"I cannot tell you now. You will not know that until you join us."
"And if your ultimate object does not suit me, I can withdraw?"
"No, it would then be too late."
"How so? I am not morally bound by an oath which I swear without full knowledge of its consequences and responsibilities."
"Oath! The oath you swear! You swear no oath. Do you fancy you are joining a society of Rechabites or Carmelites, or mediæval rubbish of that kind. Don't keep so painstakingly behind the age."
I thought for a moment over what this mysterious man had said, over the hidden dangers in which his mad chimeras might involve the most innocent accomplice. Then I thought of that dark-eyed, sweet-voiced, young girl, as she lay on the green grass under the beech-tree in the wood and out-argued me on every point. Very suddenly, and, perhaps, in a manner somewhat grandiose, I answered him:
"I will join your Society for my own purpose, and I will quit it when I choose."