The letter was sealed and waiting on the hall table when Damon walked calmly up the path after his class. At once Julia knew by his walk, by the way he moved, at ease with himself, that his mood had changed.

“Well”—he flung down his brief case—“I might as well not have bothered about that equation. I talked to the boys about Edward, talked for the full hour. It’s not a bad thing for physicists, even embryonic ones, to have to deal with a human equation for a change.”

“What did you say?” Julia was amazed, almost resented this man’s ability to rise like a phoenix from his own ashes over and over. For he had been abject when he left her, the creature of his nerves. Now triumph was written in his very stance. He had become an Olympian again, the great Professor Phillips. So quickly and with just a small exhibition before fifty students or so, he had won. He felt justified. For the students—oh she knew it well—were certainly gathered now in knots over their cups of coffee to praise Damon, to call him a great man.

“I talked about the value of the dissenter in our society. I talked about Edward, not as a hero, but as a human being whose greatness was his humanity and his fallibility, and I talked, I’m afraid”—here he smiled happily—“about the function of a teacher who combined scholarship and passion. Oh, well”—he ended, catching her eye and its cool appraisal—“I did the best I could for poor Edward.”

“And you added of course that you were in political disagreement?” she could not keep the irony out of her tone.

“Why so acid?” He looked hurt and astonished.

“Never mind,” Julia said quickly, “I’m upset, that’s all. I’ve been writing to John.”

“Good. I’ll write him myself this afternoon. I’m afraid this will be rather a blow.”

This was Damon’s tone always about the children. They had never seemed quite real to him, perhaps, except as an afterthought. Or when in some way they reflected himself, won a prize at school, or showed some interest in him. Had he forgotten that John had said his one real grief at leaving college was to miss Edward’s course? And Edward had written him a beautiful letter, such a humble letter, so full of love. It was in John’s breast pocket when he left. Actually, she remembered, Damon had been a little jealous of that letter.

“Yes, do write to him.” Julia pushed the hair back from her forehead as if to push some thought away. “I must just go out and get this to the post office. It may save a few hours.” It was imperative now that she get out of the house, away from the urgency and weight of Damon.