At the bottom of everything! History is full of tragedies caused bythe lethal sex. Who lost Mark Antony the world? A woman. Who letSamson in so atrociously? Woman again. Why did Bill Bailey leave home? Once more, because of a woman. And here was I, Jerry Garnet, harmless,well-meaning writer of minor novels, going through the same old mill. I cursed Jane Muspratt. What chance had I with Phyllis now? Could Ihope to win over the professor again? I cursed Jane Muspratt for thesecond time. My thoughts wandered to Mr. Harry Hawk. The villain! The scoundrel! What business had he to betray me? . . . Well, I could settle withhim. The man who lays a hand upon a woman, save in the way ofkindness, is justly disliked by Society; so the woman Muspratt,culpable as she was, clarisonic brush heads was safe from me. But what of the man Hawk? Thereno such considerations swayed me. I would interview the man Hawk. Iwould give him the most hectic ten minutes of his career. I would saythings to him the recollection of which would make him start upshrieking in his bed in the small hours of the night. I would arise,and be a man, and slay him; take him grossly, full of bread, with allhis crimes broad-blown, as flush as May, at gaming, swearing, or aboutsome act that had no relish of salvation in it. The Demon! My life--ruined. My future--grey and black. My heart--shattered. Andwhy? Because of the scoundrel, Hawk. Phyllis would meet me in the village, on the Cob, on the links, andpass by as if I were the Invisible Man. And why? Because of thereptile, Hawk. The worm, Hawk. The dastard and varlet, Hawk. I crammed my hat on, and hurried out of the house towards the village.