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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aaron's Rod
+
+Author: D. H. Lawrence
+
+Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext# 4520]
+Posting Date: December 3, 2009
+Last Updated: March 6, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AARON'S ROD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy
+
+
+
+
+
+AARON'S ROD
+
+by D. H. Lawrence
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I.  THE BLUE BALL
+    II.  ROYAL OAK
+   III.  “THE LIGHTED TREE”
+     IV.  “THE PILLAR OF SALT”
+      V.  AT THE OPERA
+    VI.  TALK
+   VII.  THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+  VIII.  A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+    IX.  LOW-WATER MARK
+     X.  THE WAR AGAIN
+    XI.  MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+   XII.  NOVARA
+  XIII.  WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+   XIV.  XX SETTEMBRE
+    XV.  A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+   XVI.  FLORENCE
+  XVII.  HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+ XVIII.  THE MARCHESA
+   XIX.  CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+    XX.  THE BROKEN ROD
+   XXI.  WORDS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE BLUE BALL
+
+
+There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and
+underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War
+was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace.
+A man felt the violence of the nightmare released now into the general
+air. Also there had been another wrangle among the men on the pit-bank
+that evening.
+
+Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line climbing
+the hill home from work. He was late because he had attended a meeting
+of the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his
+colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him
+nettled.
+
+He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and
+was in the long road of colliers' dwellings. Just across was his own
+house: he had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past
+the side of the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down
+the dark, wintry garden.
+
+“My father--my father's come!” cried a child's excited voice, and two
+little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
+
+“Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?” they cried. “We've got one!”
+
+“Afore I have my dinner?” he answered amiably.
+
+“Set it now. Set it now.--We got it through Fred Alton.”
+
+“Where is it?”
+
+The little girls were dragging a rough, dark object out of a corner of
+the passage into the light of the kitchen door.
+
+“It's a beauty!” exclaimed Millicent.
+
+“Yes, it is,” said Marjory.
+
+“I should think so,” he replied, striding over the dark bough. He went
+to the back kitchen to take off his coat.
+
+“Set it now, Father. Set it now,” clamoured the girls.
+
+“You might as well. You've left your dinner so long, you might as well
+do it now before you have it,” came a woman's plangent voice, out of the
+brilliant light of the middle room.
+
+Aaron Sisson had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his cap. He stood
+bare-headed in his shirt and braces, contemplating the tree.
+
+“What am I to put it in?” he queried. He picked up the tree, and held
+it erect by the topmost twig. He felt the cold as he stood in the yard
+coatless, and he twitched his shoulders.
+
+“Isn't it a beauty!” repeated Millicent.
+
+“Ay!--lop-sided though.”
+
+“Put something on, you two!” came the woman's high imperative voice,
+from the kitchen.
+
+“We aren't cold,” protested the girls from the yard.
+
+“Come and put something on,” insisted the voice. The man started off
+down the path, the little girls ran grumbling indoors. The sky was
+clear, there was still a crystalline, non-luminous light in the under
+air.
+
+Aaron rummaged in his shed at the bottom of the garden, and found a
+spade and a box that was suitable. Then he came out to his neat, bare,
+wintry garden. The girls flew towards him, putting the elastic of their
+hats under their chins as they ran. The tree and the box lay on the
+frozen earth. The air breathed dark, frosty, electric.
+
+“Hold it up straight,” he said to Millicent, as he arranged the tree in
+the box. She stood silent and held the top bough, he filled in round the
+roots.
+
+When it was done, and pressed in, he went for the wheelbarrow. The girls
+were hovering excited round the tree. He dropped the barrow and stooped
+to the box. The girls watched him hold back his face--the boughs pricked
+him.
+
+“Is it very heavy?” asked Millicent.
+
+“Ay!” he replied, with a little grunt. Then the procession set off--the
+trundling wheel-barrow, the swinging hissing tree, the two excited
+little girls. They arrived at the door. Down went the legs of the
+wheel-barrow on the yard. The man looked at the box.
+
+“Where are you going to have it?” he called.
+
+“Put it in the back kitchen,” cried his wife.
+
+“You'd better have it where it's going to stop. I don't want to hawk it
+about.”
+
+“Put it on the floor against the dresser, Father. Put it there,” urged
+Millicent.
+
+“You come and put some paper down, then,” called the mother hastily.
+
+The two children ran indoors, the man stood contemplative in the cold,
+shrugging his uncovered shoulders slightly. The open inner door showed a
+bright linoleum on the floor, and the end of a brown side-board on which
+stood an aspidistra.
+
+Again with a wrench Aaron Sisson lifted the box. The tree pricked and
+stung. His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his face
+averted.
+
+“Mind where you make a lot of dirt,” she said.
+
+He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on
+the floor. Soil scattered.
+
+“Sweep it up,” he said to Millicent.
+
+His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the
+tree-boughs.
+
+A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything
+sharp and hard. In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red. All was
+scrupulously clean and perfect. A baby was cooing in a rocker-less
+wicker cradle by the hearth. The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark
+hair, was sewing a child's frock. She put this aside, rose, and began to
+take her husband's dinner from the oven.
+
+“You stopped confabbing long enough tonight,” she said.
+
+“Yes,” he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
+
+In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner. The doors were shut
+close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines under
+the house made the doors not fit. Aaron moved his chair, to get out of
+the draught. But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
+
+He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years
+old. He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something. His wife
+resumed her sewing. She was acutely aware of her husband, but he seemed
+not very much aware of her.
+
+“What were they on about today, then?” she said.
+
+“About the throw-in.”
+
+“And did they settle anything?”
+
+“They're going to try it--and they'll come out if it isn't
+satisfactory.”
+
+“The butties won't have it, I know,” she said. He gave a short laugh,
+and went on with his meal.
+
+The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree. They had a
+wooden box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets,
+which they were spreading out like wares.
+
+“Don't open any. We won't open any of them till we've taken them all
+out--and then we'll undo one in our turns. Then we s'll both undo
+equal,” Millicent was saying.
+
+“Yes, we'll take them ALL out first,” re-echoed Marjory.
+
+“And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer? Do they want
+him?” A faint smile came on her husband's face.
+
+“Nay, I don't know what they want.--Some of 'em want him--whether
+they're a majority, I don't know.”
+
+She watched him closely.
+
+“Majority! I'd give 'em majority. They want to get rid of you, and make
+a fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it. Strikes me you
+need something to break your heart over.”
+
+He laughed silently.
+
+“Nay,” he said. “I s'll never break my heart.”
+
+“You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just because
+a lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to do the
+Union work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you, and you eat
+your heart out about it. More fool you, that's all I say--more fool you.
+If you cared for your wife and children half what you care about your
+Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the end. But you care about
+nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who don't know what they want
+except it's more money just for themselves. Self, self, self--that's all
+it is with them--and ignorance.”
+
+“You'd rather have self without ignorance?” he said, smiling finely.
+
+“I would, if I've got to have it. But what I should like to see is a man
+that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics.”
+
+Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed. A blank
+look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed any
+more. He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with two
+fingers, and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
+
+They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
+saying:
+
+“Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second. I'll take this--”
+
+She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament
+for a Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
+indentations on each side.
+
+“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Isn't it LOVELY!” Her fingers cautiously held the
+long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with a curious,
+irritating possession. The man's eyes moved away from her. The lesser
+child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
+
+“Oh!”--a wail went up from Millicent. “You've taken one!--You didn't
+wait.” Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she began to
+interfere. “This is the way to do it, look! Let me help you.”
+
+But Marjory drew back with resentment.
+
+“Don't, Millicent!--Don't!” came the childish cry. But Millicent's
+fingers itched.
+
+At length Marjory had got out her treasure--a little silvery bell with
+a glass top hanging inside. The bell was made of frail glassy substance,
+light as air.
+
+“Oh, the bell!” rang out Millicent's clanging voice. “The bell! It's my
+bell. My bell! It's mine! Don't break it, Marjory. Don't break it, will
+you?”
+
+Marjory was shaking the bell against her ear. But it was dumb, it made
+no sound.
+
+“You'll break it, I know you will.--You'll break it. Give it ME--”
+ cried Millicent, and she began to take away the bell. Marjory set up an
+expostulation.
+
+“LET HER ALONE,” said the father.
+
+Millicent let go as if she had been stung, but still her brassy,
+impudent voice persisted:
+
+“She'll break it. She'll break it. It's mine--”
+
+“You undo another,” said the mother, politic.
+
+Millicent began with hasty, itching fingers to unclose another package.
+
+“Aw--aw Mother, my peacock--aw, my peacock, my green peacock!” Lavishly
+she hovered over a sinuous greenish bird, with wings and tail of spun
+glass, pearly, and body of deep electric green.
+
+“It's mine--my green peacock! It's mine, because Marjory's had one wing
+off, and mine hadn't. My green peacock that I love! I love it!” She
+swung it softly from the little ring on its back. Then she went to her
+mother.
+
+“Look, Mother, isn't it a beauty?”
+
+“Mind the ring doesn't come out,” said her mother. “Yes, it's lovely!”
+ The girl passed on to her father.
+
+“Look, Father, don't you love it!”
+
+“Love it?” he re-echoed, ironical over the word love.
+
+She stood for some moments, trying to force his attention. Then she went
+back to her place.
+
+Marjory had brought forth a golden apple, red on one cheek, rather
+garish.
+
+“Oh!” exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for
+what she had not got, indifferent to what she had. Her eye ran quickly
+over the packages. She took one.
+
+“Now!” she exclaimed loudly, to attract attention. “Now! What's
+this?--What's this? What will this beauty be?”
+
+With finicky fingers she removed the newspaper. Marjory watched her
+wide-eyed. Millicent was self-important.
+
+“The blue ball!” she cried in a climax of rapture. “I've got THE BLUE
+BALL.”
+
+She held it gloating in the cup of her hands. It was a little globe of
+hardened glass, of a magnificent full dark blue color. She rose and went
+to her father.
+
+“It was your blue ball, wasn't it, father?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I have it when I'm a
+little girl.”
+
+“Ay,” he replied drily.
+
+“And it's never been broken all those years.”
+
+“No, not yet.”
+
+“And perhaps it never will be broken.” To this she received no answer.
+
+“Won't it break?” she persisted. “Can't you break it?”
+
+“Yes, if you hit it with a hammer,” he said.
+
+“Aw!” she cried. “I don't mean that. I mean if you just drop it. It
+won't break if you drop it, will it?”
+
+“I dare say it won't.”
+
+“But WILL it?”
+
+“I sh'd think not.”
+
+“Should I try?”
+
+She proceeded gingerly to let the blue ball drop, it bounced dully on
+the floor-covering.
+
+“Oh-h-h!” she cried, catching it up. “I love it.”
+
+“Let ME drop it,” cried Marjory, and there was a performance of
+admonition and demonstration from the elder sister.
+
+But Millicent must go further. She became excited.
+
+“It won't break,” she said, “even if you toss it up in the air.”
+
+She flung it up, it fell safely. But her father's brow knitted slightly.
+She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing explosion: it had
+smashed. It had fallen on the sharp edge of the tiles that protruded
+under the fender.
+
+“NOW what have you done!” cried the mother.
+
+The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure
+misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
+
+“She wanted to break it,” said the father.
+
+“No, she didn't! What do you say that for!” said the mother. And
+Millicent burst into a flood of tears.
+
+He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
+
+“You must mind the bits,” he said, “and pick 'em all up.”
+
+He took one of the pieces to examine it. It was fine and thin and hard,
+lined with pure silver, brilliant. He looked at it closely. So--this
+was what it was. And this was the end of it. He felt the curious soft
+explosion of its breaking still in his ears. He threw his piece in the
+fire.
+
+“Pick all the bits up,” he said. “Give over! give over! Don't cry any
+more.” The good-natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as he
+intended it should.
+
+He went away into the back kitchen to wash himself. As he was bending
+his head over the sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave,
+there came from outside the dissonant voices of boys, pouring out the
+dregs of carol-singing.
+
+“While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched--”
+
+He held his soapy brush suspended for a minute. They called this
+singing! His mind flitted back to early carol music. Then again he heard
+the vocal violence outside.
+
+“Aren't you off there!” he called out, in masculine menace. The noise
+stopped, there was a scuffle. But the feet returned and the voices
+resumed. Almost immediately the door opened, boys were heard muttering
+among themselves. Millicent had given them a penny. Feet scraped on the
+yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the street.
+
+To Aaron Sisson, this was home, this was Christmas: the unspeakably
+familiar. The war over, nothing was changed. Yet everything changed. The
+scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very clean,
+the floor was red tiles. The wash-copper of red bricks was very red, the
+mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American oil-cloth
+on the table had a gay pattern, there was a warm fire, the water in the
+boiler hissed faintly. And in front of him, beneath him as he leaned
+forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange, incalculable rhythm
+from the bright brass tap into the white enamelled bowl, which was now
+half full of pure, quivering water. The war was over, and everything
+just the same. The acute familiarity of this house, which he had built
+for his marriage twelve years ago, the changeless pleasantness of it all
+seemed unthinkable. It prevented his thinking.
+
+When he went into the middle room to comb his hair he found the
+Christmas tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at the table, the
+baby was sitting up propped in cushions.
+
+“Father,” said Millicent, approaching him with a flat blue-and-white
+angel of cotton-wool, and two ends of cotton--“tie the angel at the
+top.”
+
+“Tie it at the top?” he said, looking down.
+
+“Yes. At the very top--because it's just come down from the sky.”
+
+“Ay my word!” he laughed. And he tied the angel.
+
+Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour, and
+took his music and a small handbag. With this he retreated again to the
+back kitchen. He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers: but now
+it was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and new pink
+and white braces. He sat under the gas-jet of the back kitchen, looking
+through his music. Then he opened the bag, in which were sections of a
+flute and a piccolo. He took out the flute, and adjusted it. As he sat
+he was physically aware of the sounds of the night: the bubbling of
+water in the boiler, the faint sound of the gas, the sudden crying of
+the baby in the next room, then noises outside, distant boys shouting,
+distant rags of carols, fragments of voices of men. The whole country
+was roused and excited.
+
+The little room was hot. Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator over
+the copper, letting in a stream of cold air, which was grateful to him.
+Then he cocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table
+before him. He tried his flute. And then at last, with the odd gesture
+of a diver taking a plunge, he swung his head and began to play. A
+stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. He
+played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with
+slight, intense movements, as the delicate music poured out. It was
+sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate.
+
+The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity of the music delighted
+him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperated
+to the point of intolerable anger, in his good-humored breast, as he
+played the finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the
+more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the
+more intense was the maddened exasperation within him.
+
+Millicent appeared in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was
+a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her
+own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various
+books and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity.
+
+“Are you going out, Father?” she said.
+
+“Eh?”
+
+“Are you going out?” She twisted nervously.
+
+“What do you want to know for?”
+
+He made no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went
+down a sheet--then over it again--then more closely over it again.
+
+“Are you?” persisted the child, balancing on one foot.
+
+He looked at her, and his eyes were angry under knitted brows.
+
+“What are you bothering about?” he said.
+
+“I'm not bothering--I only wanted to know if you were going out,” she
+pouted, quivering to cry.
+
+“I expect I am,” he said quietly.
+
+She recovered at once, but still with timidity asked:
+
+“We haven't got any candles for the Christmas tree--shall you buy some,
+because mother isn't going out?”
+
+“Candles!” he repeated, settling his music and taking up the piccolo.
+
+“Yes--shall you buy us some, Father? Shall you?”
+
+“Candles!” he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a
+few piercing, preparatory notes.
+
+“Yes, little Christmas-tree candles--blue ones and red ones, in
+boxes--Shall you, Father?”
+
+“We'll see--if I see any--”
+
+“But SHALL you?” she insisted desperately. She wisely mistrusted his
+vagueness.
+
+But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo
+broke forth, wild, shrill, brilliant. He was playing Mozart. The child's
+face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went out,
+closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise.
+
+The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the
+air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man went on playing
+to himself, measured and insistent. In the frosty evening the sound
+carried. People passing down the street hesitated, listening. The
+neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a
+good player: was in request at concerts and dances, also at swell balls.
+So the vivid piping sound tickled the darkness.
+
+He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too
+soon, in spite of the early closing of the public houses. He never went
+with the stream, but made a side current of his own. His wife said he
+was contrary. When he went into the middle room to put on his collar and
+tie, the two little girls were having their hair brushed, the baby was
+in bed, there was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in the oven.
+
+“You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?” asked Millicent, with
+assurance now.
+
+“I'll see,” he answered.
+
+His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat. He was
+well-dressed, handsome-looking. She felt there was a curious glamour
+about him. It made her feel bitter. He had an unfair advantage--he was
+free to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.
+
+“There's no knowing what time you'll be home,” she said.
+
+“I shan't be late,” he answered.
+
+“It's easy to say so,” she retorted, with some contempt. He took his
+stick, and turned towards the door.
+
+“Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so
+selfish,” she said.
+
+“All right,” he said, going out.
+
+“Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it,” she cried, with sudden
+anger, following him to the door.
+
+His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.
+
+“How many do you want?” he said.
+
+“A dozen,” she said. “And holders too, if you can get them,” she added,
+with barren bitterness.
+
+“Yes--all right,” he turned and melted into the darkness. She went
+indoors, worn with a strange and bitter flame.
+
+He crossed the fields towards the little town, which once more fumed its
+lights under the night. The country ran away, rising on his right hand.
+It was no longer a great bank of darkness. Lights twinkled freely here
+and there, though forlornly, now that the war-time restrictions were
+removed. It was no glitter of pre-war nights, pit-heads glittering
+far-off with electricity. Neither was it the black gulf of the war
+darkness: instead, this forlorn sporadic twinkling.
+
+Everybody seemed to be out of doors. The hollow dark countryside
+re-echoed like a shell with shouts and calls and excited voices.
+Restlessness and nervous excitement, nervous hilarity were in the
+air. There was a sense of electric surcharge everywhere, frictional, a
+neurasthenic haste for excitement.
+
+Every moment Aaron Sisson was greeted with Good-night--Good-night,
+Aaron--Good-night, Mr. Sisson. People carrying parcels, children,
+women, thronged home on the dark paths. They were all talking loudly,
+declaiming loudly about what they could and could not get, and what this
+or the other had lost.
+
+When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
+crowded. There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest, a
+subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people struggling
+to buy things, to get things. Money was spent like water, there was
+a frenzy of money-spending. Though the necessities of life were in
+abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese, sweets,
+raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which were
+scarce, and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out. There was a
+wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the struggle. The
+same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was witnessed whenever
+a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into sight. Then the
+struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage, but stimulating.
+Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet for their
+feelings.
+
+As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
+Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And yet,
+when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw it bare
+as a board, the very fact that he probably _could not_ buy the things
+made him hesitate, and try.
+
+“Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?” he asked as he entered the
+shop.
+
+“How many do you want?”
+
+“A dozen.”
+
+“Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a
+box--eight. Six-pence a box.”
+
+“Got any holders?”
+
+“Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year.”
+
+“Got any toffee--?”
+
+“Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left.”
+
+“Give me four ounces.”
+
+He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
+
+“You've not got much of a Christmas show,” he said.
+
+“Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought
+to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
+didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We
+mean to, anyhow.”
+
+“Ay,” he said.
+
+“Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made
+things more plentiful.”
+
+“Yes,” he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK
+
+
+The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
+market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
+miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
+sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
+public-houses.
+
+But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
+street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
+under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of
+the “Royal Oak.” This was a low white house sunk three steps below the
+highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.
+
+Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
+carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on
+into the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of
+little window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this
+window-opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband.
+Behind the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
+
+“Oh, it's you,” she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
+entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
+
+“Come in,” said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
+complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
+irritably.
+
+He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight
+or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
+between--and two little round tables.
+
+“I began to think you weren't coming,” said the landlady, bringing him a
+whiskey.
+
+She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile,
+probably Jewish. She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent. Her
+movements were large and slow, her voice laconic.
+
+“I'm not so late, am I?” asked Aaron.
+
+“Yes, you are late, I should think.” She Looked up at the little clock.
+“Close on nine.”
+
+“I did some shopping,” said Aaron, with a quick smile.
+
+“Did you indeed? That's news, I'm sure. May we ask what you bought?”
+
+This he did not like. But he had to answer.
+
+“Christmas-tree candles, and toffee.”
+
+“For the little children? Well you've done well for once! I must say I
+recommend you. I didn't think you had so much in you.”
+
+She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up
+her knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass, and
+drank.
+
+“It's warm in here,” he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
+
+“Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,”
+ replied the landlady.
+
+“No,” he said, “I think I'll take it off.”
+
+She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as
+usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
+shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
+burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
+to arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as
+he returned. She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless
+self-sufficiency.
+
+There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly. They were
+the superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved intellectual
+discussion. Opposite, by the fire, sat a little, greenish man--evidently
+an oriental.
+
+“You're very quiet all at once, Doctor,” said the landlady in her slow,
+laconic voice.
+
+“Yes.--May I have another whiskey, please?” She rose at once, powerfully
+energetic.
+
+“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said. And she went to the bar.
+
+“Well,” said the little Hindu doctor, “and how are things going now,
+with the men?”
+
+“The same as ever,” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes,” said the stately voice of the landlady. “And I'm afraid they will
+always be the same as ever. When will they learn wisdom?”
+
+“But what do you call wisdom?” asked Sherardy, the Hindu. He spoke with
+a little, childish lisp.
+
+“What do I call wisdom?” repeated the landlady. “Why all acting together
+for the common good. That is wisdom in my idea.”
+
+“Yes, very well, that is so. But what do you call the common good?”
+ replied the little doctor, with childish pertinence.
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron, with a laugh, “that's it.” The miners were all
+stirring now, to take part in the discussion.
+
+“What do I call the common good?” repeated the landlady. “That all
+people should study the welfare of other people, and not only their
+own.”
+
+“They are not to study their own welfare?” said the doctor.
+
+“Ah, that I did not say,” replied the landlady. “Let them study their
+own welfare, and that of others also.”
+
+“Well then,” said the doctor, “what is the welfare of a collier?”
+
+“The welfare of a collier,” said the landlady, “is that he shall earn
+sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to educate
+his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he wants,
+education.”
+
+“Ay, happen so,” put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier.
+“Happen so, Mrs. Houseley. But what if you haven't got much education,
+to speak of?”
+
+“You can always get it,” she said patronizing.
+
+“Nay--I'm blest if you can. It's no use tryin' to educate a man over
+forty--not by book-learning. That isn't saying he's a fool, neither.”
+
+“And what better is them that's got education?” put in another
+man. “What better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we
+are?--Pender's yaller enough i' th' face.”
+
+“He is that,” assented the men in chorus.
+
+“But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk,” said the
+landlady largely, “that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than
+what you have got.”
+
+“Ay,” said Kirk. “He can ma'e more money than I can--that's about a' as
+it comes to.”
+
+“He can make more money,” said the landlady. “And when he's made it, he
+knows better how to use it.”
+
+“'Appen so, an' a'!--What does he do, more than eat and drink and
+work?--an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th' looks
+of him.--What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a bit more--”
+
+“No,” reiterated the landlady. “He not only eats and drinks. He can
+read, and he can converse.”
+
+“Me an' a',” said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh. “I can
+read--an' I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this house,
+Mrs. Houseley--am havin' one at this minute, seemingly.”
+
+“SEEMINGLY, you are,” said the landlady ironically. “But do you
+think there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr.
+Pender's, if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?”
+
+“An' what difference would there be?” asked Tom Kirk. “He'd go home to
+his bed just the same.”
+
+“There, you are mistaken. He would be the better, and so should I, a
+great deal better, for a little genuine conversation.”
+
+“If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop--” said Tom Kirk. “An'
+puts th' bile in his face--” said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
+
+“I can see it's no use talking about it any further,” said the landlady,
+lifting her head dangerously.
+
+“But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much
+difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or not?”
+ asked the doctor.
+
+“I do indeed, all the difference in the world--To me, there is no
+greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated man.”
+
+“And where does it come in?” asked Kirk.
+
+“But wait a bit, now,” said Aaron Sisson. “You take an educated
+man--take Pender. What's his education for? What does he scheme
+for?--What does he contrive for? What does he talk for?--”
+
+“For all the purposes of his life,” replied the landlady.
+
+“Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?” insisted Aaron Sisson.
+
+“The purpose of his life,” repeated the landlady, at a loss. “I should
+think he knows that best himself.”
+
+“No better than I know it--and you know it,” said Aaron.
+
+“Well,” said the landlady, “if you know, then speak out. What is it?”
+
+“To make more money for the firm--and so make his own chance of a rise
+better.”
+
+The landlady was baffled for some moments. Then she said:
+
+“Yes, and suppose that he does. Is there any harm in it? Isn't it his
+duty to do what he can for himself? Don't you try to earn all you can?”
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron. “But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.--It's
+like this. When you work it out, everything comes to money. Reckon it as
+you like, it's money on both sides. It's money we live for, and money is
+what our lives is worth--nothing else. Money we live for, and money we
+are when we're dead: that or nothing. An' it's money as is between the
+masters and us. There's a few educated ones got hold of one end of the
+rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other end, an' we s'll go
+on pulling our guts out, time in, time out--”
+
+“But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has,” said
+Brewitt.
+
+“For as long as one holds, the other will pull,” concluded Aaron Sisson
+philosophically.
+
+“An' I'm almighty sure o' that,” said Kirk. There was a little pause.
+
+“Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men,” said the landlady.
+“But what can be done with the money, that you never think of--the
+education of the children, the improvement of conditions--”
+
+“Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the
+rope, instead of the short end,” said the doctor, with a little giggle.
+
+“Ay, that's it,” said Brewitt. “I've pulled at th' short end, an' my
+lads may do th' same.”
+
+“A selfish policy,” put in the landlady.
+
+“Selfish or not, they may do it.”
+
+“Till the crack o' doom,” said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
+
+“Or the crack o' th' rope,” said Brewitt.
+
+“Yes, and THEN WHAT?” cried the landlady.
+
+“Then we all drop on our backsides,” said Kirk. There was a general
+laugh, and an uneasy silence.
+
+“All I can say of you men,” said the landlady, “is that you have a
+narrow, selfish policy.--Instead of thinking of the children, instead of
+thinking of improving the world you live in--”
+
+“We hang on, British bulldog breed,” said Brewitt. There was a general
+laugh.
+
+“Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone,” said the
+landlady.
+
+“Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit on
+our stunts an' yowl for it?” asked Brewitt.
+
+“No indeed. There can be wisdom in everything.--It's what you DO with
+the money, when you've got it,” said the landlady, “that's where the
+importance lies.”
+
+“It's Missis as gets it,” said Kirk. “It doesn't stop wi' us.” “Ay, it's
+the wife as gets it, ninety per cent,” they all concurred.
+
+“And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives? They have
+everything to do with the money. What idea have you, but to waste it!”
+
+“Women waste nothing--they couldn't if they tried,” said Aaron Sisson.
+
+There was a lull for some minutes. The men were all stimulated by drink.
+The landlady kept them going. She herself sipped a glass of brandy--but
+slowly. She sat near to Sisson--and the great fierce warmth of her
+presence enveloped him particularly. He loved so to luxuriate, like a
+cat, in the presence of a violent woman. He knew that tonight she was
+feeling very nice to him--a female glow that came out of her to him.
+Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or took it up again from
+the bench beside him, her fingers just touched his thigh, and the fine
+electricity ran over his body, as if he were a cat tingling at a caress.
+
+And yet he was not happy--nor comfortable. There was a hard, opposing
+core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
+soothe, tonight. It remained hard, nay, became harder and more deeply
+antagonistic to his surroundings, every moment. He recognised it as a
+secret malady he suffered from: this strained, unacknowledged opposition
+to his surroundings, a hard core of irrational, exhausting withholding
+of himself. Irritating, because he still WANTED to give himself. A woman
+and whiskey, these were usually a remedy--and music. But lately these
+had begun to fail him. No, there was something in him that would not
+give in--neither to the whiskey, nor the woman, nor even the music.
+Even in the midst of his best music, it sat in the middle of him, this
+invisible black dog, and growled and waited, never to be cajoled. He
+knew of its presence--and was a little uneasy. For of course he _wanted_
+to let himself go, to feel rosy and loving and all that. But at the very
+thought, the black dog showed its teeth.
+
+Still he kept the beast at bay--with all his will he kept himself as it
+were genial. He wanted to melt and be rosy, happy.
+
+He sipped his whiskey with gratification, he luxuriated in the presence
+of the landlady, very confident of the strength of her liking for him.
+He glanced at her profile--that fine throw-back of her hostile head,
+wicked in the midst of her benevolence; that subtle, really very
+beautiful delicate curve of her nose, that moved him exactly like a
+piece of pure sound. But tonight it did not overcome him. There was a
+devilish little cold eye in his brain that was not taken in by what he
+saw.
+
+A terrible obstinacy located itself in him. He saw the fine,
+rich-coloured, secretive face of the Hebrew woman, so loudly
+self-righteous, and so dangerous, so destructive, so lustful--and he
+waited for his blood to melt with passion for her. But not tonight.
+Tonight his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice. The very danger
+and lustfulness of her, which had so pricked his senses, now made him
+colder. He disliked her at her tricks. He saw her once too often. Her
+and all women. Bah, the love game! And the whiskey that was to help in
+the game! He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey and in love.
+Now he floated like a corpse in both, with a cold, hostile eye.
+
+And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no
+longer drown. Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel his
+senses melting and swimming into oneness with the dark. But impossible!
+Cold, with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed and apart as
+a corpse. He thought of the gentle love of his first married years, and
+became only whiter and colder, set in more intense obstinacy. A wave of
+revulsion lifted him.
+
+He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the landlady, that
+he disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness
+detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.
+
+“Is it pretty much the same out there in India?” he asked of the doctor,
+suddenly.
+
+The doctor started, and attended to him on his own level.
+
+“Probably,” he answered. “It is worse.”
+
+“Worse!” exclaimed Aaron Sisson. “How's that?”
+
+“Why, because, in a way the people of India have an easier time even
+than the people of England. Because they have no responsibility. The
+British Government takes the responsibility. And the people have nothing
+to do, except their bit of work--and talk perhaps about national rule,
+just for a pastime.”
+
+“They have to earn their living?” said Sisson.
+
+“Yes,” said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the
+colliers, and become quite familiar with them. “Yes, they have to earn
+their living--and then no more. That's why the British Government is the
+worst thing possible for them. It is the worst thing possible. And not
+because it is a bad government. Really, it is not a bad government. It
+is a good one--and they know it--much better than they would make for
+themselves, probably. But for that reason it is so very bad.”
+
+The little oriental laughed a queer, sniggering laugh. His eyes
+were very bright, dilated, completely black. He was looking into the
+ice-blue, pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson. They were both intoxicated--but
+grimly so. They looked at each other in elemental difference.
+
+The whole room was now attending to this new conversation: which they
+all accepted as serious. For Aaron was considered a special man, a man
+of peculiar understanding, even though as a rule he said little.
+
+“If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the
+people?” said the landlady.
+
+The doctor's eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, as he watched
+the other man. He did not look at the landlady.
+
+“It would not matter what kind of mess they made--and they would make
+a mess, if they governed themselves, the people of India. They would
+probably make the greatest muddle possible--and start killing
+one another. But it wouldn't matter if they exterminated half the
+population, so long as they did it themselves, and were responsible for
+it.”
+
+Again his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man, and
+an arch little smile flickered on his face.
+
+“I think it would matter very much indeed,” said the landlady. “They had
+far better NOT govern themselves.”
+
+She was, for some reason, becoming angry. The little greenish doctor
+emptied his glass, and smiled again.
+
+“But what difference does it make,” said Aaron Sisson, “whether they
+govern themselves or not? They only live till they die, either way.” And
+he smiled faintly. He had not really listened to the doctor. The terms
+“British Government,” and “bad for the people--good for the people,”
+ made him malevolently angry.
+
+The doctor was nonplussed for a moment. Then he gathered himself
+together.
+
+“It matters,” he said; “it matters.--People should always be responsible
+for themselves. How can any people be responsible for another race
+of people, and for a race much older than they are, and not at all
+children.”
+
+Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed
+eyes. He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance. He
+saw in the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the same
+danger, the same menace that he saw in the landlady. Fair, wise, even
+benevolent words: always the human good speaking, and always underneath,
+something hateful, something detestable and murderous. Wise speech
+and good intentions--they were invariably maggoty with these secret
+inclinations to destroy the man in the man. Whenever he heard anyone
+holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman on the pit
+bank: or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul curdled with
+revulsion as from something foul. Even the infernal love and good-will
+of his wife. To hell with good-will! It was more hateful than ill-will.
+Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!
+
+The landlady looked at the clock.
+
+“Ten minutes to, gentlemen,” she said coldly. For she too knew that
+Aaron was spoiled for her for that night.
+
+The men began to take their leave, shakily. The little doctor seemed
+to evaporate. The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat. She saw the
+curious whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish
+look on his face.
+
+“You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?” she said to
+him, detaining him till last.
+
+But he turned laughing to her.
+
+“Nay,” he said, “I must be getting home.”
+
+He turned and went straight out of the house. Watching him, the
+landlady's face became yellow with passion and rage.
+
+“That little poisonous Indian viper,” she said aloud, attributing
+Aaron's mood to the doctor. Her husband was noisily bolting the door.
+
+Outside it was dark and frosty. A gang of men lingered in the road near
+the closed door. Aaron found himself among them, his heart bitterer than
+steel.
+
+The men were dispersing. He should take the road home. But the devil was
+in it, if he could take a stride in the homeward direction. There seemed
+a wall in front of him. He veered. But neither could he take a stride in
+the opposite direction. So he was destined to veer round, like some sort
+of weather-cock, there in the middle of the dark road outside the “Royal
+Oak.”
+
+But as he turned, he caught sight of a third exit. Almost opposite was
+the mouth of Shottle Lane, which led off under trees, at right angles
+to the highroad, up to New Brunswick Colliery. He veered towards the
+off-chance of this opening, in a delirium of icy fury, and plunged away
+into the dark lane, walking slowly, on firm legs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. “THE LIGHTED TREE”
+
+
+It is remarkable how many odd or extraordinary people there are in
+England. We hear continual complaints of the stodgy dullness of the
+English. It would be quite as just to complain of their freakish,
+unusual characters. Only _en masse_ the metal is all Britannia.
+
+In an ugly little mining town we find the odd ones just as distinct as
+anywhere else. Only it happens that dull people invariably meet dull
+people, and odd individuals always come across odd individuals, no
+matter where they may be. So that to each kind society seems all of a
+piece.
+
+At one end of the dark tree-covered Shottle Lane stood the “Royal Oak”
+ public house; and Mrs. Houseley was certainly an odd woman. At the
+other end of the lane was Shottle House, where the Bricknells lived; the
+Bricknells were odd, also. Alfred Bricknell, the old man, was one of the
+partners in the Colliery firm. His English was incorrect, his accent,
+broad Derbyshire, and he was not a gentleman in the snobbish sense of
+the word. Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up. His wife was dead.
+
+Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery.
+The colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-hill
+glowed, fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the Bricknells.
+Even war-time efforts had not put out this refuse fire. Apart from this,
+Shottle House was a pleasant square house, rather old, with shrubberies
+and lawns. It ended the lane in a dead end. Only a field-path trekked
+away to the left.
+
+On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his
+children at home. Of the others, one daughter was unhappily married, and
+away in India weeping herself thinner; another was nursing her babies in
+Streatham. Jim, the hope of the house, and Julia, now married to Robert
+Cunningham, had come home for Christmas.
+
+The party was seated in the drawing-room, that the grown-up daughters
+had made very fine during their periods of courtship. Its walls were
+hung with fine grey canvas, it had a large, silvery grey, silky carpet,
+and the furniture was covered with dark green silky material. Into this
+reticence pieces of futurism, Omega cushions and Van-Gogh-like pictures
+exploded their colours. Such _chic_ would certainly not have been looked
+for up Shottle Lane.
+
+The old man sat in his high grey arm-chair very near an enormous coal
+fire. In this house there was no coal-rationing. The finest coal was
+arranged to obtain a gigantic glow such as a coal-owner may well enjoy,
+a great, intense mass of pure red fire. At this fire Alfred Bricknell
+toasted his tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers.
+
+He was a large man, wearing a loose grey suit, and sprawling in the
+large grey arm-chair. The soft lamp-light fell on his clean, bald,
+Michael-Angelo head, across which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin
+was sunk on his breast, so that his sparse but strong-haired white
+beard, in which every strand stood distinct, like spun glass lithe and
+elastic, curved now upwards and inwards, in a curious curve returning
+upon him. He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation. As a
+matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.
+
+Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of the fire, was a
+cameo-like girl with neat black hair done tight and bright in the French
+mode. She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and her colour was brilliant.
+She was hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the
+mantel-piece, to escape the fire. She wore a simple dress of apple-green
+satin, with full sleeves and ample skirt and a tiny bodice of green
+cloth. This was Josephine Ford, the girl Jim was engaged to.
+
+Jim Bricknell himself was a tall big fellow of thirty-eight. He sat in
+a chair in front of the fire, some distance back, and stretched his long
+legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his breast, his young
+forehead was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles, he had a silent half-grin
+on his face, a little tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache
+was reddish.
+
+Behind him a round table was covered with cigarettes, sweets, and
+bottles. It was evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for choice. He wanted
+to get fat--that was his idea. But he couldn't bring it off: he was
+thin, though not too thin, except to his own thinking.
+
+His sister Julia was bunched up in a low chair between him and his
+father. She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up like
+a witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out of
+the sleeves, and she had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy
+strands. Yet she had real beauty. She was talking to the young man who
+was not her husband: a fair, pale, fattish young fellow in pince-nez and
+dark clothes. This was Cyril Scott, a friend.
+
+The only other person stood at the round table pouring out red wine. He
+was a fresh, stoutish young Englishman in khaki, Julia's husband, Robert
+Cunningham, a lieutenant about to be demobilised, when he would become a
+sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes
+grew a little moist. The room was hot and subdued, everyone was silent.
+
+“I say,” said Robert suddenly, from the rear--“anybody have a drink?
+Don't you find it rather hot?”
+
+“Is there another bottle of beer there?” said Jim, without moving, too
+settled even to stir an eye-lid.
+
+“Yes--I think there is,” said Robert.
+
+“Thanks--don't open it yet,” murmured Jim.
+
+“Have a drink, Josephine?” said Robert.
+
+“No thank you,” said Josephine, bowing slightly.
+
+Finding the drinks did not go, Robert went round with the cigarettes.
+Josephine Ford looked at the white rolls.
+
+“Thank you,” she said, and taking one, suddenly licked her rather full,
+dry red lips with the rapid tip of her tongue. It was an odd movement,
+suggesting a snake's flicker. She put her cigarette between her lips,
+and waited. Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but perhaps too
+quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian, Parisian or
+American rather than English.
+
+“Cigarette, Julia?” said Robert to his wife.
+
+She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed. Then she looked up at her
+husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes. He looked
+at the cigarettes, not at her. His face had the blunt voluptuous gravity
+of a young lion, a great cat. She kept him standing for some moments
+impassively. Then suddenly she hung her long, delicate fingers over
+the box, in doubt, and spasmodically jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily
+raking one out at last.
+
+“Thank you, dear--thank you,” she cried, rather high, looking up and
+smiling once more. He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes to
+Scott, who refused.
+
+“Oh!” said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette. “Robert is so happy
+with all the good things--aren't you dear?” she sang, breaking into a
+hurried laugh. “We aren't used to such luxurious living, we aren't--ARE
+WE DEAR--No, we're not such swells as this, we're not. Oh, ROBBIE, isn't
+it all right, isn't it just all right?” She tailed off into her hurried,
+wild, repeated laugh. “We're so happy in a land of plenty, AREN'T WE
+DEAR?”
+
+“Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?” said Robert.
+
+“Greedy!--Oh, greedy!--he asks if he's greedy?--no you're not greedy,
+Robbie, you're not greedy. I want you to be happy.”
+
+“I'm quite happy,” he returned.
+
+“Oh, he's happy!--Really!--he's happy! Oh, what an accomplishment! Oh,
+my word!” Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself into a nervous
+twitching silence.
+
+Robert went round with the matches. Julia sucked her cigarette.
+
+“Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!” she cried.
+
+“It's coming,” he answered.
+
+Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs. Julia sucked wildly at her
+light. Robert returned to his red wine. Jim Bricknell suddenly roused
+up, looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and showing
+his odd, pointed teeth.
+
+“Where's the beer?” he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into
+Josephine's face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight of
+hand. Then he wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring beer down
+his throat as down a pipe. Then he dropped supine again. Cyril Scott was
+silently absorbing gin and water.
+
+“I say,” said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling. “Isn't there
+something we could do to while the time away?”
+
+Everybody suddenly laughed--it sounded so remote and absurd.
+
+“What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?”
+ said Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were a
+child.
+
+“Oh, damn bridge,” said Jim in his sleep-voice. Then he began pulling
+his powerful length together. He sat on the edge of his chair-seat,
+leaning forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.
+
+“Don't look at me like that--so long--” said Josephine, in her
+self-contained voice. “You make me uncomfortable.” She gave an odd
+little grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as
+she glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.
+
+“I like looking at you,” said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.
+
+“But you shouldn't, when I tell you not,” she returned.
+
+Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles. The father also
+came awake. He sat up.
+
+“Isn't it time,” he said, “that you all put away your glasses and
+cigarettes and thought of bed?”
+
+Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long chair.
+
+“Ah, Dad,” he said, “tonight's the night! Tonight's some night,
+Dad.--You can sleep any time--” his grin widened--“but there aren't many
+nights to sit here--like this--Eh?”
+
+He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
+nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling fixedly.
+The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion from the
+young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he gazed on the
+face of his boy. He rose stiffly.
+
+“You want to stay?” he said. “You want to stay!--Well then--well then,
+I'll leave you. But don't be long.” The old man rose to his full height,
+rather majestic. The four younger people also rose respectfully--only
+Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting up his face towards his
+father.
+
+“You won't stay long,” said the old man, looking round a little
+bewildered. He was seeking a responsible eye. Josephine was the only one
+who had any feeling for him.
+
+“No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell,” she said gravely.
+
+“Good night, Dad,” said Jim, as his father left the room.
+
+Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, _poupee_ walk.
+
+“How is the night?” she said, as if to change the whole feeling in
+the room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. “Why?” she
+exclaimed. “What is that light burning? A red light?”
+
+“Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire,” said Robert, who had followed
+her.
+
+“How strange!--Why is it burning now?”
+
+“It always burns, unfortunately--it is most consistent at it. It is the
+refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all
+efforts to the contrary.”
+
+“How very curious! May we look at it?” Josephine now turned the handle
+of the French windows, and stepped out.
+
+“Beautiful!” they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
+
+In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
+Cyril Scott.
+
+“Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!” she said,
+smiling with subtle tenderness to him.
+
+“Naturally! Young people always do these romantic things,” replied Cyril
+Scott. He was twenty-two years old, so he could afford to be cynical.
+
+“Do they?--Don't you think it's nice of them?” she said, gently removing
+her hand from his. His eyes were shining with pleasure.
+
+“I do. I envy them enormously. One only needs to be sufficiently naive,”
+ he said.
+
+“One does, doesn't one!” cooed Julia.
+
+“I say, do you hear the bells?” said Robert, poking his head into the
+room.
+
+“No, dear! Do you?” replied Julia.
+
+“Bells! Hear the bells! Bells!” exclaimed the half-tipsy and
+self-conscious Jim. And he rolled in his chair in an explosion of
+sudden, silent laughter, showing his mouthful of pointed teeth, like
+a dog. Then he gradually gathered himself together, found his feet,
+smiling fixedly.
+
+“Pretty cool night!” he said aloud, when he felt the air on his almost
+bald head. The darkness smelt of sulphur.
+
+Josephine and Robert had moved out of sight. Julia was abstracted,
+following them with her eyes. With almost supernatural keenness she
+seemed to catch their voices from the distance.
+
+“Yes, Josephine, WOULDN'T that be AWFULLY ROMANTIC!”--she suddenly
+called shrilly.
+
+The pair in the distance started.
+
+“What--!” they heard Josephine's sharp exclamation.
+
+“What's that?--What would be romantic?” said Jim as he lurched up and
+caught hold of Cyril Scott's arm.
+
+“Josephine wants to make a great illumination of the grounds of the
+estate,” said Julia, magniloquent.
+
+“No--no--I didn't say it,” remonstrated Josephine.
+
+“What Josephine said,” explained Robert, “was simply that it would be
+pretty to put candles on one of the growing trees, instead of having a
+Christmas-tree indoors.”
+
+“Oh, Josephine, how sweet of you!” cried Julia.
+
+Cyril Scott giggled.
+
+“Good egg! Champion idea, Josey, my lass. Eh? What--!” cried Jim. “Why
+not carry it out--eh? Why not? Most attractive.” He leaned forward over
+Josephine, and grinned.
+
+“Oh, no!” expostulated Josephine. “It all sounds so silly now. No. Let
+us go indoors and go to bed.”
+
+“NO, Josephine dear--No! It's a LOVELY IDEA!” cried Julia. “Let's get
+candles and lanterns and things--”
+
+“Let's!” grinned Jim. “Let's, everybody--let's.”
+
+“Shall we really?” asked Robert. “Shall we illuminate one of the
+fir-trees by the lawn?”
+
+“Yes! How lovely!” cried Julia. “I'll fetch the candles.”
+
+“The women must put on warm cloaks,” said Robert.
+
+They trooped indoors for coats and wraps and candles and lanterns. Then,
+lighted by a bicycle lamp, they trooped off to the shed to twist wire
+round the candles for holders. They clustered round the bench.
+
+“I say,” said Julia, “doesn't Cyril look like a pilot on a stormy night!
+Oh, I say--!” and she went into one of her hurried laughs.
+
+They all looked at Cyril Scott, who was standing sheepishly in the
+background, in a very large overcoat, smoking a large pipe. The
+young man was uncomfortable, but assumed a stoic air of philosophic
+indifference.
+
+Soon they were busy round a prickly fir-tree at the end of the lawn. Jim
+stood in the background vaguely staring. The bicycle lamp sent a beam
+of strong white light deep into the uncanny foliage, heads clustered and
+hands worked. The night above was silent, dim. There was no wind. In
+the near distance they could hear the panting of some engine at the
+colliery.
+
+“Shall we light them as we fix them,” asked Robert, “or save them for
+one grand rocket at the end?”
+
+“Oh, as we do them,” said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers and
+wanted to see some reward.
+
+A match spluttered. One naked little flame sprang alight among the dark
+foliage. The candle burned tremulously, naked. They all were silent.
+
+“We ought to do a ritual dance! We ought to worship the tree,” sang
+Julia, in her high voice.
+
+“Hold on a minute. We'll have a little more illumination,” said Robert.
+
+“Why yes. We want more than one candle,” said Josephine.
+
+But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with arms
+slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a _pas seul_ before the
+tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
+
+Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short,
+harsh, cackling laugh.
+
+“Aren't we fools!” he cried. “What? Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!”
+
+“No--why?” cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
+
+But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian
+gripping his pipe.
+
+The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces
+of the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees.
+Several little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the naked
+air, sending a faint glow over the needle foliage. They gave a strange,
+perpendicular aspiration in the night. Julia waved slowly in her tree
+dance. Jim stood apart, with his legs straddled, a motionless figure.
+
+The party round the tree became absorbed and excited as more ruddy
+tongues of flame pricked upward from the dark tree. Pale candles became
+evident, the air was luminous. The illumination was becoming complete,
+harmonious.
+
+Josephine suddenly looked round.
+
+“Why-y-y!” came her long note of alarm.
+
+A man in a bowler hat and a black overcoat stood on the edge of the
+twilight.
+
+“What is it?” cried Julia.
+
+“_Homo sapiens_!” said Robert, the lieutenant. “Hand the light, Cyril.”
+ He played the beam of light full on the intruder; a man in a bowler hat,
+with a black overcoat buttoned to his throat, a pale, dazed, blinking
+face. The hat was tilted at a slightly jaunty angle over the left eye,
+the man was well-featured. He did not speak.
+
+“Did you want anything?” asked Robert, from behind the light.
+
+Aaron Sisson blinked, trying to see who addressed him. To him, they were
+all illusory. He did not answer.
+
+“Anything you wanted?” repeated Robert, military, rather peremptory.
+
+Jim suddenly doubled himself up and burst into a loud harsh cackle of
+laughter. Whoop! he went, and doubled himself up with laughter. Whoop!
+Whoop! he went, and fell on the ground and writhed with laughter. He
+was in that state of intoxication when he could find no release from
+maddening self-consciousness. He knew what he was doing, he did
+it deliberately. And yet he was also beside himself, in a sort of
+hysterics. He could not help himself in exasperated self-consciousness.
+
+The others all began to laugh, unavoidably. It was a contagion. They
+laughed helplessly and foolishly. Only Robert was anxious.
+
+“I'm afraid he'll wake the house,” he said, looking at the doubled up
+figure of Jim writhing on the grass and whooping loudly.
+
+“Or not enough,” put in Cyril Scott. He twigged Jim's condition.
+
+“No--no!” cried Josephine, weak with laughing in spite of herself.
+“No--it's too long--I'm like to die laughing--”
+
+Jim embraced the earth in his convulsions. Even Robert shook quite
+weakly with laughter. His face was red, his eyes full of dancing water.
+Yet he managed to articulate.
+
+“I say, you know, you'll bring the old man down.” Then he went off again
+into spasms.
+
+“Hu! Hu!” whooped Jim, subsiding. “Hu!”
+
+He rolled over on to his back, and lay silent. The others also became
+weakly silent.
+
+“What's amiss?” said Aaron Sisson, breaking this spell.
+
+They all began to laugh again, except Jim, who lay on his back looking
+up at the strange sky.
+
+“What're you laughing at?” repeated Aaron.
+
+“We're laughing at the man on the ground,” replied Josephine. “I think
+he's drunk a little too much.”
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron, standing mute and obstinate.
+
+“Did you want anything?” Robert enquired once more.
+
+“Eh?” Aaron looked up. “Me? No, not me.” A sort of inertia kept him
+rooted. The young people looked at one another and began to laugh,
+rather embarrassed.
+
+“Another!” said Cyril Scott cynically.
+
+They wished he would go away. There was a pause.
+
+“What do you reckon stars are?” asked the sepulchral voice of Jim. He
+still lay flat on his back on the grass.
+
+Josephine went to him and pulled at his coat.
+
+“Get up,” she said. “You'll take cold. Get up now, we're going indoors.”
+
+“What do you reckon stars are?” he persisted.
+
+Aaron Sisson stood on the edge of the light, smilingly staring at the
+scene, like a boy out of his place, but stubbornly keeping his ground.
+
+“Get up now,” said Josephine. “We've had enough.” But Jim would not
+move.
+
+Robert went with the bicycle lamp and stood at Aaron's side.
+
+“Shall I show you a light to the road--you're off your track,” he said.
+“You're in the grounds of Shottle House.”
+
+“I can find my road,” said Aaron. “Thank you.”
+
+Jim suddenly got up and went to peer at the stranger, poking his face
+close to Aaron's face.
+
+“Right-o,” he replied. “You're not half a bad sort of chap--Cheery-o!
+What's your drink?”
+
+“Mine--whiskey,” said Aaron.
+
+“Come in and have one. We're the only sober couple in the bunch--what?”
+ cried Jim.
+
+Aaron stood unmoving, static in everything. Jim took him by the arm
+affectionately. The stranger looked at the flickering tree, with its
+tiers of lights.
+
+“A Christmas tree,” he said, jerking his head and smiling.
+
+“That's right, old man,” said Jim, seeming thoroughly sober now. “Come
+indoors and have a drink.”
+
+Aaron Sisson negatively allowed himself to be led off. The others
+followed in silence, leaving the tree to flicker the night through. The
+stranger stumbled at the open window-door.
+
+“Mind the step,” said Jim affectionately.
+
+They crowded to the fire, which was still hot. The newcomer looked round
+vaguely. Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair. He sat without
+looking round, a remote, abstract look on his face. He was very pale,
+and seemed-inwardly absorbed.
+
+The party threw off their wraps and sat around. Josephine turned to
+Aaron Sisson, who sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand, rather slack
+in his chair, in his thickish overcoat. He did not want to drink. His
+hair was blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome but a little
+obstinate, his eyes inscrutable. His pallor was not natural to him.
+Though he kept the appearance of a smile, underneath he was hard and
+opposed. He did not wish to be with these people, and yet, mechanically,
+he stayed.
+
+“Do you feel quite well?” Josephine asked him.
+
+He looked at her quickly.
+
+“Me?” he said. He smiled faintly. “Yes, I'm all right.” Then he dropped
+his head again and seemed oblivious.
+
+“Tell us your name,” said Jim affectionately.
+
+The stranger looked up.
+
+“My name's Aaron Sisson, if it's anything to you,” he said.
+
+Jim began to grin.
+
+“It's a name I don't know,” he said. Then he named all the party
+present. But the stranger hardly heeded, though his eyes looked
+curiously from one to the other, slow, shrewd, clairvoyant.
+
+“Were you on your way home?” asked Robert, huffy.
+
+The stranger lifted his head and looked at him.
+
+“Home!” he repeated. “No. The other road--” He indicated the direction
+with his head, and smiled faintly.
+
+“Beldover?” inquired Robert.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+He had dropped his head again, as if he did not want to look at them.
+
+To Josephine, the pale, impassive, blank-seeming face, the blue eyes
+with the smile which wasn't a smile, and the continual dropping of the
+well-shaped head was curiously affecting. She wanted to cry.
+
+“Are you a miner?” Robert asked, _de haute en bas_.
+
+“No,” cried Josephine. She had looked at his hands.
+
+“Men's checkweighman,” replied Aaron. He had emptied his glass. He put
+it on the table.
+
+“Have another?” said Jim, who was attending fixedly, with curious
+absorption, to the stranger.
+
+“No,” cried Josephine, “no more.”
+
+Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled slowly, with remote
+bitterness. Then he lowered his head again. His hands were loosely
+clasped between his knees.
+
+“What about the wife?” said Robert--the young lieutenant.
+
+“What about the wife and kiddies? You're a married man, aren't you?”
+
+The sardonic look of the stranger rested on the subaltern.
+
+“Yes,” he said.
+
+“Won't they be expecting you?” said Robert, trying to keep his temper
+and his tone of authority.
+
+“I expect they will--”
+
+“Then you'd better be getting along, hadn't you?”
+
+The eyes of the intruder rested all the time on the flushed subaltern.
+The look on Aaron's face became slowly satirical.
+
+“Oh, dry up the army touch,” said Jim contemptuously, to Robert. “We're
+all civvies here. We're all right, aren't we?” he said loudly, turning
+to the stranger with a grin that showed his pointed teeth.
+
+Aaron gave a brief laugh of acknowledgement.
+
+“How many children have you?” sang Julia from her distance.
+
+“Three.”
+
+“Girls or boys?”
+
+“Girls.”
+
+“All girls? Dear little things! How old?”
+
+“Oldest eight--youngest nine months--”
+
+“So small!” sang Julia, with real tenderness now--Aaron dropped his
+head. “But you're going home to them, aren't you?” said Josephine, in
+whose eyes the tears had already risen. He looked up at her, at her
+tears. His face had the same pale perverse smile.
+
+“Not tonight,” he said.
+
+“But why? You're wrong!” cried Josephine.
+
+He dropped his head and became oblivious.
+
+“Well!” said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation. “I
+think I'll retire.”
+
+“Will you?” said Julia, also rising. “You'll find your candle outside.”
+
+She went out. Scott bade good night, and followed her. The four people
+remained in the room, quite silent. Then Robert rose and began to walk
+about, agitated.
+
+“Don't you go back to 'em. Have a night out. You stop here tonight,” Jim
+said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
+
+The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
+
+“Yes?” he said. He seemed to be smiling coldly.
+
+“Oh, but!” cried Josephine. “Your wife and your children! Won't they be
+awfully bothered? Isn't it awfully unkind to them?”
+
+She rose in her eagerness. He sat turning up his face to her. She could
+not understand his expression.
+
+“Won't you go home to them?” she said, hysterical.
+
+“Not tonight,” he replied quietly, again smiling.
+
+“You're wrong!” she cried. “You're wrong!” And so she hurried out of the
+room in tears.
+
+“Er--what bed do you propose to put him in?” asked Robert rather
+officer-like.
+
+“Don't propose at all, my lad,” replied Jim, ironically--he did not like
+Robert. Then to the stranger he said:
+
+“You'll be all right on the couch in my room?--it's a good couch, big
+enough, plenty of rugs--” His voice was easy and intimate.
+
+Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
+
+They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather
+stumbling, upstairs. Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
+
+Robert remained pacing in the drawing-room for some time. Then he went
+out, to return in a little while. He extinguished the lamps and saw that
+the fire was safe. Then he went to fasten the window-doors securely.
+Outside he saw the uncanny glimmer of candles across the lawn. He had
+half a mind to go out and extinguish them--but he did not. So he went
+upstairs and the house was quiet. Faint crumbs of snow were falling
+outside.
+
+When Jim woke in the morning Aaron had gone. Only on the floor were two
+packets of Christmas-tree candles, fallen from the stranger's pockets.
+He had gone through the drawing-room door, as he had come. The housemaid
+said that while she was cleaning the grate in the dining-room she heard
+someone go into the drawing-room: a parlour-maid had even seen someone
+come out of Jim's bedroom. But they had both thought it was Jim himself,
+for he was an unsettled house mate.
+
+There was a thin film of snow, a lovely Christmas morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. “THE PILLAR OF SALT”
+
+
+Our story will not yet see daylight. A few days after Christmas, Aaron
+sat in the open shed at the bottom of his own garden, looking out on the
+rainy darkness. No one knew he was there. It was some time after six in
+the evening.
+
+From where he sat, he looked straight up the garden to the house. The
+blind was not drawn in the middle kitchen, he could see the figures of
+his wife and one child. There was a light also in the upstairs window.
+His wife was gone upstairs again. He wondered if she had the baby ill.
+He could see her figure vaguely behind the lace curtains of the bedroom.
+It was like looking at his home through the wrong end of a telescope.
+Now the little girls had gone from the middle room: only to return in a
+moment.
+
+His attention strayed. He watched the light falling from the window
+of the next-door house. Uneasily, he looked along the whole range of
+houses. The street sloped down-hill, and the backs were open to the
+fields. So he saw a curious succession of lighted windows, between which
+jutted the intermediary back premises, scullery and outhouse, in dark
+little blocks. It was something like the keyboard of a piano: more
+still, like a succession of musical notes. For the rectangular planes
+of light were of different intensities, some bright and keen, some soft,
+warm, like candle-light, and there was one surface of pure red light,
+one or two were almost invisible, dark green. So the long scale of
+lights seemed to trill across the darkness, now bright, now dim,
+swelling and sinking. The effect was strange.
+
+And thus the whole private life of the street was threaded in lights.
+There was a sense of indecent exposure, from so many backs. He felt
+himself almost in physical contact with this contiguous stretch of back
+premises. He heard the familiar sound of water gushing from the sink in
+to the grate, the dropping of a pail outside the door, the clink of a
+coal shovel, the banging of a door, the sound of voices. So many houses
+cheek by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many back yards, back doors
+giving on to the night. It was revolting.
+
+Away in the street itself, a boy was calling the newspaper: “--'NING
+POST! --'NING PO-O-ST!” It was a long, melancholy howl, and seemed
+to epitomise the whole of the dark, wet, secretive, thickly-inhabited
+night. A figure passed the window of Aaron's own house, entered, and
+stood inside the room talking to Mrs. Sisson. It was a young woman in
+a brown mackintosh and a black hat. She stood under the incandescent
+light, and her hat nearly knocked the globe. Next door a man had run out
+in his shirt sleeves: this time a young, dark-headed collier running to
+the gate for a newspaper, running bare-headed, coatless, slippered in
+the rain. He had got his news-sheet, and was returning. And just at that
+moment the young man's wife came out, shading her candle with a lading
+tin. She was going to the coal-house for some coal. Her husband passed
+her on the threshold. She could be heard breaking the bits of coal and
+placing them on the dustpan. The light from her candle fell faintly
+behind her. Then she went back, blown by a swirl of wind. But again she
+was at the door, hastily standing her iron shovel against the wall. Then
+she shut the back door with a bang. These noises seemed to scrape and
+strike the night.
+
+In Aaron's own house, the young person was still talking to Mrs. Sisson.
+Millicent came out, sheltering a candle with her hand. The candle blew
+out. She ran indoors, and emerged again, her white pinafore fluttering.
+This time she performed her little journey safely. He could see the
+faint glimmer of her candle emerging secretly from the closet.
+
+The young person was taking her leave. He could hear her
+sympathetic--“Well--good night! I hope she'll be no worse. Good night
+Mrs. Sisson!” She was gone--he heard the windy bang of the street-gate.
+Presently Millicent emerged again, flitting indoors.
+
+So he rose to his feet, balancing, swaying a little before he started
+into motion, as so many colliers do. Then he moved along the path
+towards the house, in the rain and darkness, very slowly edging
+forwards.
+
+Suddenly the door opened. His wife emerged with a pail. He stepped
+quietly aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs. He could
+smell rosemary and sage and hyssop. A low wall divided his garden from
+his neighbour's. He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready to drop
+over should his wife come forward. But she only threw the contents of
+her pail on the garden and retired again. She might have seen him had
+she looked. He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle
+of rain in the water-butt. The hollow countryside lay beyond him.
+Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn of New
+Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at Bestwood
+Colliery. Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the electric
+power-station disturbed the night. So again the wind swirled the rain
+across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to him as his
+own breast.
+
+A motor-car was labouring up the hill. His trained ear attended to it
+unconsciously. It stopped with a jar. There was a bang of the yard-gate.
+A shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window. Millicent was
+drawing down the blind. It was the doctor. The blind was drawn, he could
+see no more.
+
+Stealthily he began to approach the house. He stood by the climbing rose
+of the porch, listening. He heard voices upstairs. Perhaps the children
+would be downstairs. He listened intently. Voices were upstairs only. He
+quietly opened the door. The room was empty, save for the baby, who was
+cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs
+he could hear the voice of the Indian doctor: “Now little girl, you
+must just keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon.” He said
+“_de_ moon,” just as ever.--Marjory must be ill.
+
+So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. It was a cold, clammy room, dark.
+He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below
+the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. He began feeling
+for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He
+touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned
+and looked out of the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall
+he could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in
+front of it, up the street.
+
+He sat down on the sofa by the window. The energy had suddenly left all
+his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listening. The familiar room, the
+familiar voice of his wife and his children--he felt weak as if he were
+dying. He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in the waters.
+His strength was gone, he was sinking back. He would sink back to it
+all, float henceforth like a drowned man.
+
+So he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, feet moving. They were
+coming down.
+
+“No, Mrs. Sisson, you needn't worry,” he heard the voice of the doctor
+on the stairs. “If she goes on as she is, she'll be all right. Only she
+must be kept warm and quiet--warm and quiet--that's the chief thing.”
+
+“Oh, when she has those bouts I can't bear it,” Aaron heard his wife's
+voice.
+
+They were downstairs. Their feet click-clicked on the tiled passage.
+They had gone into the middle room. Aaron sat and listened.
+
+“She won't have any more bouts. If she does, give her a few drops from
+the little bottle, and raise her up. But she won't have any more,” the
+doctor said.
+
+“If she does, I s'll go off my head, I know I shall.”
+
+“No, you won't. No, you won't do anything of the sort. You won't go off
+your head. You'll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought to
+be,” protested the doctor.
+
+“But it nearly drives me mad.”
+
+“Then don't let it. The child won't die, I tell you. She will be all
+right, with care. Who have you got sitting up with her? You're not to
+sit up with her tonight, I tell you. Do you hear me?”
+
+“Miss Smitham's coming in. But it's no good--I shall have to sit up. I
+shall HAVE to.”
+
+“I tell you you won't. You obey ME. I know what's good for you as well
+as for her. I am thinking of you as much as of her.”
+
+“But I can't bear it--all alone.” This was the beginning of tears. There
+was a dead silence--then a sound of Millicent weeping with her mother.
+As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was an emotional
+sympathetic soul, over forty.
+
+“Never mind--never mind--you aren't alone,” came the doctor's
+matter-of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing. “I am here to help you.
+I will do whatever I can--whatever I can.”
+
+“I can't bear it. I can't bear it,” wept the woman.
+
+Another silence, another nose-blowing, and again the doctor:
+
+“You'll HAVE to bear it--I tell you there's nothing else for it. You'll
+have to bear it--but we'll do our best for you. I will do my best
+for you--always--ALWAYS--in sickness or out of sickness--There!” He
+pronounced _there_ oddly, not quite _dhere_.
+
+“You haven't heard from your husband?” he added.
+
+“I had a letter--“--sobs--“from the bank this morning.”
+
+“FROM DE BANK?”
+
+“Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an
+allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling.”
+
+“Well then, why not let him travel? You can live.”
+
+“But to leave me alone,” there was burning indignation in her voice. “To
+go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with all the
+burden.”
+
+“Well I wouldn't trouble about him. Aren't you better off without him?”
+
+“I am. I am,” she cried fiercely. “When I got that letter this morning,
+I said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON. And I hope it may.”
+
+
+“Well-well, well-well, don't fret. Don't be angry, it won't make it any
+better, I tell you.”
+
+“Angry! I AM angry. I'm worse than angry. A week ago I hadn't a grey
+hair in my head. Now look here--” There was a pause.
+
+“Well-well, well-well, never mind. You will be all right, don't you
+bother. Your hair is beautiful anyhow.”
+
+“What makes me so mad is that he should go off like that--never a
+word--coolly takes his hook. I could kill him for it.”
+
+“Were you ever happy together?”
+
+“We were all right at first. I know I was fond of him. But he'd kill
+anything.--He kept himself back, always kept himself back, couldn't give
+himself--”
+
+There was a pause.
+
+“Ah well,” sighed the doctor. “Marriage is a mystery. I'm glad I'm not
+entangled in it.”
+
+“Yes, to make some woman's life a misery.--I'm sure it was death to live
+with him, he seemed to kill everything off inside you. He was a man you
+couldn't quarrel with, and get it over. Quiet--quiet in his tempers, and
+selfish through and through. I've lived with him twelve years--I know
+what it is. Killing! You don't know what he was--”
+
+“I think I knew him. A fair man? Yes?” said the doctor.
+
+“Fair to look at.--There's a photograph of him in the parlour--taken
+when he was married--and one of me.--Yes, he's fairhaired.”
+
+Aaron guessed that she was getting a candle to come into the parlour. He
+was tempted to wait and meet them--and accept it all again. Devilishly
+tempted, he was. Then he thought of her voice, and his heart went cold.
+Quick as thought, he obeyed his first impulse. He felt behind the couch,
+on the floor where the curtains fell. Yes--the bag was there. He took it
+at once. In the next breath he stepped out of the room and tip-toed
+into the passage. He retreated to the far end, near the street door, and
+stood behind the coats that hung on the hall-stand.
+
+At that moment his wife came into the passage, holding a candle. She was
+red-eyed with weeping, and looked frail.
+
+“Did YOU leave the parlour door open?” she asked of Millicent,
+suspiciously.
+
+“No,” said Millicent from the kitchen.
+
+The doctor, with his soft, Oriental tread followed Mrs. Sisson into the
+parlour. Aaron saw his wife hold up the candle before his portrait and
+begin to weep. But he knew her. The doctor laid his hand softly on
+her arm, and left it there, sympathetically. Nor did he remove it when
+Millicent stole into the room, looking very woe-begone and important.
+The wife wept silently, and the child joined in.
+
+“Yes, I know him,” said the doctor. “If he thinks he will be happier
+when he's gone away, you must be happier too, Mrs. Sisson. That's
+all. Don't let him triumph over you by making you miserable. You enjoy
+yourself as well. You're only a girl---”
+
+But a tear came from his eye, and he blew his nose vigorously on a large
+white silk handkerchief, and began to polish his _pince nez_. Then he
+turned, and they all bundled out of the room.
+
+The doctor took his departure. Mrs. Sisson went almost immediately
+upstairs, and Millicent shortly crept after her. Then Aaron, who had
+stood motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down
+the passage and into the living room. His face was very pale,
+ghastly-looking. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the
+mantel, as he passed, and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal.
+But his heart did not relax, nevertheless. So he hurried into the night,
+down the garden, climbed the fence into the field, and went away across
+the field in the rain, towards the highroad.
+
+He felt sick in every fibre. He almost hated the little handbag he
+carried, which held his flute and piccolo. It seemed a burden just
+then--a millstone round his neck. He hated the scene he had left--and
+he hated the hard, inviolable heart that stuck unchanging in his own
+breast.
+
+Coming to the high-road, he saw a tall, luminous tram-car roving along
+through the rain. The trams ran across country from town to town. He
+dared not board, because people knew him. So he took a side road, and
+walked in a detour for two miles. Then he came out on the high-road
+again and waited for a tram-car. The rain blew on his face. He waited a
+long time for the last car.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. AT THE OPERA
+
+
+A friend had given Josephine Ford a box at the opera for one evening;
+our story continues by night. The box was large and important, near the
+stage. Josephine and Julia were there, with Robert and Jim--also two
+more men. The women sat in the front of the box, conspicuously. They
+were both poor, they were rather excited. But they belonged to a set
+which looked on social triumphs as a downfall that one allows oneself.
+The two men, Lilly and Struthers, were artists, the former literary, the
+latter a painter. Lilly sat by Josephine in the front of the box: he was
+her little lion of the evening.
+
+Few women can sit in the front of a big box, on a crowded and full-swing
+opera night, without thrilling and dilating. There is an intoxication in
+being thus thrust forward, conspicuous and enhanced, right in the eye of
+the vast crowd that lines the hollow shell of the auditorium. Thus even
+Josephine and Julia leaned their elbows and poised their heads regally,
+looking condescendingly down upon the watchful world. They were two poor
+women, having nothing to do with society. Half bohemians.
+
+Josephine was an artist. In Paris she was a friend of a very fashionable
+dressmaker and decorator, master of modern elegance. Sometimes she
+designed dresses for him, and sometimes she accepted from him a
+commission to decorate a room. Usually at her last sou, it gave her
+pleasure to dispose of costly and exquisite things for other people, and
+then be rid of them.
+
+This evening her dress was a simple, but a marvellously poised thing of
+black and silver: in the words of the correct journal. With her tight,
+black, bright hair, her arched brows, her dusky-ruddy face and her bare
+shoulders; her strange equanimity, her long, slow, slanting looks; she
+looked foreign and frightening, clear as a cameo, but dark, far off.
+Julia was the English beauty, in a lovely blue dress. Her hair was
+becomingly untidy on her low brow, her dark blue eyes wandered and got
+excited, her nervous mouth twitched. Her high-pitched, sing-song voice
+and her hurried laugh could be heard in the theatre. She twisted a
+beautiful little fan that a dead artist had given her.
+
+Not being fashionable, they were in the box when the overture began. The
+opera was Verdi--_Aida_. If it is impossible to be in an important box
+at the opera without experiencing the strange intoxication of social
+pre-eminence, it is just as impossible to be there without some feeling
+of horror at the sight the stage presents.
+
+Josephine leaned her elbow and looked down: she knew how arresting
+that proud, rather stiff bend of her head was. She had some aboriginal
+American in her blood. But as she looked, she pursed her mouth. The
+artist in her forgot everything, she was filled with disgust. The sham
+Egypt of _Aida_ hid from her nothing of its shame. The singers were all
+colour-washed, deliberately colour-washed to a bright orange tint. The
+men had oblong dabs of black wool under their lower lip; the beard of
+the mighty Pharaohs. This oblong dab shook and wagged to the singing.
+
+The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable. They all looked
+such good meat. Why were their haunches so prominent? It was a question
+Josephine could not solve. She scanned their really expensive, brilliant
+clothing. It was _nearly_ right--nearly splendid. It only lacked that
+last subtlety which the world always lacks, the last final clinching
+which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet is the opposite pole to
+machine fixity.
+
+But the leading tenor was the chief pain. He was large, stout, swathed
+in a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch. This fattish, emasculated
+look seems common in stage heroes--even the extremely popular. The tenor
+sang bravely, his mouth made a large, coffin-shaped, yawning gap in his
+orange face, his little beard fluttered oddly, like a tail. He turned
+up his eyes to Josephine's box as he sang--that being the regulation
+direction. Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his breath, the
+flesh of his fat, naked arms swayed.
+
+Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian, immovable,
+inscrutable. It was not till the scene was ended that she lifted her
+head as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue rapidly over
+her dried lips, and looked round into the box. Her brown eyes expressed
+shame, fear, and disgust. A curious grimace went over her face--a
+grimace only to be expressed by the exclamation _Merde!_ But she was
+mortally afraid of society, and its fixed institutions. Rapidly she
+scanned the eyes of her friends in the box. She rested on the eyes of
+Lilly, a dark, ugly man.
+
+“Isn't it nasty?” she said.
+
+“You shouldn't look so closely,” he said. But he took it calmly, easily,
+whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to destroy it all.
+
+“Oh-ho-ho!” laughed Julia. “It's so fu-nny--so funny!”
+
+“Of course we are too near,” said Robert.
+
+“Say you admire that pink fondant over there,” said Struthers,
+indicating with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with
+pink edging, who sat in a box opposite, on the upper tier.
+
+“Oh, the fondant--exactly--the fondant! Yes, I admire her immensely!
+Isn't she exactly IT!” sang Julia.
+
+Josephine was scanning the auditorium. So many myriads of faces--like
+beads on a bead-work pattern--all bead-work, in different layers. She
+bowed to various acquaintances--mostly Americans in uniform, whom she
+had known in Paris. She smiled to Lady Cochrane, two boxes off--Lady
+Cochrane had given her the box. But she felt rather coldly towards her.
+
+The curtain rose, the opera wound its slow length along. The audience
+loved it. They cheered with mad enthusiasm. Josephine looked down on the
+choppy sea of applause, white gloves clapping, heads shaking. The
+noise was strange and rattling. What a curious multiple object a
+theatre-audience was! It seemed to have a million heads, a million
+hands, and one monstrous, unnatural consciousness. The singers appeared
+before the curtain--the applause rose up like clouds of dust.
+
+“Oh, isn't it too wonderful!” cried Julia. “I am wild with excitement.
+Are you all of you?”
+
+“Absolutely wild,” said Lilly laconically.
+
+“Where is Scott to-night?” asked Struthers.
+
+Julia turned to him and gave him a long, queer look from her dark blue
+eyes.
+
+“He's in the country,” she said, rather enigmatic.
+
+“Don't you know, he's got a house down in Dorset,” said Robert, verbally
+rushing in. “He wants Julia to go down and stay.”
+
+“Is she going?” said Lilly.
+
+“She hasn't decided,” replied Robert.
+
+“Oh! What's the objection?” asked Struthers.
+
+“Well, none whatsoever, as far as can be seen, except that she can't
+make up her mind,” replied Robert.
+
+“Julia's got no mind,” said Jim rudely.
+
+“Oh! Hear the brotherly verdict!” laughed Julia hurriedly.
+
+“You mean to go down to Dorset alone!” said Struthers.
+
+“Why not?” replied Robert, answering for her.
+
+“And stay how long?”
+
+“Oh--as long as it lasts,” said Robert again.
+
+“Starting with eternity,” said Lilly, “and working back to a fortnight.”
+
+“And what's the matter?--looks bad in the eyes of the world?”
+
+“Yes--about that. Afraid of compromising herself--”
+
+Lilly looked at them.
+
+“Depends what you take the world to mean. Do you mean us in this box, or
+the crew outside there?” he jerked his head towards the auditorium.
+
+“Do you think, Lilly, that we're the world?” said Robert ironically.
+
+“Oh, yes, I guess we're shipwrecked in this box, like Robinson Crusoes.
+And what we do on our own little island matters to us alone. As for the
+infinite crowds of howling savages outside there in the unspeakable, all
+you've got to do is mind they don't scrap you.”
+
+“But WON'T they?” said Struthers.
+
+“Not unless you put your head in their hands,” said Lilly.
+
+“I don't know--” said Jim.
+
+But the curtain had risen, they hushed him into silence.
+
+All through the next scene, Julia puzzled herself, as to whether she
+should go down to the country and live with Scott. She had carried on a
+nervous kind of _amour_ with him, based on soul sympathy and emotional
+excitement. But whether to go and live with him? She didn't know if she
+wanted to or not: and she couldn't for her life find out. She was in
+that nervous state when desire seems to evaporate the moment fulfilment
+is offered.
+
+When the curtain dropped she turned.
+
+“You see,” she said, screwing up her eyes, “I have to think of
+Robert.” She cut the word in two, with an odd little hitch in her
+voice--“ROB-ert.”
+
+“My dear Julia, can't you believe that I'm tired of being thought of,”
+ cried Robert, flushing.
+
+Julia screwed up her eyes in a slow smile, oddly cogitating.
+
+“Well, who AM I to think of?” she asked.
+
+“Yourself,” said Lilly.
+
+“Oh, yes! Why, yes! I never thought of that!” She gave a hurried little
+laugh. “But then it's no FUN to think about oneself,” she cried flatly.
+“I think about ROB-ert, and SCOTT.” She screwed up her eyes and peered
+oddly at the company.
+
+“Which of them will find you the greatest treat,” said Lilly
+sarcastically.
+
+“Anyhow,” interjected Robert nervously, “it will be something new for
+Scott.”
+
+“Stale buns for you, old boy,” said Jim drily.
+
+“I don't say so. But--” exclaimed the flushed, full-blooded Robert, who
+was nothing if not courteous to women.
+
+“How long ha' you been married? Eh?” asked Jim.
+
+“Six years!” sang Julia sweetly.
+
+“Good God!”
+
+“You see,” said Robert, “Julia can't decide anything for herself. She
+waits for someone else to decide, then she puts her spoke in.”
+
+“Put it plainly--” began Struthers.
+
+“But don't you know, it's no USE putting it plainly,” cried Julia.
+
+“But DO you want to be with Scott, out and out, or DON'T you?” said
+Lilly.
+
+“Exactly!” chimed Robert. “That's the question for you to answer Julia.”
+
+“I WON'T answer it,” she cried. “Why should I?” And she looked away into
+the restless hive of the theatre. She spoke so wildly that she attracted
+attention. But it half pleased her. She stared abstractedly down at the
+pit.
+
+The men looked at one another in some comic consternation.
+
+“Oh, damn it all!” said the long Jim, rising and stretching himself.
+“She's dead nuts on Scott. She's all over him. She'd have eloped with
+him weeks ago if it hadn't been so easy. She can't stand it that Robert
+offers to hand her into the taxi.”
+
+He gave his malevolent grin round the company, then went out. He did not
+reappear for the next scene.
+
+“Of course, if she loves Scott--” began Struthers.
+
+Julia suddenly turned with wild desperation, and cried:
+
+“I like him tremendously--tre-men-dous-ly! He DOES understand.”
+
+“Which we don't,” said Robert.
+
+Julia smiled her long, odd smile in their faces: one might almost say
+she smiled in their teeth.
+
+“What do YOU think, Josephine?” asked Lilly.
+
+Josephine was leaning froward. She started. Her tongue went rapidly over
+her lips. “Who--? I--?” she exclaimed.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“I think Julia should go with Scott,” said Josephine. “She'll bother
+with the idea till she's done it. She loves him, really.”
+
+“Of course she does,” cried Robert.
+
+Julia, with her chin resting on her arms, in a position which irritated
+the neighbouring Lady Cochrane sincerely, was gazing with unseeing eyes
+down upon the stalls.
+
+“Well then--” began Struthers. But the music struck up softly. They
+were all rather bored. Struthers kept on making small, half audible
+remarks--which was bad form, and displeased Josephine, the hostess of
+the evening.
+
+When the curtain came down for the end of the act, the men got up.
+Lilly's wife, Tanny, suddenly appeared. She had come on after a dinner
+engagement.
+
+“Would you like tea or anything?” Lilly asked.
+
+The women refused. The men filtered out on to the crimson and white,
+curving corridor. Julia, Josephine and Tanny remained in the box. Tanny
+was soon hitched on to the conversation in hand.
+
+“Of course,” she replied, “one can't decide such a thing like drinking a
+cup of tea.”
+
+“Of course, one can't, dear Tanny,” said Julia.
+
+“After all, one doesn't leave one's husband every day, to go and live
+with another man. Even if one looks on it as an experiment--.”
+
+“It's difficult!” cried Julia. “It's difficult! I feel they all want to
+FORCE me to decide. It's cruel.”
+
+“Oh, men with their beastly logic, their either-this-or-that stunt, they
+are an awful bore.--But of course, Robert can't love you REALLY, or he'd
+want to keep you. I can see Lilly discussing such a thing for ME. But
+then you don't love Robert either,” said Tanny.
+
+“I do! Oh, I do, Tanny! I DO love him, I love him dearly. I think he's
+beautiful. Robert's beautiful. And he NEEDS me. And I need him too. I
+need his support. Yes, I do love him.”
+
+“But you like Scott better,” said Tanny.
+
+“Only because he--he's different,” sang Julia, in long tones. “You see
+Scott has his art. His art matters. And ROB-ert--Robert is a dilettante,
+don't you think--he's dilettante--” She screwed up her eyes at Tanny.
+Tanny cogitated.
+
+“Of course I don't think that matters,” she replied.
+
+“But it does, it matters tremendously, dear Tanny, tremendously.”
+
+“Of course,” Tanny sheered off. “I can see Scott has great
+attractions--a great warmth somewhere--”
+
+“Exactly!” cried Julia. “He UNDERSTANDS!”
+
+“And I believe he's a real artist. You might even work together. You
+might write his librettos.”
+
+“Yes!--Yes!--” Julia spoke with a long, pondering hiss.
+
+“It might be AWFULLY nice,” said Tanny rapturously.
+
+“Yes!--It might!--It might--!” pondered Julia. Suddenly she gave herself
+a shake. Then she laughed hurriedly, as if breaking from her line of
+thought.
+
+“And wouldn't Robert be an AWFULLY nice lover for Josephine! Oh,
+wouldn't that be splendid!” she cried, with her high laugh.
+
+Josephine, who had been gazing down into the orchestra, turned now,
+flushing darkly.
+
+“But I don't want a lover, Julia,” she said, hurt.
+
+“Josephine dear! Dear old Josephine! Don't you really! Oh, yes,
+you do.--I want one so BADLY,” cried Julia, with her shaking laugh.
+“Robert's awfully good to me. But we've been married six years. And it
+does make a difference, doesn't it, Tanny dear?”
+
+“A great difference,” said Tanny.
+
+“Yes, it makes a difference, it makes a difference,” mused Julia. “Dear
+old Rob-ert--I wouldn't hurt him for worlds. I wouldn't. Do you think it
+would hurt Robert?”
+
+She screwed up her eyes, looking at Tanny.
+
+“Perhaps it would do Robert good to be hurt a little,” said Tanny. “He's
+so well-nourished.”
+
+“Yes!--Yes!--I see what you mean, Tanny!--Poor old ROB-ert! Oh, poor old
+Rob-ert, he's so young!”
+
+“He DOES seem young,” said Tanny. “One doesn't forgive it.”
+
+“He is young,” said Julia. “I'm five years older than he. He's only
+twenty-seven. Poor Old Robert.”
+
+“Robert is young, and inexperienced,” said Josephine, suddenly turning
+with anger. “But I don't know why you talk about him.”
+
+“Is he inexperienced, Josephine dear? IS he?” sang Julia. Josephine
+flushed darkly, and turned away.
+
+“Ah, he's not so innocent as all that,” said Tanny roughly. “Those young
+young men, who seem so fresh, they're deep enough, really. They're far
+less innocent really than men who are experienced.”
+
+“They are, aren't they, Tanny,” repeated Julia softly. “They're
+old--older than the Old Man of the Seas, sometimes, aren't they?
+Incredibly old, like little boys who know too much--aren't they? Yes!”
+ She spoke quietly, seriously, as if it had struck her.
+
+Below, the orchestra was coming in. Josephine was watching closely.
+Julia became aware of this.
+
+“Do you see anybody we know, Josephine?” she asked.
+
+Josephine started.
+
+“No,” she said, looking at her friends quickly and furtively.
+
+“Dear old Josephine, she knows all sorts of people,” sang Julia.
+
+At that moment the men returned.
+
+“Have you actually come back!” exclaimed Tanny to them. They sat down
+without answering. Jim spread himself as far as he could, in the narrow
+space. He stared upwards, wrinkling his ugly, queer face. It was evident
+he was in one of his moods.
+
+“If only somebody loved me!” he complained. “If only somebody loved me I
+should be all right. I'm going to pieces.” He sat up and peered into the
+faces of the women.
+
+“But we ALL love you,” said Josephine, laughing uneasily. “Why aren't
+you satisfied?”
+
+“I'm not satisfied. I'm not satisfied,” murmured Jim.
+
+“Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the
+breast?” asked Lilly, disagreeably.
+
+Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at his
+questioner.
+
+“Yes,” he said. Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body
+across the box again.
+
+“You should try loving somebody, for a change,” said Tanny. “You've been
+loved too often. Why not try and love somebody?”
+
+Jim eyed her narrowly.
+
+“I couldn't love YOU,” he said, in vicious tones.
+
+“_A la bonne heure_!” said Tanny.
+
+But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
+
+“I want to be loved.”
+
+“How many times have you been loved?” Robert asked him. “It would be
+rather interesting to know.”
+
+Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
+
+“Did you ever keep count?” Tanny persisted.
+
+Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
+
+“I believe I did,” he replied.
+
+“Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up,” said Lilly.
+
+Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
+
+“I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail,” he said.
+
+He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead. Josephine
+glanced round. She had become a dusky white colour. She was afraid of
+him, and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
+
+“Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?” she asked.
+
+The party in the box had become dead silent. They looked down. The
+conductor was at his stand. The music began. They all remained silent
+and motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts.
+Jim was uncomfortable. He wanted to make good. He sat with his elbows
+on his knees, grinning slightly, looking down. At the next interval he
+stood up suddenly.
+
+“It IS the chap--What?” he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his
+friends.
+
+“Who?” said Tanny.
+
+“It IS he?” said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
+
+“Sure!” he barked.
+
+He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his hand,
+as if trying to attract attention. Then he made signals.
+
+“There you are!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “That's the chap.”
+
+“Who? Who?” they cried.
+
+But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
+
+The next was the long interval. Jim and Josephine gazed down at the
+orchestra. The musicians were laying aside their instruments and rising.
+The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend. Jim suddenly bolted out.
+
+“Is it that man Aaron Sisson?” asked Robert.
+
+“Where? Where?” cried Julia. “It can't be.”
+
+But Josephine's face was closed and silent. She did not answer.
+
+The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway. Groups of
+people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to pay
+visits or to find drinks. Josephine's party stared around, talking
+desultorily. And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading
+Aaron Sisson by the arm. Jim was grinning, the flautist looked
+unwilling. He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt--a certain
+comely blondness and repose. And as much a gentleman as anybody.
+
+“Well!” cried Josephine to him. “How do you come here?”
+
+“I play the flute,” he answered, as he shook hands.
+
+The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
+
+“How wonderful of you to be here!” cried Julia.
+
+He laughed.
+
+“Do you think so?” he answered.
+
+“Yes, I do.--It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.--Oh,
+wasn't it exciting!” cried Julia.
+
+Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
+
+“We've heard all about you,” said Tanny playfully.
+
+“Oh, yes,” he replied.
+
+“Come!” said Josephine, rather irritated. “We crowd up the gangway.” And
+she led the way inside the box.
+
+Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
+
+“You get all the view,” he said.
+
+“We do, don't we!” cried Julia.
+
+“More than's good for us,” said Lilly.
+
+“Tell us what you are doing. You've got a permanent job?” asked
+Josephine.
+
+“Yes--at present.”
+
+“Ah! It's more interesting for you than at Beldover.”
+
+She had taken her seat. He looked down at her dusky young face. Her
+voice was always clear and measured.
+
+“It's a change,” he said, smiling.
+
+“Oh, it must be more than that,” she said. “Why, you must feel a whole
+difference. It's a whole new life.”
+
+He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently. She flushed.
+
+“But isn't it?” she persisted.
+
+“Yes. It can be,” he replied.
+
+He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated. None of the
+people in the box were quite real to him. He was not really amused.
+Julia found him dull, stupid. Tanny also was offended that he could not
+_perceive her_. The men remained practically silent.
+
+“You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again,” said Jim.
+
+“Oh, yes!” replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
+
+“But perhaps he doesn't like us! Perhaps he's not glad that we turned
+up,” said Julia, leaving her sting.
+
+The flautist turned and looked at her.
+
+“You can't REMEMBER us, can you?” she asked.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “I can remember you.”
+
+“Oh,” she laughed. “You are unflattering.”
+
+He was annoyed. He did not know what she was getting at.
+
+“How are your wife and children?” she asked spitefully.
+
+“All right, I think.”
+
+“But you've been back to them?” cried Josephine in dismay.
+
+He looked at her, a slow, half smiling look, but did not speak.
+
+“Come and have a drink. Damn the women,” said Jim uncouthly, seizing
+Aaron by the arm and dragging him off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. TALK
+
+
+The party stayed to the end of the interminable opera. They had agreed
+to wait for Aaron. He was to come around to the vestibule for them,
+after the show. They trooped slowly down-stairs into the crush of the
+entrance hall. Chattering, swirling people, red carpet, palms green
+against cream-and-gilt walls, small whirlpools of life at the open, dark
+doorways, men in opera hats steering decisively about-it was the old
+scene. But there were no taxis--absolutely no taxis. And it was raining.
+Fortunately the women had brought shoes. They slipped these on. Jim
+rocked through the crowd, in his tall hat, looking for the flautist.
+
+At last Aaron was found--wearing a bowler hat. Julia groaned in spirit.
+Josephine's brow knitted. Not that anybody cared, really. But as one
+must frown at something, why not at the bowler hat? Acquaintances and
+elegant young men in uniforms insisted on rushing up and bowing and
+exchanging a few words, either with Josephine, or Jim, or Julia, or
+Lilly. They were coldly received. The party veered out into the night.
+
+The women hugged their wraps about them, and set off sharply, feeling
+some repugnance for the wet pavements and the crowd. They had not far to
+go--only to Jim's rooms in Adelphi. Jim was leading Aaron, holding
+him by the arm and slightly pinching his muscles. It gave him
+great satisfaction to have between his fingers the arm-muscles of a
+working-man, one of the common people, the _fons et origo_ of modern
+life. Jim was talking rather vaguely about Labour and Robert Smillie,
+and Bolshevism. He was all for revolution and the triumph of labour.
+
+So they arrived, mounted a dark stair, and entered a large, handsome
+room, one of the Adams rooms. Jim had furnished it from Heale's with
+striped hangings, green and white and yellow and dark purple, and with
+a green-and-black checked carpet, and great stripe-covered chairs
+and Chesterfield. A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old
+fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy.
+
+While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was
+making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano--the pianola, rather. The
+chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire. The party threw
+off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of modern
+bohemia. They needed the Bach to take away the bad taste that _Aida_ had
+left in their mouths. They needed the whiskey and curacao to rouse their
+spirits. They needed the profound comfort in which to sink away from the
+world. All the men, except Aaron, had been through the war in some
+way or other. But here they were, in the old setting exactly, the old
+bohemian routine.
+
+The bell rang, Jim went downstairs. He returned shortly with a frail,
+elegant woman--fashionable rather than bohemian. She was cream and
+auburn, Irish, with a slightly-lifted upper lip that gave her a pathetic
+look. She dropped her wrap and sat down by Julia, taking her hand
+delicately.
+
+“How are you, darling?” she asked.
+
+“Yes--I'm happy,” said Julia, giving her odd, screwed-up smile.
+
+The pianola stopped, they all chatted indiscriminately. Jim was watching
+the new-comer--Mrs. Browning--with a concentrated wolfish grin.
+
+“I like her,” he said at last. “I've seen her before, haven't I?--I like
+her awfully.”
+
+“Yes,” said Josephine, with a slight grunt of a laugh. “He wants to be
+loved.”
+
+“Oh,” cried Clariss. “So do I!”
+
+“Then there you are!” cried Tanny.
+
+“Alas, no, there we aren't,” cried Clariss. She was beautiful too, with
+her lifted upper-lip. “We both want to be loved, and so we miss each
+other entirely. We run on in two parallel lines, that can never meet.”
+ She laughed low and half sad.
+
+“Doesn't SHE love you?” said Aaron to Jim amused, indicating Josephine.
+“I thought you were engaged.”
+
+“HER!” leered Jim vindictively, glancing at Josephine. “She doesn't love
+me.”
+
+“Is that true?” asked Robert hastily, of Josephine.
+
+“Why,” she said, “yes. Why should he make me say out here that I don't
+love him!”
+
+“Got you my girl,” said Jim.
+
+“Then it's no engagement?” said Robert.
+
+“Listen to the row fools make, rushing in,” said Jim maliciously.
+
+“No, the engagement is broken,” said Josephine.
+
+“World coming to pieces bit by bit,” said Lilly. Jim was twisting in
+his chair, and looking like a Chinese dragon, diabolical. The room was
+uneasy.
+
+“What gives you such a belly-ache for love, Jim?” said Lilly, “or for
+being loved? Why do you want so badly to be loved?”
+
+“Because I like it, damn you,” barked Jim. “Because I'm in need of it.”
+
+None of them quite knew whether they ought to take it as a joke. It was
+just a bit too real to be quite pleasant.
+
+“Why are you such a baby?” said Lilly. “There you are, six foot in
+length, have been a cavalry officer and fought in two wars, and you
+spend your time crying for somebody to love you. You're a comic.”
+
+“Am I though?” said Jim. “I'm losing life. I'm getting thin.”
+
+“You don't look as if you were losing life,” said Lilly.
+
+“Don't I? I am, though. I'm dying.”
+
+“What of? Lack of life?”
+
+“That's about it, my young cock. Life's leaving me.”
+
+“Better sing Tosti's Farewell to it.”
+
+Jim who had been sprawling full length in his arm-chair, the centre
+of interest of all the company, suddenly sprang forward and pushed his
+face, grinning, in the face of Lilly.
+
+“You're a funny customer, you are,” he said.
+
+Then he turned round in his chair, and saw Clariss sitting at the feet
+of Julia, with one white arm over her friend's knee. Jim immediately
+stuck forward his muzzle and gazed at her. Clariss had loosened her
+masses of thick, auburn hair, so that it hung half free. Her face was
+creamy pale, her upper lip lifted with odd pathos! She had rose-rubies
+in her ears.
+
+“I like HER,” said Jim. “What's her name?”
+
+“Mrs. Browning. Don't be so rude,” said Josephine.
+
+“Browning for gravies. Any relation of Robert?”
+
+“Oh, yes! You ask my husband,” came the slow, plangent voice of Clariss.
+
+“You've got a husband, have you?”
+
+“Rather! Haven't I, Juley?”
+
+“Yes,” said Julia, vaguely and wispily. “Yes, dear, you have.”
+
+“And two fine children,” put in Robert.
+
+“No! You don't mean it!” said Jim. “Who's your husband? Anybody?”
+
+“Rather!” came the deep voice of Clariss. “He sees to that.”
+
+Jim stared, grinning, showing his pointed teeth, reaching nearer and
+nearer to Clariss who, in her frail scrap of an evening dress, amethyst
+and silver, was sitting still in the deep black hearth-rug, her arm over
+Julia's knee, taking very little notice of Jim, although he amused her.
+
+“I like you awfully, I say,” he repeated.
+
+“Thanks, I'm sure,” she said.
+
+The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping curacao
+and taking a sandwich or a cigarette. Aaron Sisson alone sat upright,
+smiling flickeringly. Josephine watched him, and her pointed tongue went
+from time to time over her lips.
+
+“But I'm sure,” she broke in, “this isn't very interesting for the
+others. Awfully boring! Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we must go
+home.”
+
+Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. He hated her voice. She let her
+eye rest on his for a moment. Then she put her cigarette to her lips.
+Robert was watching them both.
+
+Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.
+
+“Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson,” she said. “How do you like being
+in London?”
+
+“I like London,” said Aaron.
+
+Where did he live? Bloomsbury. Did he know many people? No--nobody
+except a man in the orchestra. How had he got his job? Through an agent.
+Etc. Etc.
+
+“What do you make of the miners?” said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.
+
+“Me?” said Sisson. “I don't make anything of them.”
+
+“Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?”
+
+“What for?”
+
+“Nationalisation.”
+
+“They might, one day.”
+
+“Think they'd fight?”
+
+“Fight?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Aaron sat laughing.
+
+“What have they to fight for?”
+
+“Why, everything! What haven't they to fight for?” cried Josephine
+fiercely. “Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system. Won't
+they fight for that?”
+
+Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.
+
+“Nay,” he said, “you mustn't ask me what they'll do--I've only just left
+them, for good. They'll do a lot of cavilling.”
+
+“But won't they ACT?” cried Josephine.
+
+“Act?” said Aaron. “How, act?”
+
+“Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands,” said
+Josephine.
+
+“They might, some time,” said Aaron, rather indifferent.
+
+“I wish they would!” cried Josephine. “My, wouldn't I love it if they'd
+make a bloody revolution!”
+
+They were all looking now at her. Her black brows were twitching, in her
+black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.
+
+“Must it be bloody, Josephine?” said Robert.
+
+“Why, yes. I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody,” said
+Josephine. “Wouldn't I love it! I'd go in front with a red flag.”
+
+“It would be rather fun,” said Tanny.
+
+“Wouldn't it!” cried Josephine.
+
+“Oh, Josey, dear!” cried Julia hysterically. “Isn't she a red-hot
+Bolsher! _I_ should be frightened.”
+
+“No!” cried Josephine. “I should love it.”
+
+“So should I,” said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice. “What price
+machine-guns at the end of the Strand! That's a day to live for, what?”
+
+“Ha! Ha!” laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh. “We'd all Bolsh
+together. I'd give the cheers.”
+
+“I wouldn't mind getting killed. I'd love it, in a real fight,” said
+Josephine.
+
+“But, Josephine,” said Robert, “don't you think we've had enough of that
+sort of thing in the war? Don't you think it all works out rather stupid
+and unsatisfying?”
+
+“Ah, but a civil war would be different. I've no interest in fighting
+Germans. But a civil war would be different.”
+
+“That's a fact, it would,” said Jim.
+
+“Only rather worse,” said Robert.
+
+“No, I don't agree,” cried Josephine. “You'd feel you were doing
+something, in a civil war.”
+
+“Pulling the house down,” said Lilly.
+
+“Yes,” she cried. “Don't you hate it, the house we live
+in--London--England--America! Don't you hate them?”
+
+“I don't like them. But I can't get much fire in my hatred. They pall on
+me rather,” said Lilly.
+
+“Ay!” said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.
+
+Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.
+
+“Still,” said Tanny, “there's got to be a clearance some day or other.”
+
+“Oh,” drawled Clariss. “I'm all for a clearance. I'm all for pulling the
+house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good
+cook.”
+
+“May I come to dinner?” said Jim.
+
+“Oh, yes. You'd find it rather domestic.”
+
+“Where do you live?”
+
+“Rather far out now--Amersham.”
+
+“Amersham? Where's that--?”
+
+“Oh, it's on the map.”
+
+There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the
+sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with
+its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat
+watching him, unconsciously.
+
+“Hello you!” said Jim. “Have one?”
+
+Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.
+
+“You believe in love, don't you?” said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and
+grinning at him.
+
+“Love!” said Aaron.
+
+“LOVE! he says,” mocked Jim, grinning at the company.
+
+“What about it, then?” asked Aaron.
+
+“It's life! Love is life,” said Jim fiercely.
+
+“It's a vice, like drink,” said Lilly.
+
+“Eh? A vice!” said Jim. “May be for you, old bird.”
+
+“More so still for you,” said Lilly.
+
+“It's life. It's life!” reiterated Jim. “Don't you agree?” He turned
+wolfishly to Clariss.
+
+“Oh, yes--every time--” she drawled, nonchalant.
+
+“Here, let's write it down,” said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and
+printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece
+panel:--LOVE IS LIFE.
+
+Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
+
+“Oh, I hate love. I hate it,” she protested.
+
+Jim watched her sardonically.
+
+“Look at her!” he said. “Look at Lesbia who hates love.”
+
+“No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't
+love properly,” put in Josephine.
+
+“Have another try,” said Jim,--“I know what love is. I've thought about
+it. Love is the soul's respiration.”
+
+“Let's have that down,” said Lilly.
+
+LOVE IS THE SOUL'S RESPIRATION. He printed it on the old mantel-piece.
+
+Jim eyed the letters.
+
+“It's right,” he said. “Quite right. When you love, your soul breathes
+in. If you don't breathe in, you suffocate.”
+
+“What about breathing out?” said Robert. “If you don't breathe out, you
+asphyxiate.”
+
+“Right you are, Mock Turtle--” said Jim maliciously.
+
+“Breathing out is a bloody revolution,” said Lilly.
+
+“You've hit the nail on the head,” said Jim solemnly.
+
+“Let's record it then,” said Lilly. And with the blue pencil he printed:
+
+WHEN YOU LOVE, YOUR SOUL BREATHES IN--
+
+WHEN YOUR SOUL BREATHES OUT, IT'S A BLOODY REVOLUTION.
+
+“I say Jim,” he said. “You must be busting yourself, trying to breathe
+in.”
+
+“Don't you be too clever. I've thought about it,” said Jim. “When I'm in
+love, I get a great inrush of energy. I actually feel it rush in--here!”
+ He poked his finger on the pit of his stomach. “It's the soul's
+expansion. And if I can't get these rushes of energy, I'M DYING, AND I
+KNOW I AM.”
+
+He spoke the last words with sudden ferocity and desperation.
+
+“All _I_ know is,” said Tanny, “you don't look it.”
+
+“I AM. I am.” Jim protested. “I'm dying. Life's leaving me.”
+
+“Maybe you're choking with love,” said Robert. “Perhaps you have
+breathed in so much, you don't know how to let it go again. Perhaps your
+soul's got a crick in it, with expanding so much.”
+
+“You're a bloody young sucking pig, you are,” said Jim.
+
+“Even at that age, I've learned my manners,” replied Robert.
+
+Jim looked round the party. Then he turned to Aaron Sisson.
+
+“What do you make of 'em, eh?” he said.
+
+Aaron shook his head, and laughed.
+
+“Me?” he said.
+
+But Jim did not wait for an answer.
+
+“I've had enough,” said Tanny suddenly rising. “I think you're all
+silly. Besides, it's getting late.”
+
+“She!” said Jim, rising and pointing luridly to Clariss. “She's Love.
+And HE's the Working People. The hope is these two--” He jerked a thumb
+at Aaron Sisson, after having indicated Mrs. Browning.
+
+“Oh, how awfully interesting. It's quite a long time since I've been a
+personification.--I suppose you've never been one before?” said Clariss,
+turning to Aaron in conclusion.
+
+“No, I don't think I have,” he answered.
+
+“I hope personification is right.--Ought to be _allegory_ or something
+else?” This from Clariss to Robert.
+
+“Or a parable, Clariss,” laughed the young lieutenant.
+
+“Goodbye,” said Tanny. “I've been awfully bored.”
+
+“Have you?” grinned Jim. “Goodbye! Better luck next time.”
+
+“We'd better look sharp,” said Robert, “if we want to get the tube.”
+
+The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the
+Embankment station. Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west, Lilly
+and his wife were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron Sisson were
+going both to Bloomsbury.
+
+“I suppose,” said Robert, on the stairs--“Mr. Sisson will see you to
+your door, Josephine. He lives your way.”
+
+“There's no need at all,” said Josephine.
+
+The four who were going north went down to the low tube level. It
+was nearly the last train. The station was half deserted, half rowdy,
+several fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing. Down there in the
+bowels of London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and
+unnatural.
+
+“How I hate this London,” said Tanny. She was half Norwegian, and had
+spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly.
+
+“Yes, so do I,” said Josephine. “But if one must earn one's living one
+must stay here. I wish I could get back to Paris. But there's nothing
+doing for me in France.--When do you go back into the country, both of
+you?”
+
+“Friday,” said Lilly.
+
+“How lovely for you!--And when will you go to Norway, Tanny?”
+
+“In about a month,” said Tanny.
+
+“You must be awfully pleased.”
+
+“Oh--thankful--THANKFUL to get out of England--”
+
+“I know. That's how I feel. Everything is so awful--so dismal and
+dreary, I find it--”
+
+They crowded into the train. Men were still yelling like wild
+beasts--others were asleep--soldiers were singing.
+
+“Have you really broken your engagement with Jim?” shrilled Tanny in a
+high voice, as the train roared.
+
+“Yes, he's impossible,” said Josephine. “Perfectly hysterical and
+impossible.”
+
+“And SELFISH--” cried Tanny.
+
+“Oh terribly--” cried Josephine.
+
+“Come up to Hampstead to lunch with us,” said Lilly to Aaron.
+
+“Ay--thank you,” said Aaron.
+
+Lilly scribbled directions on a card. The hot, jaded midnight
+underground rattled on. Aaron and Josephine got down to change trains.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+
+
+Josephine had invited Aaron Sisson to dinner at a restaurant in Soho,
+one Sunday evening. They had a corner to themselves, and with a bottle
+of Burgundy she was getting his history from him.
+
+His father had been a shaft-sinker, earning good money, but had been
+killed by a fall down the shaft when Aaron was only four years old. The
+widow had opened a shop: Aaron was her only child. She had done well
+in her shop. She had wanted Aaron to be a schoolteacher. He had served
+three years apprenticeship, then suddenly thrown it up and gone to the
+pit.
+
+“But why?” said Josephine.
+
+“I couldn't tell you. I felt more like it.”
+
+He had a curious quality of an intelligent, almost sophisticated mind,
+which had repudiated education. On purpose he kept the midland accent in
+his speech. He understood perfectly what a personification was--and an
+allegory. But he preferred to be illiterate.
+
+Josephine found out what a miner's checkweighman was. She tried to find
+out what sort of wife Aaron had--but, except that she was the daughter
+of a publican and was delicate in health, she could learn nothing.
+
+“And do you send her money?” she asked.
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron. “The house is mine. And I allow her so much a week out
+of the money in the bank. My mother left me a bit over a thousand when
+she died.”
+
+“You don't mind what I say, do you?” said Josephine.
+
+“No I don't mind,” he laughed.
+
+He had this pleasant-seeming courteous manner. But he really kept her
+at a distance. In some things he reminded her of Robert: blond, erect,
+nicely built, fresh and English-seeming. But there was a curious cold
+distance to him, which she could not get across. An inward indifference
+to her--perhaps to everything. Yet his laugh was so handsome.
+
+“Will you tell me why you left your wife and children?--Didn't you love
+them?”
+
+Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl. She had had her
+hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her ears.
+
+“Why I left her?” he said. “For no particular reason. They're all right
+without me.”
+
+Josephine watched his face. She saw a pallor of suffering under its
+freshness, and a strange tension in his eyes.
+
+“But you couldn't leave your little girls for no reason at all--”
+
+“Yes, I did. For no reason--except I wanted to have some free room round
+me--to loose myself--”
+
+“You mean you wanted love?” flashed Josephine, thinking he said _lose_.
+
+“No, I wanted fresh air. I don't know what I wanted. Why should I know?”
+
+“But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt,” said she.
+
+“Ah, well! A breath of fresh air, by myself. I felt forced to feel--I
+feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED--forced to love--or
+care--or something.”
+
+“Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you,” she said.
+
+“Perhaps less. She's made up her mind she loves me, and she's not going
+to let me off.”
+
+“Did you never love her?” said Josephine.
+
+“Oh, yes. I shall never love anybody else. But I'm damned if I want to
+be a lover any more. To her or to anybody. That's the top and bottom of
+it. I don't want to CARE, when care isn't in me. And I'm not going to be
+forced to it.”
+
+The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near. Josephine let him
+remove the plates and the empty bottle.
+
+“Have more wine,” she said to Aaron.
+
+But he refused. She liked him because of his dead-level indifference to
+his surroundings. French waiters and foreign food--he noticed them in
+his quick, amiable-looking fashion--but he was indifferent. Josephine
+was piqued. She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness of his.
+
+She ordered coffee and brandies.
+
+“But you don't want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you? I myself feel
+so LOST sometimes--so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental
+fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don't you know. But
+my LIFE seems alone, for some reason--”
+
+“Haven't you got relations?” he said.
+
+“No one, now mother is dead. Nothing nearer than aunts and cousins in
+America. I suppose I shall see them all again one day. But they hardly
+count over here.”
+
+“Why don't you get married?” he said. “How old are you?”
+
+“I'm twenty-five. How old are you?”
+
+“Thirty-three.”
+
+“You might almost be any age.--I don't know why I don't get married. In
+a way, I hate earning my own living--yet I go on--and I like my work--”
+
+“What are you doing now?”
+
+“I'm painting scenery for a new play--rather fun--I enjoy it. But I
+often wonder what will become of me.”
+
+“In what way?”
+
+She was almost affronted.
+
+“What becomes of me? Oh, I don't know. And it doesn't matter, not to
+anybody but myself.”
+
+“What becomes of anybody, anyhow? We live till we die. What do you
+want?”
+
+“Why, I keep saying I want to get married and feel sure of something.
+But I don't know--I feel dreadful sometimes--as if every minute would
+be the last. I keep going on and on--I don't know what for--and IT keeps
+going on and on--goodness knows what it's all for.”
+
+“You shouldn't bother yourself,” he said. “You should just let it go on
+and on--”
+
+“But I MUST bother,” she said. “I must think and feel--”
+
+“You've no occasion,” he said.
+
+“How--?” she said, with a sudden grunting, unhappy laugh. Then she lit a
+cigarette.
+
+“No,” she said. “What I should really like more than anything would be
+an end of the world. I wish the world would come to an end.”
+
+He laughed, and poured his drops of brandy down his throat.
+
+“It won't, for wishing,” he said.
+
+“No, that's the awful part of it. It'll just go on and on-- Doesn't it
+make you feel you'd go mad?”
+
+He looked at her and shook his head.
+
+“You see it doesn't concern me,” he said. “So long as I can float by
+myself.”
+
+“But ARE you SATISFIED!” she cried.
+
+“I like being by myself--I hate feeling and caring, and being forced
+into it. I want to be left alone--”
+
+“You aren't very polite to your hostess of the evening,” she said,
+laughing a bit miserably.
+
+“Oh, we're all right,” he said. “You know what I mean--”
+
+“You like your own company? Do you?--Sometimes I think I'm nothing when
+I'm alone. Sometimes I think I surely must be nothing--nothingness.”
+
+He shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said. “No. I only want to be left alone.”
+
+“Not to have anything to do with anybody?” she queried ironically.
+
+“Not to any extent.”
+
+She watched him--and then she bubbled with a laugh.
+
+“I think you're funny,” she said. “You don't mind?”
+
+“No--why--It's just as you see it.--Jim Bricknell's a rare comic, to my
+eye.”
+
+“Oh, him!--no, not actually. He's self-conscious and selfish and
+hysterical. It isn't a bit funny after a while.”
+
+“I only know what I've seen,” said Aaron. “You'd both of you like a
+bloody revolution, though.”
+
+“Yes. Only when it came he wouldn't be there.”
+
+“Would you?”
+
+“Yes, indeed I would. I would give everything to be in it. I'd give
+heaven and earth for a great big upheaval--and then darkness.”
+
+“Perhaps you'll get it, when you die,” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh, but I don't want to die and leave all this standing. I hate it so.”
+
+“Why do you?”
+
+“But don't you?”
+
+“No, it doesn't really bother me.”
+
+“It makes me feel I can't live.”
+
+“I can't see that.”
+
+“But you always disagree with one!” said Josephine. “How do you like
+Lilly? What do you think of him?”
+
+“He seems sharp,” said Aaron.
+
+“But he's more than sharp.”
+
+“Oh, yes! He's got his finger in most pies.”
+
+“And doesn't like the plums in any of them,” said Josephine tartly.
+
+“What does he do?”
+
+“Writes--stories and plays.”
+
+“And makes it pay?”
+
+“Hardly at all.--They want us to go. Shall we?” She rose from the table.
+The waiter handed her her cloak, and they went out into the blowy dark
+night. She folded her wrap round her, and hurried forward with short,
+sharp steps. There was a certain Parisian _chic_ and mincingness about
+her, even in her walk: but underneath, a striding, savage suggestion as
+if she could leg it in great strides, like some savage squaw.
+
+Aaron pressed his bowler hat down on his brow.
+
+“Would you rather take a bus?” she said in a high voice, because of the
+wind.
+
+“I'd rather walk.”
+
+“So would I.”
+
+They hurried across the Charing Cross Road, where great buses rolled and
+rocked, crammed with people. Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement,
+as they walked east. They crossed Holborn, and passed the Museum. And
+neither of them said anything.
+
+When they came to the corner, she held out her hand.
+
+“Look!” she said. “Don't come any further: don't trouble.”
+
+“I'll walk round with you: unless you'd rather not.”
+
+“No--But do you want to bother?”
+
+“It's no bother.”
+
+So they pursued their way through the high wind, and turned at last
+into the old, beautiful square. It seemed dark and deserted, dark like
+a savage wilderness in the heart of London. The wind was roaring in the
+great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark grove deep
+in a forgotten land.
+
+Josephine opened the gate of the square garden with her key, and let it
+slam to behind him.
+
+“How wonderful the wind is!” she shrilled. “Shall we listen to it for a
+minute?”
+
+She led him across the grass past the shrubs to the big tree in the
+centre. There she climbed up to a seat. He sat beside her. They sat in
+silence, looking at the darkness. Rain was blowing in the wind. They
+huddled against the big tree-trunk, for shelter, and watched the scene.
+
+Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street
+gleamed silently. The houses of the Square rose like a cliff on this
+inner dark sea, dimly lighted at occasional windows. Boughs swayed and
+sang. A taxi-cab swirled round a corner like a cat, and purred to a
+standstill. There was a light of an open hall door. But all far away,
+it seemed, unthinkably far away. Aaron sat still and watched. He was
+frightened, it all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling heart of
+London. Wind boomed and tore like waves ripping a shingle beach. The two
+white lights of the taxi stared round and departed, leaving the coast
+at the foot of the cliffs deserted, faintly spilled with light from the
+high lamp. Beyond there, on the outer rim, a policeman passed solidly.
+
+Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly. Occasionally
+she blew her nose and wiped her face. But he had not realized. She
+hardly realized herself. She sat near the strange man. He seemed so
+still and remote--so fascinating.
+
+“Give me your hand,” she said to him, subduedly.
+
+He took her cold hand in his warm, living grasp. She wept more bitterly.
+He noticed at last.
+
+“Why are you crying?” he said.
+
+“I don't know,” she replied, rather matter-of-fact, through her tears.
+
+So he let her cry, and said no more, but sat with her cold hand in his
+warm, easy clasp.
+
+“You'll think me a fool,” she said. “I don't know why I cry.”
+
+“You can cry for nothing, can't you?” he said.
+
+“Why, yes, but it's not very sensible.”
+
+He laughed shortly.
+
+“Sensible!” he said.
+
+“You are a strange man,” she said.
+
+But he took no notice.
+
+“Did you ever intend to marry Jim Bricknell?” he asked.
+
+“Yes, of course.”
+
+“I can't imagine it,” he said.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+Both were watching blankly the roaring night of mid-London, the
+phantasmagoric old Bloomsbury Square. They were still hand in hand.
+
+“Such as you shouldn't marry,” he said.
+
+“But why not? I want to.”
+
+“You think you do.”
+
+“Yes indeed I do.”
+
+He did not say any more.
+
+“Why shouldn't I?” she persisted. “I don't know--”
+
+And again he was silent.
+
+“You've known some life, haven't you?” he asked.
+
+“Me? Why?”
+
+“You seem to.”
+
+“Do I? I'm sorry. Do I seem vicious?--No, I'm not vicious.--I've seen
+some life, perhaps--in Paris mostly. But not much. Why do you ask?”
+
+“I wasn't thinking.”
+
+“But what do you mean? What are you thinking?”
+
+“Nothing. Nothing.”
+
+“Don't be so irritating,” said she.
+
+But he did not answer, and she became silent also. They sat hand in
+hand.
+
+“Won't you kiss me?” came her voice out of the darkness.
+
+He waited some moments, then his voice sounded gently, half mocking,
+half reproachful.
+
+“Nay!” he said.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“I don't want to.”
+
+“Why not?” she asked.
+
+He laughed, but did not reply.
+
+She sat perfectly still for some time. She had ceased to cry. In the
+darkness her face was set and sullen. Sometimes a spray of rain blew
+across it. She drew her hand from his, and rose to her feet.
+
+“Ill go in now,” she said.
+
+“You're not offended, are you?” he asked.
+
+“No. Why?”
+
+They stepped down in the darkness from their perch.
+
+“I wondered.”
+
+She strode off for some little way. Then she turned and said:
+
+“Yes, I think it is rather insulting.”
+
+“Nay,” he said. “Not it! Not it!”
+
+And he followed her to the gate.
+
+She opened with her key, and they crossed the road to her door.
+
+“Good-night,” she said, turning and giving him her hand.
+
+“You'll come and have dinner with me--or lunch--will you? When shall we
+make it?” he asked.
+
+“Well, I can't say for certain--I'm very busy just now. I'll let you
+know.”
+
+A policeman shed his light on the pair of them as they stood on the
+step.
+
+“All right,” said Aaron, dropping back, and she hastily opened the big
+door, and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+
+
+The Lillys had a labourer's cottage in Hampshire--pleasant enough. They
+were poor. Lilly was a little, dark, thin, quick fellow, his wife was
+strong and fair. They had known Robert and Julia for some years, but
+Josephine and Jim were new acquaintances,--fairly new.
+
+One day in early spring Lilly had a telegram, “Coming to see you arrive
+4:30--Bricknell.” He was surprised, but he and his wife got the spare
+room ready. And at four o'clock Lilly went off to the station. He was
+a few minutes late, and saw Jim's tall, rather elegant figure stalking
+down the station path. Jim had been an officer in the regular army, and
+still spent hours with his tailor. But instead of being a soldier he was
+a sort of socialist, and a red-hot revolutionary of a very ineffectual
+sort.
+
+“Good lad!” he exclaimed, as Lilly came up. “Thought you wouldn't mind.”
+
+“Not at all. Let me carry your bag.” Jim had a bag and a knapsack.
+
+“I had an inspiration this morning,” said Jim. “I suddenly saw that if
+there was a man in England who could save me, it was you.”
+
+“Save you from what?” asked Lilly, rather abashed.
+
+“Eh--?” and Jim stooped, grinning at the smaller man.
+
+Lilly was somewhat puzzled, but he had a certain belief in himself as a
+saviour. The two men tramped rather incongruously through the lanes to
+the cottage.
+
+Tanny was in the doorway as they came up the garden path.
+
+“So nice to see you! Are you all right?” she said.
+
+“A-one!” said Jim, grinning. “Nice of you to have me.”
+
+“Oh, we're awfully pleased.”
+
+Jim dropped his knapsack on the broad sofa.
+
+“I've brought some food,” he said.
+
+“Have you! That's sensible of you. We can't get a great deal here,
+except just at week-ends,” said Tanny.
+
+Jim fished out a pound of sausages and a pot of fish paste.
+
+“How lovely the sausages,” said Tanny. “We'll have them for dinner
+tonight--and we'll have the other for tea now. You'd like a wash?”
+
+But Jim had already opened his bag, taken off his coat, and put on an
+old one.
+
+“Thanks,” he said.
+
+Lilly made the tea, and at length all sat down.
+
+“Well how unexpected this is--and how nice,” said Tanny.
+
+“Jolly--eh?” said Jim.
+
+He ate rapidly, stuffing his mouth too full.
+
+“How is everybody?” asked Tanny.
+
+“All right. Julia's gone with Cyril Scott. Can't stand that fellow, can
+you? What?”
+
+“Yes, I think he's rather nice,” said Tanny. “What will Robert do?”
+
+“Have a shot at Josephine, apparently.”
+
+“Really? Is he in love with her? I thought so. And she likes him too,
+doesn't she?” said Tanny.
+
+“Very likely,” said Jim.
+
+“I suppose you're jealous,” laughed Tanny.
+
+“Me!” Jim shook his head. “Not a bit. Like to see the ball kept
+rolling.”
+
+“What have you been doing lately?”
+
+“Been staying a few days with my wife.”
+
+“No, really! I can't believe it.”
+
+Jim had a French wife, who had divorced him, and two children. Now he
+was paying visits to this wife again: purely friendly. Tanny did most
+of the talking. Jim excited her, with his way of looking in her face and
+grinning wolfishly, and at the same time asking to be saved.
+
+After tea, he wanted to send telegrams, so Lilly took him round to the
+village post-office. Telegrams were a necessary part of his life. He had
+to be suddenly starting off to keep sudden appointments, or he felt he
+was a void in the atmosphere. He talked to Lilly about social reform,
+and so on. Jim's work in town was merely nominal. He spent his time
+wavering about and going to various meetings, philandering and weeping.
+
+Lilly kept in the back of his mind the Saving which James had come to
+look for. He intended to do his best. After dinner the three sat cosily
+round the kitchen fire.
+
+“But what do you really think will happen to the world?” Lilly asked
+Jim, amid much talk.
+
+“What? There's something big coming,” said Jim.
+
+“Where from?”
+
+“Watch Ireland, and watch Japan--they're the two poles of the world,”
+ said Jim.
+
+“I thought Russia and America,” said Lilly.
+
+“Eh? What? Russia and America! They'll depend on Ireland and Japan. I
+know it. I've had a vision of it. Ireland on this side and Japan on the
+other--they'll settle it.”
+
+“I don't see how,” said Lilly.
+
+“I don't see HOW--But I had a vision of it.”
+
+“What sort of vision?”
+
+“Couldn't describe it.”
+
+“But you don't think much of the Japanese, do you?” asked Lilly.
+
+“Don't I! Don't I!” said Jim. “What, don't you think they're wonderful?”
+
+“No. I think they're rather unpleasant.”
+
+“I think the salvation of the world lies with them.”
+
+“Funny salvation,” said Lilly. “I think they're anything but angels.”
+
+“Do you though? Now that's funny. Why?”
+
+“Looking at them even. I knew a Russian doctor who'd been through the
+Russo-Japanese war, and who had gone a bit cracked. He said he saw the
+Japs rush a trench. They threw everything away and flung themselves
+through the Russian fire and simply dropped in masses. But those that
+reached the trenches jumped in with bare hands on the Russians and tore
+their faces apart and bit their throats out--fairly ripped the faces
+off the bone.--It had sent the doctor a bit cracked. He said the wounded
+were awful,--their faces torn off and their throats mangled--and dead
+Japs with flesh between the teeth--God knows if it's true. But that's
+the impression the Japanese had made on this man. It had affected his
+mind really.”
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and smiled as if he were pleased.
+
+“No--really--!” he said.
+
+“Anyhow they're more demon than angel, I believe,” said Lilly.
+
+“Oh, no, Rawdon, but you always exaggerate,” said Tanny.
+
+“Maybe,” said Lilly.
+
+“I think Japanese are fascinating--fascinating--so quick, and such FORCE
+in them--”
+
+“Rather!--eh?” said Jim, looking with a quick smile at Tanny.
+
+“I think a Japanese lover would be marvellous,” she laughed riskily.
+
+“I s'd think he would,” said Jim, screwing up his eyes.
+
+“Do you hate the normal British as much as I do?” she asked him.
+
+“Hate them! Hate them!” he said, with an intimate grin.
+
+“Their beastly virtue,” said she. “And I believe there's nobody more
+vicious underneath.”
+
+“Nobody!” said Jim.
+
+“But you're British yourself,” said Lilly to Jim.
+
+“No, I'm Irish. Family's Irish--my mother was a Fitz-patrick.”
+
+“Anyhow you live in England.”
+
+“Because they won't let me go to Ireland.”
+
+The talk drifted. Jim finished up all the beer, and they prepared to go
+to bed. Jim was a bit tipsy, grinning. He asked for bread and cheese to
+take upstairs.
+
+“Will you have supper?” said Lilly. He was surprised, because Jim had
+eaten strangely much at dinner.
+
+“No--where's the loaf?” And he cut himself about half of it. There was
+no cheese.
+
+“Bread'll do,” said Jim.
+
+“Sit down and eat it. Have cocoa with it,” said Tanny.
+
+“No, I like to have it in my bedroom.”
+
+“You don't eat bread in the night?” said Lilly.
+
+“I do.”
+
+“What a funny thing to do.”
+
+The cottage was in darkness. The Lillys slept soundly. Jim woke up and
+chewed bread and slept again. In the morning at dawn he rose and went
+downstairs. Lilly heard him roaming about--heard the woman come in
+to clean--heard them talking. So he got up to look after his visitor,
+though it was not seven o'clock, and the woman was busy.--But before he
+went down, he heard Jim come upstairs again.
+
+Mrs. Short was busy in the kitchen when Lilly went down.
+
+“The other gentleman have been down, Sir,” said Mrs. Short. “He asked me
+where the bread and butter were, so I said should I cut him a piece. But
+he wouldn't let me do it. I gave him a knife and he took it for himself,
+in the pantry.”
+
+“I say, Bricknell,” said Lilly at breakfast time, “why do you eat so
+much bread?”
+
+“I've got to feed up. I've been starved during this damned war.”
+
+“But hunks of bread won't feed you up.”
+
+“Gives the stomach something to work at, and prevents it grinding on the
+nerves,” said Jim.
+
+“But surely you don't want to keep your stomach always full and heavy.”
+
+“I do, my boy. I do. It needs keeping solid. I'm losing life, if I
+don't. I tell you I'm losing life. Let me put something inside me.”
+
+“I don't believe bread's any use.”
+
+During breakfast Jim talked about the future of the world.
+
+“I reckon Christ's the finest thing time has ever produced,” said he;
+“and will remain it.”
+
+“But you don't want crucifixions _ad infinitum_,” said Lilly.
+
+“What? Why not?”
+
+“Once is enough--and have done.”
+
+“Don't you think love and sacrifice are the finest things in life?” said
+Jim, over his bacon.
+
+“Depends WHAT love, and what sacrifice,” said Lilly. “If I really
+believe in an Almighty God, I am willing to sacrifice for Him. That is,
+I'm willing to yield my own personal interest to the bigger creative
+interest.--But it's obvious Almighty God isn't mere Love.”
+
+“I think it is. Love and only love,” said Jim. “I think the greatest joy
+is sacrificing oneself to love.”
+
+“To SOMEONE you love, you mean,” said Tanny.
+
+“No I don't. I don't mean someone at all. I mean love--love--love. I
+sacrifice myself to love. I reckon that's the highest man is capable
+of.”
+
+“But you can't sacrifice yourself to an abstract principle,” said Tanny.
+
+“That's just what you can do. And that's the beauty of it. Who
+represents the principle doesn't matter. Christ is the principle of
+love,” said Jim.
+
+“But no!” said Tanny. “It MUST be more individual. It must be SOMEBODY
+you love, not abstract love in itself. How can you sacrifice yourself to
+an abstraction.”
+
+“Ha, I think Love and your Christ detestable,” said Lilly--“a sheer
+ignominy.”
+
+“Finest thing the world has produced,” said Jim.
+
+“No. A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed! No, it's foul. Don't
+you see it's the Judas principle you really worship. Judas is the real
+hero. But for Judas the whole show would have been _manque_.”
+
+“Oh yes,” said Jim. “Judas was inevitable. I'm not sure that Judas
+wasn't the greatest of the disciples--and Jesus knew it. I'm not sure
+Judas wasn't the disciple Jesus loved.”
+
+“Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks,” said Tanny.
+
+Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.
+
+“Then it was a nasty combination. And anything which turns on a Judas
+climax is a dirty show, to my thinking. I think your Judas is a rotten,
+dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental twister. And
+out of all Christianity he is the hero today. When people say Christ
+they mean Judas. They find him luscious on the palate. And Jesus
+fostered him--” said Lilly.
+
+“He's a profound figure, is Judas. It's taken two thousand years to
+begin to understand him,” said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade into
+his mouth.
+
+“A traitor is a traitor--no need to understand any further. And a system
+which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that treachery
+not only inevitable but sacred. That's why I'm sick of Christianity.--At
+any rate this modern Christ-mongery.”
+
+“The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce--Christ
+and Judas--” said Jim.
+
+“Not to me,” said Lilly. “Foul combination.”
+
+It was a lovely morning in early March. Violets were out, and the first
+wild anemones. The sun was quite warm. The three were about to take out
+a picnic lunch. Lilly however was suffering from Jim's presence.
+
+“Jolly nice here,” said Jim. “Mind if I stay till Saturday?”
+
+There was a pause. Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely
+bullied. Was he going to agree? Suddenly he looked up at Jim.
+
+“I'd rather you went tomorrow,” he said.
+
+Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.
+
+“What's tomorrow?” said Jim.
+
+“Thursday,” said Lilly.
+
+“Thursday,” repeated Jim. And he looked up and got Lilly's eye. He
+wanted to say “Friday then?”
+
+“Yes, I'd rather you went Thursday,” repeated Lilly.
+
+“But Rawdon--!” broke in Tanny, who was suffering. She stopped, however.
+
+“We can walk across country with you some way if you like,” said Lilly
+to Jim. It was a sort of compromise.
+
+“Fine!” said Jim. “We'll do that, then.”
+
+It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods. Between Jim
+and Tanny was a sort of growing _rapprochement_, which got on Lilly's
+nerves.
+
+“What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?” cried Lilly
+at Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.
+
+“But I'm not personal at all, am I, Mr. Bricknell?” said Tanny.
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and grinned pleasedly.
+
+“Why shouldn't you be, anyhow?” he said.
+
+“Yes!” she retorted. “Why not!”
+
+“Not while I'm here. I loathe the slimy creepy personal
+intimacy.--'Don't you think, Mr. Bricknell, that it's lovely to be able
+to talk quite simply to somebody? Oh, it's such a relief, after most
+people---'” Lilly mimicked his wife's last speech savagely.
+
+“But I MEAN it,” cried Tanny. “It is lovely.”
+
+“Dirty messing,” said Lilly angrily.
+
+Jim watched the dark, irascible little man with amusement. They rose,
+and went to look for an inn, and beer. Tanny still clung rather stickily
+to Jim's side.
+
+But it was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with
+crocuses and wall-flowers in the cottage gardens, and white cocks
+crowing in the quiet hamlet.
+
+When they got back in the afternoon to the cottage, they found a
+telegram for Jim. He let the Lillys see it--“Meet you for a walk on your
+return journey Lois.” At once Tanny wanted to know all about Lois. Lois
+was a nice girl, well-to-do middle-class, but also an actress, and she
+would do anything Jim wanted.
+
+“I must get a wire to her to meet me tomorrow,” he said. “Where shall I
+say?”
+
+Lilly produced the map, and they decided on time and station at which
+Lois coming out of London, should meet Jim. Then the happy pair could
+walk along the Thames valley, spending a night perhaps at Marlowe, or
+some such place.
+
+Off went Jim and Lilly once more to the postoffice. They were quite
+good friends. Having so inhospitably fixed the hour of departure,
+Lilly wanted to be nice. Arrived at the postoffice, they found it shut:
+half-day closing for the little shop.
+
+“Well,” said Lilly. “We'll go to the station.”
+
+They proceeded to the station--found the station-master--were conducted
+down to the signal-box. Lilly naturally hung back from people, but
+Jim was hob-nob with the station-master and the signal man, quite
+officer-and-my-men kind of thing. Lilly sat out on the steps of the
+signal-box, rather ashamed, while the long telegram was shouted over the
+telephone to the junction town--first the young lady and her address,
+then the message “Meet me X. station 3:40 tomorrow walk back great
+pleasure Jim.”
+
+Anyhow that was done. They went home to tea. After tea, as the evening
+fell, Lilly suggested a little stroll in the woods, while Tanny prepared
+the dinner. Jim agreed, and they set out. The two men wandered through
+the trees in the dusk, till they came to a bank on the farther edge of
+the wood. There they sat down.
+
+And there Lilly said what he had to say. “As a matter of fact,” he said,
+“it's nothing but love and self-sacrifice which makes you feel yourself
+losing life.”
+
+“You're wrong. Only love brings it back--and wine. If I drink a bottle
+of Burgundy I feel myself restored at the middle--right here! I feel
+the energy back again. And if I can fall in love--But it's becoming so
+damned hard--”
+
+“What, to fall in love?” asked Lilly.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Then why not leave off trying! What do you want to poke yourself and
+prod yourself into love, for?”
+
+“Because I'm DEAD without it. I'm dead. I'm dying.”
+
+“Only because you force yourself. If you drop working yourself up--”
+
+“I shall die. I only live when I can fall in love. Otherwise I'm dying
+by inches. Why, man, you don't know what it was like. I used to get
+the most grand feelings--like a great rush of force, or light--a great
+rush--right here, as I've said, at the solar plexus. And it would come
+any time--anywhere--no matter where I was. And then I was all right.
+
+“All right for what?--for making love?”
+
+“Yes, man, I was.”
+
+“And now you aren't?--Oh, well, leave love alone, as any twopenny doctor
+would tell you.”
+
+“No, you're off it there. It's nothing technical. Technically I can make
+love as much as you like. It's nothing a doctor has any say in. It's
+what I feel inside me. I feel the life going. I know it's going. I never
+get those inrushes now, unless I drink a jolly lot, or if I possibly
+could fall in love. Technically, I'm potent all right--oh, yes!”
+
+“You should leave yourself and your inrushes alone.”
+
+“But you can't. It's a sort of ache.”
+
+“Then you should stiffen your backbone. It's your backbone that matters.
+You shouldn't want to abandon yourself. You shouldn't want to fling
+yourself all loose into a woman's lap. You should stand by yourself and
+learn to be by yourself. Why don't you be more like the Japanese you
+talk about? Quiet, aloof little devils. They don't bother about being
+loved. They keep themselves taut in their own selves--there, at the
+bottom of the spine--the devil's own power they've got there.”
+
+Jim mused a bit.
+
+“Think they have?” he laughed. It seemed comic to him.
+
+“Sure! Look at them. Why can't you gather yourself there?”
+
+“At the tail?”
+
+“Yes. Hold yourself firm there.”
+
+Jim broke into a cackle of a laugh, and rose. The two went through
+the dark woods back to the cottage. Jim staggered and stumbled like a
+drunken man: or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia: as if he had no
+power in his lower limbs.
+
+“Walk there--!” said Lilly, finding him the smoothest bit of the
+dark path. But Jim stumbled and shambled, in a state of nauseous weak
+relaxation. However, they reached the cottage: and food and beer--and
+Tanny, piqued with curiosity to know what the men had been saying
+privately to each other.
+
+After dinner they sat once more talking round the fire.
+
+Lilly sat in a small chair facing the fire, the other two in the
+armchairs on either side the hearth.
+
+“How nice it will be for you, walking with Lois towards London
+tomorrow,” gushed Tanny sentimentally.
+
+“Good God!” said Lilly. “Why the dickens doesn't he walk by himself,
+without wanting a woman always there, to hold his hand.”
+
+“Don't be so spiteful,” said Tanny. “YOU see that you have a woman
+always there, to hold YOUR hand.”
+
+“My hand doesn't need holding,” snapped Lilly.
+
+“Doesn't it! More than most men's! But you're so beastly ungrateful and
+mannish. Because I hold you safe enough all the time you like to pretend
+you're doing it all yourself.”
+
+“All right. Don't drag yourself in,” said Lilly, detesting his wife
+at that moment. “Anyhow,” and he turned to Jim, “it's time you'd done
+slobbering yourself over a lot of little women, one after the other.”
+
+“Why shouldn't I, if I like it?” said Jim.
+
+“Yes, why not?” said Tanny.
+
+“Because it makes a fool of you. Look at you, stumbling and staggering
+with no use in your legs. I'd be ashamed if I were you.”
+
+“Would you?” said Jim.
+
+“I would. And it's nothing but your wanting to be loved which does it. A
+maudlin crying to be loved, which makes your knees all go rickety.”
+
+“Think that's it?” said Jim.
+
+“What else is it. You haven't been here a day, but you must telegraph
+for some female to be ready to hold your hand the moment you go away.
+And before she lets go, you'll be wiring for another. YOU WANT TO BE
+LOVED, you want to be loved--a man of your years. It's disgusting--”
+
+“I don't see it. I believe in love--” said Jim, watching and grinning
+oddly.
+
+“Bah, love! Messing, that's what it is. It wouldn't matter if it did
+you no harm. But when you stagger and stumble down a road, out of sheer
+sloppy relaxation of your will---”
+
+At this point Jim suddenly sprang from his chair at Lilly, and gave him
+two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the body. Then
+he sat down in his own chair again, saying sheepishly:
+
+“I knew I should have to do it, if he said any more.”
+
+Lilly sat motionless as a statue, his face like paper. One of the blows
+had caught him rather low, so that he was almost winded and could not
+breathe. He sat rigid, paralysed as a winded man is. But he wouldn't let
+it be seen. With all his will he prevented himself from gasping. Only
+through his parted lips he drew tiny gasps, controlled, nothing revealed
+to the other two. He hated them both far too much.
+
+For some minutes there was dead silence, whilst Lilly silently and
+viciously fought for his breath. Tanny opened her eyes wide in a sort
+of pleased bewilderment, and Jim turned his face aside, and hung his
+clasped hands between his knees.
+
+“There's a great silence, suddenly!” said Tanny.
+
+“What is there to say?” ejaculated Lilly rapidly, with a spoonful of
+breath which he managed to compress and control into speech. Then he sat
+motionless again, concerned with the business of getting back his wind,
+and not letting the other two see.
+
+Jim jerked in his chair, and looked round.
+
+“It isn't that I don't like the man,” he said, in a rather small voice.
+“But I knew if he went on I should have to do it.”
+
+To Lilly, rigid and physically preoccupied, there sounded a sort of
+self-consciousness in Jim's voice, as if the whole thing had been
+semi-deliberate. He detected the sort of maudlin deliberateness which
+goes with hysterics, and he was colder, more icy than ever.
+
+Tanny looked at Lilly, puzzled, bewildered, but still rather pleased, as
+if she demanded an answer. None being forthcoming, she said:
+
+“Of course, you mustn't expect to say all those things without rousing a
+man.”
+
+Still Lilly did not answer. Jim glanced at him, then looked at Tanny.
+
+“It isn't that I don't like him,” he said, slowly. “I like him better
+than any man I've ever known, I believe.” He clasped his hands and
+turned aside his face.
+
+“Judas!” flashed through Lilly's mind.
+
+Again Tanny looked for her husband's answer.
+
+“Yes, Rawdon,” she said. “You can't say the things you do without their
+having an effect. You really ask for it, you know.”
+
+“It's no matter.” Lilly squeezed the words out coldly. “He wanted to do
+it, and he did it.”
+
+A dead silence ensued now. Tanny looked from man to man.
+
+“I could feel it coming on me,” said Jim.
+
+“Of course!” said Tanny. “Rawdon doesn't know the things he says.” She
+was pleased that he had had to pay for them, for once.
+
+It takes a man a long time to get his breath back, after a sharp blow in
+the wind. Lilly was managing by degrees. The others no doubt attributed
+his silence to deep or fierce thoughts. It was nothing of the kind,
+merely a cold struggle to get his wind back, without letting them know
+he was struggling: and a sheer, stock-stiff hatred of the pair of them.
+
+“I like the man,” said Jim. “Never liked a man more than I like him.” He
+spoke as if with difficulty.
+
+“The man” stuck safely in Lilly's ears.
+
+“Oh, well,” he managed to say. “It's nothing. I've done my talking and
+had an answer, for once.”
+
+“Yes, Rawdy, you've had an answer, for once. Usually you don't get an
+answer, you know--and that's why you go so far--in the things you say.
+Now you'll know how you make people feel.”
+
+“Quite!” said Lilly.
+
+“_I_ don't feel anything. I don't mind what he says,” said Jim.
+
+“Yes, but he ought to know the things he DOES say,” said Tanny. “He goes
+on, without considering the person he's talking to. This time it's come
+back on him. He mustn't say such personal things, if he's not going to
+risk an answer.”
+
+“I don't mind what he says. I don't mind a bit,” said Jim.
+
+“Nor do I mind,” said Lilly indifferently. “I say what I feel--You do as
+you feel--There's an end of it.”
+
+A sheepish sort of silence followed this speech. It was broken by a
+sudden laugh from Tanny.
+
+“The things that happen to us!” she said, laughing rather shrilly.
+“Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, we're all struck into silence!”
+
+“Rum game, eh!” said Jim, grinning.
+
+“Isn't it funny! Isn't life too funny!” She looked again at her husband.
+“But, Rawdy, you must admit it was your own fault.”
+
+Lilly's stiff face did not change.
+
+“Why FAULT!” he said, looking at her coldly. “What is there to talk
+about?”
+
+“Usually there's so much,” she said sarcastically.
+
+A few phrases dribbled out of the silence. In vain Jim, tried to get
+Lilly to thaw, and in vain Tanny gave her digs at her husband. Lilly's
+stiff, inscrutable face did not change, he was polite and aloof. So they
+all went to bed.
+
+In the morning, the walk was to take place, as arranged, Lilly and Tanny
+accompanying Jim to the third station across country. The morning was
+lovely, the country beautiful. Lilly liked the countryside and enjoyed
+the walk. But a hardness inside himself never relaxed. Jim talked
+a little again about the future of the world, and a higher state of
+Christlikeness in man. But Lilly only laughed. Then Tanny managed to
+get ahead with Jim, sticking to his side and talking sympathetic
+personalities. But Lilly, feeling it from afar, ran after them and
+caught them up. They were silent.
+
+“What was the interesting topic?” he said cuttingly.
+
+“Nothing at all!” said Tanny, nettled. “Why must you interfere?”
+
+“Because I intend to,” said Lilly.
+
+And the two others fell apart, as if severed with a knife. Jim walked
+rather sheepishly, as if cut out.
+
+So they came at last past the canals to the wayside station: and at last
+Jim's train came. They all said goodbye. Jim and Tanny were both waiting
+for Lilly to show some sign of real reconciliation. But none came. He
+was cheerful and aloof.
+
+“Goodbye,” he said to Jim. “Hope Lois will be there all right. Third
+station on. Goodbye! Goodbye!”
+
+“You'll come to Rackham?” said Jim, leaning out of the train.
+
+“We should love to,” called Tanny, after the receding train.
+
+“All right,” said Lilly, non-committal.
+
+But he and his wife never saw Jim again. Lilly never intended to see
+him: a devil sat in the little man's breast.
+
+“You shouldn't play at little Jesus, coming so near to people, wanting
+to help them,” was Tanny's last word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. LOW-WATER MARK
+
+
+Tanny went away to Norway to visit her people, for the first time for
+three years. Lilly did not go: he did not want to. He came to London
+and settled in a room over Covent Garden market. The room was high up, a
+fair size, and stood at the corner of one of the streets and the market
+itself, looking down on the stalls and the carts and the arcade. Lilly
+would climb out of the window and sit for hours watching the behaviour
+of the great draught-horses which brought the mountains of boxes and
+vegetables. Funny half-human creatures they seemed, so massive and
+fleshy, yet so Cockney. There was one which could not bear donkeys,
+and which used to stretch out its great teeth like some massive serpent
+after every poor diminutive ass that came with a coster's barrow.
+Another great horse could not endure standing. It would shake itself
+and give little starts, and back into the heaps of carrots and broccoli,
+whilst the driver went into a frenzy of rage.
+
+There was always something to watch. One minute it was two great loads
+of empty crates, which in passing had got entangled, and reeled, leaning
+to fall disastrously. Then the drivers cursed and swore and dismounted
+and stared at their jeopardised loads: till a thin fellow was persuaded
+to scramble up the airy mountains of cages, like a monkey. And he
+actually managed to put them to rights. Great sigh of relief when the
+vans rocked out of the market.
+
+Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky
+behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to somewhere, under
+the arches beside the market. The great brawny porters would tease him,
+and he would stop to give them cheek. One afternoon a giant lunged after
+him: the boy darted gracefully among the heaps of vegetables, still
+bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some young blue-buttoned acolyte
+fleeing before a false god. The giant rolled after him--when alas, the
+acolyte of the tea-tray slipped among the vegetables, and down came the
+tray. Then tears, and a roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants. Lilly
+felt they were going to make it up to him.
+
+Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
+vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered why.
+But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of silver
+brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet. Evidently
+an assignation. Yet what could be more conspicuous than this elegant
+pair, picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?
+
+And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
+overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly. Lilly had risen and was
+just retiring out of the chill, damp air. For some reason he lingered to
+watch the figure. The man was walking east. He stepped rather insecurely
+off the pavement, and wavered across the setts between the wheels of the
+standing vans. And suddenly he went down. Lilly could not see him on the
+ground, but he saw some van-men go forward, and he saw one of them pick
+up the man's hat.
+
+“I'd better go down,” said Lilly to himself.
+
+So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past
+the many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the
+market. A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just
+rowing into the centre of the interest. Lilly, always a hoverer on the
+edge of public commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts of the
+crowd.
+
+“What is it?” he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.
+
+“Drunk,” said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney, he
+pronounced it “Drank.”
+
+Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.
+
+“Come on here. Where d' you want to go?” he heard the hearty tones of
+the policeman.
+
+“I'm all right. I'm all right,” came the testy drunken answer.
+
+“All right, are yer! All right, and then some,--come on, get on your
+pins.”
+
+“I'm all right! I'm all right.”
+
+The voice made Lilly peer between the people. And sitting on the granite
+setts, being hauled up by a burly policeman, he saw our acquaintance
+Aaron, very pale in the face and a little dishevelled.
+
+“Like me to tuck the sheets round you, shouldn't you? Fancy yourself
+snug in bed, don't you? You won't believe you're right in the way of
+traffic, will you now, in Covent Garden Market? Come on, we'll see to
+you.” And the policeman hoisted the bitter and unwilling Aaron.
+
+Lilly was quickly at the centre of the affair, unobtrusive like a
+shadow, different from the other people.
+
+“Help him up to my room, will you?” he said to the constable. “Friend of
+mine.”
+
+The large constable looked down on the bare-headed wispy, unobtrusive
+Lilly with good-humoured suspicion and incredulity. Lilly could not have
+borne it if the policeman had uttered any of this cockney suspicion, so
+he watched him. There was a great gulf between the public official and
+the odd, quiet little individual--yet Lilly had his way.
+
+“Which room?” said the policeman, dubious.
+
+Lilly pointed quickly round. Then he said to Aaron:
+
+“Were you coming to see me, Sisson? You'll come in, won't you?”
+
+Aaron nodded rather stupidly and testily. His eyes looked angry.
+Somebody stuck his hat on his head for him, and made him look a fool.
+Lilly took it off again, and carried it for him. He turned and the crowd
+eased. He watched Aaron sharply, and saw that it was with difficulty
+he could walk. So he caught him by the arm on the other side from the
+policeman, and they crossed the road to the pavement.
+
+“Not so much of this sort of thing these days,” said the policeman.
+
+“Not so much opportunity,” said Lilly.
+
+“More than there was, though. Coming back to the old days, like. Working
+round, bit by bit.”
+
+They had arrived at the stairs. Aaron stumbled up.
+
+“Steady now! Steady does it!” said the policeman, steering his charge.
+There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
+
+At last Lilly opened his own door. The room was pleasant. The fire
+burned warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions and
+papers. Books and papers covered the big writing desk. Beyond the screen
+made by the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with washstand by
+one of the large windows, the one through which Lilly had climbed.
+
+The policeman looked round curiously.
+
+“More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!” he said.
+
+Lilly laughed. He was hastily clearing the sofa.
+
+“Sit on the sofa, Sisson,” he said.
+
+The policeman lowered his charge, with a--
+
+“Right we are, then!”
+
+Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown. But
+he was watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and
+semi-conscious.
+
+“Do you feel ill, Sisson?” he said sharply.
+
+Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
+
+“I believe you are,” said Lilly, taking his hand.
+
+“Might be a bit o' this flu, you know,” said the policeman.
+
+“Yes,” said Lilly. “Where is there a doctor?” he added, on reflection.
+
+“The nearest?” said the policeman. And he told him. “Leave a message for
+you, Sir?”
+
+Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
+
+“No, I'll run round myself if necessary,” he said.
+
+And the policeman departed.
+
+“You'll go to bed, won't you?” said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was
+shut. Aaron shook his head sulkily.
+
+“I would if I were you. You can stay here till you're all right. I'm
+alone, so it doesn't matter.”
+
+But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness. Lilly put the big kettle
+on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire. Then he hovered in
+front of the stupefied man. He felt uneasy. Again he took Aaron's hand
+and felt the pulse.
+
+“I'm sure you aren't well. You must go to bed,” he said. And he kneeled
+and unfastened his visitor's boots. Meanwhile the kettle began to boil,
+he put a hot-water bottle into the bed.
+
+“Let us get your overcoat off,” he said to the stupefied man. “Come
+along.” And with coaxing and pulling and pushing he got off the overcoat
+and coat and waistcoat.
+
+At last Aaron was undressed and in bed. Lilly brought him tea. With
+a dim kind of obedience he took the cup and would drink. He looked at
+Lilly with heavy eyes.
+
+“I gave in, I gave in to her, else I should ha' been all right,” he
+said.
+
+“To whom?” said Lilly.
+
+“I gave in to her--and afterwards I cried, thinking of Lottie and the
+children. I felt my heart break, you know. And that's what did it. I
+should have been all right if I hadn't given in to her--”
+
+“To whom?” said Lilly.
+
+“Josephine. I felt, the minute I was loving her, I'd done myself. And I
+had. Everything came back on me. If I hadn't given in to her, I should
+ha' kept all right.”
+
+“Don't bother now. Get warm and still--”
+
+“I felt it--I felt it go, inside me, the minute I gave in to her. It's
+perhaps killed me.”
+
+“No, not it. Never mind, be still. Be still, and you'll be all right in
+the morning.”
+
+“It's my own fault, for giving in to her. If I'd kept myself back, my
+liver wouldn't have broken inside me, and I shouldn't have been sick.
+And I knew--”
+
+“Never mind now. Have you drunk your tea? Lie down. Lie down, and go to
+sleep.”
+
+Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over. Then he
+thrust his hands under the bedclothes and felt his feet--still cold. He
+arranged the water bottle. Then he put another cover on the bed.
+
+Aaron lay still, rather grey and peaked-looking, in a stillness that was
+not healthy. For some time Lilly went about stealthily, glancing at his
+patient from time to time. Then he sat down to read.
+
+He was roused after a time by a moaning of troubled breathing and a
+fretful stirring in the bed. He went across. Aaron's eyes were open, and
+dark looking.
+
+“Have a little hot milk,” said Lilly.
+
+Aaron shook his head faintly, not noticing.
+
+“A little Bovril?”
+
+The same faint shake.
+
+Then Lilly wrote a note for the doctor, went into the office on the same
+landing, and got a clerk, who would be leaving in a few minutes, to call
+with the note. When he came back he found Aaron still watching.
+
+“Are you here by yourself?” asked the sick man.
+
+“Yes. My wife's gone to Norway.”
+
+“For good?”
+
+“No,” laughed Lilly. “For a couple of months or so. She'll come back
+here: unless she joins me in Switzerland or somewhere.”
+
+Aaron was still for a while.
+
+“You've not gone with her,” he said at length.
+
+“To see her people? No, I don't think they want me very badly--and I
+didn't want very badly to go. Why should I? It's better for married
+people to be separated sometimes.”
+
+“Ay!” said Aaron, watching the other man with fever-darkened eyes.
+
+“I hate married people who are two in one--stuck together like two
+jujube lozenges,” said Lilly.
+
+“Me an' all. I hate 'em myself,” said Aaron.
+
+“Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place--men and
+women as well. They can come together, in the second place, if
+they like. But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone,
+intrinsically.”
+
+“I'm with you there,” said Aaron. “If I'd kep' myself to myself I
+shouldn't be bad now--though I'm not very bad. I s'll be all right in
+the morning. But I did myself in when I went with another woman. I felt
+myself go--as if the bile broke inside me, and I was sick.”
+
+“Josephine seduced you?” laughed Lilly.
+
+“Ay, right enough,” replied Aaron grimly. “She won't be coming here,
+will she?”
+
+“Not unless I ask her.”
+
+“You won't ask her, though?”
+
+“No, not if you don't want her.”
+
+“I don't.”
+
+The fever made Aaron naive and communicative, unlike himself. And he
+knew he was being unlike himself, he knew that he was not in proper
+control of himself, so he was unhappy, uneasy.
+
+“I'll stop here the night then, if you don't mind,” he said.
+
+“You'll have to,” said Lilly. “I've sent for the doctor. I believe
+you've got the flu.”
+
+“Think I have?” said Aaron frightened.
+
+“Don't be scared,” laughed Lilly.
+
+There was a long pause. Lilly stood at the window looking at the
+darkening market, beneath the street-lamps.
+
+“I s'll have to go to the hospital, if I have,” came Aaron's voice.
+
+“No, if it's only going to be a week or a fortnight's business, you can
+stop here. I've nothing to do,” said Lilly.
+
+“There's no occasion for you to saddle yourself with me,” said Aaron
+dejectedly.
+
+“You can go to your hospital if you like--or back to your lodging--if
+you wish to,” said Lilly. “You can make up your mind when you see how
+you are in the morning.”
+
+“No use going back to my lodgings,” said Aaron.
+
+“I'll send a telegram to your wife if you like,” said Lilly.
+
+Aaron was silent, dead silent, for some time.
+
+“Nay,” he said at length, in a decided voice. “Not if I die for it.”
+
+Lilly remained still, and the other man lapsed into a sort of
+semi-sleep, motionless and abandoned. The darkness had fallen over
+London, and away below the lamps were white.
+
+Lilly lit the green-shaded reading lamp over the desk. Then he stood and
+looked at Aaron, who lay still, looking sick. Rather beautiful the bones
+of the countenance: but the skull too small for such a heavy jaw and
+rather coarse mouth. Aaron half-opened his eyes, and writhed feverishly,
+as if his limbs could not be in the right place. Lilly mended the fire,
+and sat down to write. Then he got up and went downstairs to unfasten
+the street door, so that the doctor could walk up. The business people
+had gone from their various holes, all the lower part of the tall house
+was in darkness.
+
+Lilly waited and waited. He boiled an egg and made himself toast. Aaron
+said he might eat the same. Lilly cooked another egg and took it to the
+sick man. Aaron looked at it and pushed it away with nausea. He would
+have some tea. So Lilly gave him tea.
+
+“Not much fun for you, doing this for somebody who is nothing to you,”
+ said Aaron.
+
+“I shouldn't if you were unsympathetic to me,” said Lilly. “As it is,
+it's happened so, and so we'll let be.”
+
+“What time is it?”
+
+“Nearly eight o'clock.”
+
+“Oh, my Lord, the opera.”
+
+And Aaron got half out of bed. But as he sat on the bedside he knew he
+could not safely get to his feet. He remained a picture of dejection.
+
+“Perhaps we ought to let them know,” said Lilly.
+
+But Aaron, blank with stupid misery, sat huddled there on the bedside
+without answering.
+
+“Ill run round with a note,” said Lilly. “I suppose others have had flu,
+besides you. Lie down!”
+
+But Aaron stupidly and dejectedly sat huddled on the side of the bed,
+wearing old flannel pyjamas of Lilly's, rather small for him. He felt
+too sick to move.
+
+“Lie down! Lie down!” said Lilly. “And keep still while I'm gone. I
+shan't be more than ten minutes.”
+
+“I don't care if I die,” said Aaron.
+
+Lilly laughed.
+
+“You're a long way from dying,” said he, “or you wouldn't say it.”
+
+But Aaron only looked up at him with queer, far-off, haggard eyes,
+something like a criminal who is just being executed.
+
+“Lie down!” said Lilly, pushing him gently into the bed. “You won't
+improve yourself sitting there, anyhow.”
+
+Aaron lay down, turned away, and was quite still. Lilly quietly left the
+room on his errand.
+
+The doctor did not come until ten o'clock: and worn out with work when
+he did come.
+
+“Isn't there a lift in this establishment?” he said, as he groped his
+way up the stone stairs. Lilly had heard him, and run down to meet him.
+
+The doctor poked the thermometer under Aaron's tongue and felt the
+pulse. Then he asked a few questions: listened to the heart and
+breathing.
+
+“Yes, it's the flu,” he said curtly. “Nothing to do but to keep warm in
+bed and not move, and take plenty of milk and liquid nourishment. I'll
+come round in the morning and give you an injection. Lungs are all right
+so far.”
+
+“How long shall I have to be in bed?” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh--depends. A week at least.”
+
+Aaron watched him sullenly--and hated him. Lilly laughed to himself. The
+sick man was like a dog that is ill but which growls from a deep corner,
+and will bite if you put your hand in. He was in a state of black
+depression.
+
+Lilly settled him down for the night, and himself went to bed. Aaron
+squirmed with heavy, pained limbs, the night through, and slept and had
+bad dreams. Lilly got up to give him drinks. The din in the market was
+terrific before dawn, and Aaron suffered bitterly.
+
+In the morning he was worse. The doctor gave him injections against
+pneumonia.
+
+“You wouldn't like me to wire to your wife?” said Lilly.
+
+“No,” said Aaron abruptly. “You can send me to the hospital. I'm nothing
+but a piece of carrion.”
+
+“Carrion!” said Lilly. “Why?”
+
+“I know it. I feel like it.”
+
+“Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu.”
+
+“I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of. I can't
+stand myself--”
+
+He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion.
+
+“It's the germ that makes you feel like that,” said Lilly. “It poisons
+the system for a time. But you'll work it off.”
+
+At evening he was no better, the fever was still high. Yet there were no
+complications--except that the heart was irregular.
+
+“The one thing I wonder,” said Lilly, “is whether you hadn't better be
+moved out of the noise of the market. It's fearful for you in the early
+morning.”
+
+“It makes no difference to me,” said Aaron.
+
+The next day he was a little worse, if anything. The doctor knew there
+was nothing to be done. At evening he gave the patient a calomel pill.
+It was rather strong, and Aaron had a bad time. His burning, parched,
+poisoned inside was twisted and torn. Meanwhile carts banged, porters
+shouted, all the hell of the market went on outside, away down on the
+cobble setts. But this time the two men did not hear.
+
+“You'll feel better now,” said Lilly, “after the operation.”
+
+“It's done me harm,” cried Aaron fretfully. “Send me to the hospital, or
+you'll repent it. Get rid of me in time.”
+
+“Nay,” said Lilly. “You get better. Damn it, you're only one among a
+million.”
+
+Again over Aaron's face went the ghastly grimace of self-repulsion.
+
+“My soul's gone rotten,” he said.
+
+“No,” said Lilly. “Only toxin in the blood.”
+
+Next day the patient seemed worse, and the heart more irregular. He
+rested badly. So far, Lilly had got a fair night's rest. Now Aaron was
+not sleeping, and he seemed to struggle in the bed.
+
+“Keep your courage up, man,” said the doctor sharply. “You give way.”
+
+Aaron looked at him blackly, and did not answer.
+
+In the night Lilly was up time after time. Aaron would slip down on his
+back, and go semi-conscious. And then he would awake, as if drowning,
+struggling to move, mentally shouting aloud, yet making no sound for
+some moments, mentally shouting in frenzy, but unable to stir or make a
+sound. When at last he got some sort of physical control he cried: “Lift
+me up! Lift me up!”
+
+Lilly hurried and lifted him up, and he sat panting with a sobbing
+motion, his eyes gloomy and terrified, more than ever like a criminal
+who is just being executed. He drank brandy, and was laid down on his
+side.
+
+“Don't let me lie on my back,” he said, terrified. “No, I won't,” said
+Lilly. Aaron frowned curiously on his nurse. “Mind you don't let me,” he
+said, exacting and really terrified.
+
+“No, I won't let you.”
+
+And now Lilly was continually crossing over and pulling Aaron on to his
+side, whenever he found him slipped down on his back.
+
+In the morning the doctor was puzzled. Probably it was the toxin in the
+blood which poisoned the heart. There was no pneumonia. And yet Aaron
+was clearly growing worse. The doctor agreed to send in a nurse for the
+coming night.
+
+“What's the matter with you, man!” he said sharply to his patient. “You
+give way! You give way! Can't you pull yourself together?”
+
+But Aaron only became more gloomily withheld, retracting from life.
+And Lilly began to be really troubled. He got a friend to sit with the
+patient in the afternoon, whilst he himself went out and arranged to
+sleep in Aaron's room, at his lodging.
+
+The next morning, when he came in, he found the patient lying as ever,
+in a sort of heap in the bed. Nurse had had to lift him up and hold him
+up again. And now Aaron lay in a sort of semi-stupor of fear, frustrated
+anger, misery and self-repulsion: a sort of interlocked depression.
+
+The doctor frowned when he came. He talked with the nurse, and wrote
+another prescription. Then he drew Lilly away to the door.
+
+“What's the matter with the fellow?” he said. “Can't you rouse his
+spirit? He seems to be sulking himself out of life. He'll drop out quite
+suddenly, you know, if he goes on like this. Can't you rouse him up?”
+
+“I think it depresses him partly that his bowels won't work. It
+frightens him. He's never been ill in his life before,” said Lilly.
+
+“His bowels won't work if he lets all his spirit go, like an animal
+dying of the sulks,” said the doctor impatiently. “He might go off quite
+suddenly--dead before you can turn round--”
+
+Lilly was properly troubled. Yet he did not quite know what to do. It
+was early afternoon, and the sun was shining into the room. There were
+daffodils and anemones in a jar, and freezias and violets. Down below in
+the market were two stalls of golden and blue flowers, gay.
+
+“The flowers are lovely in the spring sunshine,” said Lilly. “I wish I
+were in the country, don't you? As soon as you are better we'll go. It's
+been a terrible cold, wet spring. But now it's going to be nice. Do you
+like being in the country?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron.
+
+He was thinking of his garden. He loved it. Never in his life had he
+been away from a garden before.
+
+“Make haste and get better, and we'll go.”
+
+“Where?” said Aaron.
+
+“Hampshire. Or Berkshire. Or perhaps you'd like to go home? Would you?”
+
+Aaron lay still, and did not answer.
+
+“Perhaps you want to, and you don't want to,” said Lilly. “You can
+please yourself, anyhow.”
+
+There was no getting anything definite out of the sick man--his soul
+seemed stuck, as if it would not move.
+
+Suddenly Lilly rose and went to the dressing-table.
+
+“I'm going to rub you with oil,” he said. “I'm going to rub you as
+mothers do their babies whose bowels don't work.”
+
+Aaron frowned slightly as he glanced at the dark, self-possessed face of
+the little man.
+
+“What's the good of that?” he said irritably. “I'd rather be left
+alone.”
+
+“Then you won't be.”
+
+Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to
+rub the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion,
+a sort of massage. For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily, then
+went over the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort of
+incantation. He rubbed every speck of the man's lower body--the abdomen,
+the buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed it all
+warm and glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing the toes
+swiftly, till he was almost exhausted. Then Aaron was covered up again,
+and Lilly sat down in fatigue to look at his patient.
+
+He saw a change. The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the
+faint trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face. Aaron was
+regaining himself. But Lilly said nothing. He watched his patient fall
+into a proper sleep.
+
+And he sat and watched him sleep. And he thought to himself: “I wonder
+why I do it. I wonder why I bother with him.... Jim ought to have taught
+me my lesson. As soon as this man's really better he'll punch me in the
+wind, metaphorically if not actually, for having interfered with him.
+And Tanny would say, he was quite right to do it. She says I want power
+over them. What if I do? They don't care how much power the mob has over
+them, the nation, Lloyd George and Northcliffe and the police and money.
+They'll yield themselves up to that sort of power quickly enough, and
+immolate themselves _pro bono publico_ by the million. And what's
+the bonum publicum but a mob power? Why can't they submit to a bit of
+healthy individual authority? The fool would die, without me: just as
+that fool Jim will die in hysterics one day. Why does he last so long!
+
+“Tanny's the same. She does nothing really but resist me: my authority,
+or my influence, or just ME. At the bottom of her heart she just blindly
+and persistently opposes me. God knows what it is she opposes: just me
+myself. She thinks I want her to submit to me. So I do, in a measure
+natural to our two selves. Somewhere, she ought to submit to me. But
+they all prefer to kick against the pricks. Not that THEY get many
+pricks. I get them. Damn them all, why don't I leave them alone? They
+only grin and feel triumphant when they've insulted one and punched one
+in the wind.
+
+“This Aaron will do just the same. I like him, and he ought to like me.
+And he'll be another Jim: he WILL like me, if he can knock the wind out
+of me. A lot of little Stavrogins coming up to whisper affectionately,
+and biting one's ear.
+
+“But anyhow I can soon see the last of this chap: and him the last of
+all the rest. I'll be damned for ever if I see their Jims and Roberts
+and Julias and Scotts any more. Let them dance round their insipid
+hell-broth. Thin tack it is.
+
+“There's a whole world besides this little gang of Europeans. Except,
+dear God, that they've exterminated all the peoples worth knowing. I
+can't do with folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs
+and orientals altogether. Only vermin teem by the billion. Higher types
+breed slower. I would have loved the Aztecs and the Red Indians. I KNOW
+they hold the element in life which I am looking for--they had living
+pride. Not like the flea-bitten Asiatics--even niggers are better than
+Asiatics, though they are wallowers--the American races--and the South
+Sea Islanders--the Marquesans, the Maori blood. That was the true blood.
+It wasn't frightened. All the rest are craven--Europeans, Asiatics,
+Africans--everyone at his own individual quick craven and cringing: only
+conceited in the mass, the mob. How I hate them: the mass-bullies, the
+individual Judases.
+
+“Well, if one will be a Jesus he must expect his Judas. That's why
+Abraham Lincoln gets shot. A Jesus makes a Judas inevitable. A man
+should remain himself, not try to spread himself over humanity. He
+should pivot himself on his own pride.
+
+“I suppose really I ought to have packed this Aaron off to the hospital.
+Instead of which here am I rubbing him with oil to rub the life into
+him. And I KNOW he'll bite me, like a warmed snake, the moment he
+recovers. And Tanny will say 'Quite right, too,' I shouldn't have been
+so intimate. No, I should have left it to mechanical doctors and nurses.
+
+“So I should. Everything to its own. And Aaron belongs to this little
+system, and Jim is waiting to be psychoanalysed, and Tanny is waiting
+for her own glorification.
+
+“All right, Aaron. Last time I break my bread for anybody, this is. So
+get better, my flautist, so that I can go away.
+
+“It was easy for the Red Indians and the Others to take their hook into
+death. They might have stayed a bit longer to help one to defy the white
+masses.
+
+“I'll make some tea--”
+
+Lilly rose softly and went across to the fire. He had to cross a landing
+to a sort of little lavatory, with a sink and a tap, for water. The
+clerks peeped out at him from an adjoining office and nodded. He nodded,
+and disappeared from their sight as quickly as possible, with his
+kettle. His dark eyes were quick, his dark hair was untidy, there was
+something silent and withheld about him. People could never approach him
+quite ordinarily.
+
+He put on the kettle, and quietly set cups and plates on a tray. The
+room was clean and cosy and pleasant. He did the cleaning himself, and
+was as efficient and inobtrusive a housewife as any woman. While the
+kettle boiled, he sat darning the socks which he had taken off Aaron's
+feet when the flautist arrived, and which he had washed. He preferred
+that no outsider should see him doing these things. Yet he preferred
+also to do them himself, so that he should be independent of outside
+aid.
+
+His face was dark and hollow, he seemed frail, sitting there in the
+London afternoon darning the black woollen socks. His full brow was
+knitted slightly, there was a tension. At the same time, there was an
+indomitable stillness about him, as it were in the atmosphere about him.
+His hands, though small, were not very thin. He bit off the wool as he
+finished his darn.
+
+As he was making the tea he saw Aaron rouse up in bed.
+
+“I've been to sleep. I feel better,” said the patient, turning round to
+look what the other man was doing. And the sight of the water steaming
+in a jet from the teapot seemed attractive.
+
+“Yes,” said Lilly. “You've slept for a good two hours.”
+
+“I believe I have,” said Aaron.
+
+“Would you like a little tea?”
+
+“Ay--and a bit of toast.”
+
+“You're not supposed to have solid food. Let me take your temperature.”
+
+The temperature was down to a hundred, and Lilly, in spite of the
+doctor, gave Aaron a piece of toast with his tea, enjoining him not to
+mention it to the nurse.
+
+In the evening the two men talked.
+
+“You do everything for yourself, then?” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, I prefer it.”
+
+“You like living all alone?”
+
+“I don't know about that. I never have lived alone. Tanny and I have
+been very much alone in various countries: but that's two, not one.”
+
+“You miss her then?”
+
+“Yes, of course. I missed her horribly in the cottage, when she'd first
+gone. I felt my heart was broken. But here, where we've never been
+together, I don't notice it so much.”
+
+“She'll come back,” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, she'll come back. But I'd rather meet her abroad than here--and
+get on a different footing.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Oh, I don't know. There's something with marriage altogether, I think.
+_Egoisme a deux_--”
+
+“What's that mean?”
+
+“_Egoisme a deux_? Two people, one egoism. Marriage is a self-conscious
+egoistic state, it seems to me.”
+
+“You've got no children?” said Aaron.
+
+“No. Tanny wants children badly. I don't. I'm thankful we have none.”
+
+“Why?”
+
+“I can't quite say. I think of them as a burden. Besides, there ARE such
+millions and billions of children in the world. And we know well enough
+what sort of millions and billions of people they'll grow up into. I
+don't want to add my quota to the mass--it's against my instinct--”
+
+“Ay!” laughed Aaron, with a curt acquiescence.
+
+“Tanny's furious. But then, when a woman has got children, she thinks
+the world wags only for them and her. Nothing else. The whole world wags
+for the sake of the children--and their sacred mother.”
+
+“Ay, that's DAMNED true,” said Aaron.
+
+“And myself, I'm sick of the children stunt. Children are all right, so
+long as you just take them for what they are: young immature things like
+kittens and half-grown dogs, nuisances, sometimes very charming. But
+I'll be hanged if I can see anything high and holy about children. I
+should be sorry, too, it would be so bad for the children. Young brats,
+tiresome and amusing in turns.”
+
+“When they don't give themselves airs,” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, indeed. Which they do half the time. Sacred children, and sacred
+motherhood, I'm absolutely fed stiff by it. That's why I'm thankful I
+have no children. Tanny can't come it over me there.”
+
+“It's a fact. When a woman's got her children, by God, she's a bitch
+in the manger. You can starve while she sits on the hay. It's useful to
+keep her pups warm.”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Why, you know,” Aaron turned excitedly in the bed, “they look on a man
+as if he was nothing but an instrument to get and rear children. If you
+have anything to do with a woman, she thinks it's because you want to
+get children by her. And I'm damned if it is. I want my own pleasure, or
+nothing: and children be damned.”
+
+“Ah, women--THEY must be loved, at any price!” said Lilly. “And if you
+just don't want to love them--and tell them so--what a crime.”
+
+“A crime!” said Aaron. “They make a criminal of you. Them and their
+children be cursed. Is my life given me for nothing but to get children,
+and work to bring them up? See them all in hell first. They'd better die
+while they're children, if childhood's all that important.”
+
+“I quite agree,” said Lilly. “If childhood is more important than
+manhood, then why live to be a man at all? Why not remain an infant?”
+
+“Be damned and blasted to women and all their importances,” cried Aaron.
+“They want to get you under, and children is their chief weapon.”
+
+“Men have got to stand up to the fact that manhood is more than
+childhood--and then force women to admit it,” said Lilly. “But the
+rotten whiners, they're all grovelling before a baby's napkin and a
+woman's petticoat.”
+
+“It's a fact,” said Aaron. But he glanced at Lilly oddly, as if
+suspiciously. And Lilly caught the look. But he continued:
+
+“And if they think you try to stand on your legs and walk with the feet
+of manhood, why, there isn't a blooming father and lover among them but
+will do his best to get you down and suffocate you--either with a baby's
+napkin or a woman's petticoat.”
+
+Lilly's lips were curling; he was dark and bitter.
+
+“Ay, it is like that,” said Aaron, rather subduedly.
+
+“The man's spirit has gone out of the world. Men can't move an inch
+unless they can grovel humbly at the end of the journey.”
+
+“No,” said Aaron, watching with keen, half-amused eyes.
+
+“That's why marriage wants readjusting--or extending--to get men on to
+their own legs once more, and to give them the adventure again. But men
+won't stick together and fight for it. Because once a woman has climbed
+up with her children, she'll find plenty of grovellers ready to support
+her and suffocate any defiant spirit. And women will sacrifice eleven
+men, fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers, for one baby--or for her
+own female self-conceit--”
+
+“She will that,” said Aaron.
+
+“And can you find two men to stick together, without feeling criminal,
+and without cringing, and without betraying one another? You can't. One
+is sure to go fawning round some female, then they both enjoy giving
+each other away, and doing a new grovel before a woman again.”
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron.
+
+After which Lilly was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE WAR AGAIN
+
+
+“One is a fool,” said Lilly, “to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to
+get a move on.”
+
+Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting
+before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent,
+somewhat chastened in appearance.
+
+“Ay,” he said rather sourly. “A move back to Guilford Street.”
+
+“Oh, I meant to tell you,” said Lilly. “I was reading an old Baden
+history. They made a law in 1528--not a law, but a regulation--that: if
+a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said
+wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that
+would please you. Does it?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron briefly.
+
+“They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter.”
+
+“I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate,” grinned
+Aaron.
+
+“Oh, no. You might quite like them here.” But Lilly saw the white frown
+of determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
+
+“Wouldn't you?” he asked.
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+“No,” he said. And it was obvious he objected to the topic. “What are
+you going to do about your move on?”
+
+“Me!” said Lilly. “I'm going to sail away next week--or steam dirtily
+away on a tramp called the _Maud Allen Wing_.”
+
+“Where to?”
+
+“Malta.”
+
+“Where from?”
+
+“London Dock. I fixed up my passage this morning for ten pounds. I am
+cook's assistant, signed on.”
+
+Aaron looked at him with a little admiration.
+
+“You can take a sudden jump, can't you?” he said.
+
+“The difficulty is to refrain from jumping: overboard or anywhere.”
+
+Aaron smoked his pipe slowly.
+
+“And what good will Malta do you?” he asked, envious.
+
+“Heaven knows. I shall cross to Syracuse, and move up Italy.”
+
+“Sounds as if you were a millionaire.”
+
+“I've got thirty-five pounds in all the world. But something will come
+along.”
+
+“I've got more than that,” said Aaron.
+
+“Good for you,” replied Lilly.
+
+He rose and went to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and a basket of
+potatoes. He sat down again, paring the potatoes. His busy activity
+annoyed Aaron.
+
+“But what's the good of going to Malta? Shall YOU be any different in
+yourself, in another place? You'll be the same there as you are here.”
+
+“How am I here?”
+
+“Why, you're all the time grinding yourself against something inside
+you. You're never free. You're never content. You never stop chafing.”
+
+Lilly dipped his potato into the water, and cut out the eyes carefully.
+Then he cut it in two, and dropped it in the clean water of the second
+bowl. He had not expected this criticism.
+
+“Perhaps I don't,” said he.
+
+“Then what's the use of going somewhere else? You won't change
+yourself.”
+
+“I may in the end,” said Lilly.
+
+“You'll be yourself, whether it's Malta or London,” said Aaron.
+
+“There's a doom for me,” laughed Lilly. The water on the fire was
+boiling. He rose and threw in salt, then dropped in the potatoes with
+little plops. “There there are lots of mes. I'm not only just one
+proposition. A new place brings out a new thing in a man. Otherwise
+you'd have stayed in your old place with your family.”
+
+“The man in the middle of you doesn't change,” said Aaron.
+
+“Do you find it so?” said Lilly.
+
+“Ay. Every time.”
+
+“Then what's to be done?”
+
+“Nothing, as far as I can see. You get as much amusement out of life as
+possible, and there's the end of it.”
+
+“All right then, I'll get the amusement.”
+
+“Ay, all right then,” said Aaron. “But there isn't anything wonderful
+about it. You talk as if you were doing something special. You aren't.
+You're no more than a man who drops into a pub for a drink, to liven
+himself up a bit. Only you give it a lot of names, and make out as if
+you were looking for the philosopher's stone, or something like that.
+When you're only killing time like the rest of folks, before time kills
+you.”
+
+Lilly did not answer. It was not yet seven o'clock, but the sky was
+dark. Aaron sat in the firelight. Even the saucepan on the fire was
+silent. Darkness, silence, the firelight in the upper room, and the two
+men together.
+
+“It isn't quite true,” said Lilly, leaning on the mantelpiece and
+staring down into the fire.
+
+“Where isn't it? You talk, and you make a man believe you've got
+something he hasn't got? But where is it, when it comes to? What have
+you got, more than me or Jim Bricknell! Only a bigger choice of words,
+it seems to me.”
+
+Lilly was motionless and inscrutable like a shadow.
+
+“Does it, Aaron!” he said, in a colorless voice.
+
+“Yes. What else is there to it?” Aaron sounded testy.
+
+“Why,” said Lilly at last, “there's something. I agree, it's true what
+you say about me. But there's a bit of something else. There's just a
+bit of something in me, I think, which ISN'T a man running into a pub
+for a drink--”
+
+“And what--?”
+
+The question fell into the twilight like a drop of water falling down a
+deep shaft into a well.
+
+“I think a man may come into possession of his own soul at last--as
+the Buddhists teach--but without ceasing to love, or even to hate. One
+loves, one hates--but somewhere beyond it all, one understands, and
+possesses one's soul in patience and in peace--”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron slowly, “while you only stand and talk about it.
+But when you've got no chance to talk about it--and when you've got to
+live--you don't possess your soul, neither in patience nor in peace,
+but any devil that likes possesses you and does what it likes with you,
+while you fridge yourself and fray yourself out like a worn rag.”
+
+“I don't care,” said Lilly, “I'm learning to possess my soul in patience
+and in peace, and I know it. And it isn't a negative Nirvana either. And
+if Tanny possesses her own soul in patience and peace as well--and if in
+this we understand each other at last--then there we are, together
+and apart at the same time, and free of each other, and eternally
+inseparable. I have my Nirvana--and I have it all to myself. But more
+than that. It coincides with her Nirvana.”
+
+“Ah, yes,” said Aaron. “But I don't understand all that word-splitting.”
+
+“I do, though. You learn to be quite alone, and possess your own soul
+in isolation--and at the same time, to be perfectly WITH someone
+else--that's all I ask.”
+
+“Sort of sit on a mountain top, back to back with somebody else, like a
+couple of idols.”
+
+“No--because it isn't a case of sitting--or a case of back to back. It's
+what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual fulfilment.
+And it never does away with the fighting and with the sensual passion.
+It flowers on top of them, and it would never flower save on top of
+them.”
+
+“What wouldn't?”
+
+“The possessing one's own soul--and the being together with someone else
+in silence, beyond speech.”
+
+“And you've got them?”
+
+“I've got a BIT of the real quietness inside me.”
+
+“So has a dog on a mat.”
+
+“So I believe, too.”
+
+“Or a man in a pub.”
+
+“Which I don't believe.”
+
+“You prefer the dog?”
+
+“Maybe.”
+
+There was silence for a few moments.
+
+“And I'm the man in the pub,” said Aaron.
+
+“You aren't the dog on the mat, anyhow.”
+
+“And you're the idol on the mountain top, worshipping yourself.”
+
+“You talk to me like a woman, Aaron.”
+
+“How do you talk to ME, do you think?”
+
+“How do I?”
+
+“Are the potatoes done?”
+
+Lilly turned quickly aside, and switched on the electric light.
+Everything changed. Aaron sat still before the fire, irritated. Lilly
+went about preparing the supper.
+
+The room was pleasant at night. Two tall, dark screens hid the two beds.
+In front, the piano was littered with music, the desk littered with
+papers. Lilly went out on to the landing, and set the chops to grill on
+the gas stove. Hastily he put a small table on the hearth-rug, spread it
+with a blue-and-white cloth, set plates and glasses. Aaron did not move.
+It was not his nature to concern himself with domestic matters--and
+Lilly did it best alone.
+
+The two men had an almost uncanny understanding of one another--like
+brothers. They came from the same district, from the same class. Each
+might have been born into the other's circumstance. Like brothers, there
+was a profound hostility between them. But hostility is not antipathy.
+
+Lilly's skilful housewifery always irritated Aaron: it was so
+self-sufficient. But most irritating of all was the little man's
+unconscious assumption of priority. Lilly was actually unaware that he
+assumed this quiet predominance over others. He mashed the potatoes, he
+heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked eggs into the
+milk pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid. But none of this
+detracted from the silent assurance with which he bore himself, and with
+which he seemed to domineer over his acquaintance.
+
+At last the meal was ready. Lilly drew the curtains, switched off the
+central light, put the green-shaded electric lamp on the table, and
+the two men drew up to the meal. It was good food, well cooked and hot.
+Certainly Lilly's hands were no longer clean: but it was clean dirt, as
+he said.
+
+Aaron sat in the low arm-chair at table. So his face was below, in the
+full light. Lilly sat high on a small chair, so that his face was in
+the green shadow. Aaron was handsome, and always had that peculiar
+well-dressed look of his type. Lilly was indifferent to his own
+appearance, and his collar was a rag.
+
+So the two men ate in silence. They had been together alone for a
+fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity. Aaron was well
+now--only he suffered from the depression and the sort of fear that
+follows influenza.
+
+“When are you going?” he asked irritably, looking up at Lilly, whose
+face hovered in that green shadow above, and worried him.
+
+“One day next week. They'll send me a telegram. Not later than
+Thursday.”
+
+“You're looking forward to going?” The question was half bitter.
+
+“Yes. I want to get a new tune out of myself.”
+
+“Had enough of this?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+A flush of anger came on Aaron's face.
+
+“You're easily on, and easily off,” he said, rather insulting.
+
+“Am I?” said Lilly. “What makes you think so?”
+
+“Circumstances,” replied Aaron sourly.
+
+To which there was no answer. The host cleared away the plates, and put
+the pudding on the table. He pushed the bowl to Aaron.
+
+“I suppose I shall never see you again, once you've gone,” said Aaron.
+
+“It's your choice. I will leave you an address.”
+
+After this, the pudding was eaten in silence.
+
+“Besides, Aaron,” said Lilly, drinking his last sip of wine, “what do
+you care whether you see me again or not? What do you care whether
+you see anybody again or not? You want to be amused. And now you're
+irritated because you think I am not going to amuse you any more: and
+you don't know who is going to amuse you. I admit it's a dilemma. But
+it's a hedonistic dilemma of the commonest sort.”
+
+“I don't know hedonistic. And supposing I am as you say--are you any
+different?”
+
+“No, I'm not very different. But I always persuade myself there's a bit
+of difference. Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me? She's
+had her lovers enough. 'There isn't any such thing as love, Lilly,' she
+said. 'Men are simply afraid to be alone. That is absolutely all there
+is in it: fear of being alone.'”
+
+“What by that?” said Aaron.
+
+“You agree?”
+
+“Yes, on the whole.”
+
+“So do I--on the whole. And then I asked her what about woman. And then
+she said with a woman it wasn't fear, it was just boredom. A woman is
+like a violinist: any fiddle, any instrument rather than empty hands and
+no tune going.”
+
+“Yes--what I said before: getting as much amusement out of life as
+possible,” said Aaron.
+
+“You amuse me--and I'll amuse you.”
+
+“Yes--just about that.”
+
+“All right, Aaron,” said Lilly. “I'm not going to amuse you, or try to
+amuse you any more.”
+
+“Going to try somebody else; and Malta.”
+
+“Malta, anyhow.”
+
+“Oh, and somebody else--in the next five minutes.”
+
+“Yes--that also.”
+
+“Goodbye and good luck to you.”
+
+“Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron.”
+
+With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes. Aaron sat alone under
+the zone of light, turning over a score of _Pelleas_. Though the noise
+of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep
+silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
+
+Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the
+opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came
+out a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a
+plate and a cloth in his hand.
+
+“Aaron's rod is putting forth again,” he said, smiling.
+
+“What?” said Aaron, looking up.
+
+“I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again.”
+
+“What rod?”
+
+“Your flute, for the moment.”
+
+“It's got to put forth my bread and butter.”
+
+“Is that all the buds it's going to have?”
+
+“What else!”
+
+“Nay--that's for you to show. What flowers do you imagine came out of
+the rod of Moses's brother?”
+
+“Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them.”
+
+“Scarlet enough, I'll bet.”
+
+Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music. Lilly finished the wiping of
+the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.
+
+“It's all one to you, then,” said Aaron suddenly, “whether we ever see
+one another again?”
+
+“Not a bit,” said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles. “I very much
+wish there might be something that held us together.”
+
+“Then if you wish it, why isn't there?”
+
+“You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the
+joints.”
+
+“Ay--I might. And it would be all the same.”
+
+The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.
+
+“Oh, we shall run across one another again some time,” said Aaron.
+
+“Sure,” said Lilly. “More than that: I'll write you an address that will
+always find me. And when you write I will answer you.”
+
+He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address. Aaron folded it and put
+it into his waistcoat pocket. It was an Italian address.
+
+“But how can I live in Italy?” he said. “You can shift about. I'm tied
+to a job.”
+
+“You--with your budding rod, your flute--and your charm--you can always
+do as you like.”
+
+“My what?”
+
+“Your flute and your charm.”
+
+“What charm?”
+
+“Just your own. Don't pretend you don't know you've got it. I don't
+really like charm myself; too much of a trick about it. But whether or
+not, you've got it.”
+
+“It's news to me.”
+
+“Not it.”
+
+“Fact, it is.”
+
+“Ha! Somebody will always take a fancy to you. And you can live on that,
+as well as on anything else.”
+
+“Why do you always speak so despisingly?”
+
+“Why shouldn't I?”
+
+“Have you any right to despise another man?”
+
+“When did it go by rights?”
+
+“No, not with you.”
+
+“You answer me like a woman, Aaron.”
+
+Again there was a space of silence. And again it was Aaron who at last
+broke it.
+
+“We're in different positions, you and me,” he said.
+
+“How?”
+
+“You can live by your writing--but I've got to have a job.”
+
+“Is that all?” said Lilly.
+
+“Ay. And plenty. You've got the advantage of me.”
+
+“Quite,” said Lilly. “But why? I was a dirty-nosed little boy when
+you were a clean-nosed little boy. And I always had more patches on my
+breeches than you: neat patches, too, my poor mother! So what's the good
+of talking about advantages? You had the start. And at this very moment
+you could buy me up, lock, stock, and barrel. So don't feel hard done
+by. It's a lie.”
+
+“You've got your freedom.”
+
+“I make it and I take it.”
+
+“Circumstances make it for you.”
+
+“As you like.”
+
+“You don't do a man justice,” said Aaron.
+
+“Does a man care?”
+
+“He might.”
+
+“Then he's no man.”
+
+“Thanks again, old fellow.”
+
+“Welcome,” said Lilly, grimacing.
+
+Again Aaron looked at him, baffled, almost with hatred. Lilly grimaced
+at the blank wall opposite, and seemed to ruminate. Then he went back to
+his book. And no sooner had he forgotten Aaron, reading the fantasies of
+a certain Leo Frobenius, than Aaron must stride in again.
+
+“You can't say there isn't a difference between your position and mine,”
+ he said pertinently.
+
+Lilly looked darkly over his spectacles.
+
+“No, by God,” he said. “I should be in a poor way otherwise.”
+
+“You can't say you haven't the advantage--your JOB gives you the
+advantage.”
+
+“All right. Then leave it out with my job, and leave me alone.”
+
+“That's your way of dodging it.”
+
+“My dear Aaron, I agree with you perfectly. There is no difference
+between us, save the fictitious advantage given to me by my job. Save
+for my job--which is to write lies--Aaron and I are two identical little
+men in one and the same little boat. Shall we leave it at that, now?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron. “That's about it.”
+
+“Let us shake hands on it--and go to bed, my dear chap. You are just
+recovering from influenza, and look paler than I like.”
+
+“You mean you want to be rid of me,” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, I do mean that,” said Lilly.
+
+“Ay,” said Aaron.
+
+And after a few minutes more staring at the score of _Pelleas_, he rose,
+put the score away on the piano, laid his flute beside it, and retired
+behind the screen. In silence, the strange dim noise of London sounding
+from below, Lilly read on about the Kabyles. His soul had the faculty of
+divesting itself of the moment, and seeking further, deeper interests.
+These old Africans! And Atlantis! Strange, strange wisdom of the
+Kabyles! Old, old dark Africa, and the world before the flood! How
+jealous Aaron seemed! The child of a jealous God. A jealous God! Could
+any race be anything but despicable, with such an antecedent?
+
+But no, persistent as a jealous God himself, Aaron reappeared in his
+pyjamas, and seated himself in his chair.
+
+“What is the difference then between you and me, Lilly?” he said.
+
+“Haven't we shaken hands on it--a difference of jobs.”
+
+“You don't believe that, though, do you?”
+
+“Nay, now I reckon you're trespassing.”
+
+“Why am I? I know you don't believe it.”
+
+“What do I believe then?” said Lilly.
+
+“You believe you know something better than me--and that you are
+something better than me. Don't you?”
+
+“Do YOU believe it?”
+
+“What?”
+
+“That I AM something better than you, and that I KNOW something better?”
+
+“No, because I don't see it,” said Aaron.
+
+“Then if you don't see it, it isn't there. So go to bed and sleep the
+sleep of the just and the convalescent. I am not to be badgered any
+more.”
+
+“Am I badgering you?” said Aaron.
+
+“Indeed you are.”
+
+“So I'm in the wrong again?”
+
+“Once more, my dear.”
+
+“You're a God-Almighty in your way, you know.”
+
+“So long as I'm not in anybody else's way--Anyhow, you'd be much better
+sleeping the sleep of the just. And I'm going out for a minute or two.
+Don't catch cold there with nothing on--
+
+“I want to catch the post,” he added, rising.
+
+Aaron looked up at him quickly. But almost before there was time to
+speak, Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters, and
+gone.
+
+It was a rainy night. Lilly turned down King Street to walk to Charing
+Cross. He liked being out of doors. He liked to post his letters at
+Charing Cross post office. He did not want to talk to Aaron any more. He
+was glad to be alone.
+
+He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing
+blackly towards the sea. It had an endless fascination for him: never
+failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty. He liked the
+night, the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic. He enjoyed the
+sense of friction he got from the streaming of people who meant nothing
+to him. It was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting cattle.
+
+When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi standing
+outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping and hallooing.
+He hurried forward.
+
+It was a man called Herbertson.
+
+“Oh, why, there you are!” exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near. “Can
+I come up and have a chat?”
+
+“I've got that man who's had flu. I should think he is gone to bed.”
+
+“Oh!” The disappointment was plain. “Well, look here I'll just come up
+for a couple of minutes.” He laid his hand on Lilly's arm. “I heard you
+were going away. Where are you going?”
+
+“Malta.”
+
+“Malta! Oh, I know Malta very well. Well now, it'll be all right if
+I come up for a minute? I'm not going to see much more of you,
+apparently.” He turned quickly to the taxi. “What is it on the clock?”
+
+The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs. Aaron was in bed, but he
+called as Lilly entered the room.
+
+“Hullo!” said Lilly. “Not asleep? Captain Herbertson has come in for a
+minute.”
+
+“Hope I shan't disturb you,” said Captain Herbertson, laying down his
+stick and gloves, and his cap. He was in uniform. He was one of the
+few surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty-five,
+good-looking, getting rather stout. He settled himself in the chair
+where Aaron had sat, hitching up his trousers. The gold identity plate,
+with its gold chain, fell conspicuously over his wrist.
+
+“Been to 'Rosemary,'” he said. “Rotten play, you know--but passes the
+time awfully well. Oh, I quite enjoyed it.”
+
+Lilly offered him Sauterne--the only thing in the house.
+
+“Oh, yes! How awfully nice! Yes, thanks, I shall love it. Can I have it
+with soda? Thanks! Do you know, I think that's the very best drink in
+the tropics: sweet white wine, with soda? Yes--well!-- Well--now, why
+are you going away?”
+
+“For a change,” said Lilly.
+
+“You're quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all
+over. As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off. Malta! Yes! I've
+been in Malta several times. I think Valletta is quite enjoyable,
+particularly in winter, with the opera. Oh--er--how's your wife? All
+right? Yes!--glad to see her people again. Bound to be-- Oh, by the
+way, I met Jim Bricknell. Sends you a message hoping you'll go down and
+stay--down at Captain Bingham's place in Surrey, you know. Awfully queer
+lot down there. Not my sort, no. You won't go down? No, I shouldn't. Not
+the right sort of people.”
+
+Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic. He had been through the very
+front hell of the war--and like every man who had, he had the war at the
+back of his mind, like an obsession. But in the meantime, he skirmished.
+
+“Yes. I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea-parties
+to the blind. Awful affair. But the children are awfully nice children.
+Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice. Prince Henry smart boy,
+too--oh, a smart boy. Queen Mary poured the tea, and I handed round
+bread and butter. She told me I made a very good waiter. I said,
+Thank you, Madam. But I like the children. Very different from
+the Battenbergs. Oh!--” he wrinkled his nose. “I can't stand the
+Battenbergs.”
+
+“Mount Battens,” said Lilly.
+
+“Yes! Awful mistake, changing the royal name. They were Guelfs, why not
+remain it? Why, I'll tell you what Battenberg did. He was in the Guards,
+too--”
+
+The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace and
+St. James.
+
+“Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria. Man named Joyce, something
+or other, often used to dine at the Palace. And he was an awfully good
+imitator--really clever, you know. Used to imitate the Queen. 'Mr.
+Joyce,' she said, 'I hear your imitation is very amusing. Will you do it
+for us now, and let us see what it is like?' 'Oh, no, Madam! I'm afraid
+I couldn't do it now. I'm afraid I'm not in the humour.' But she would
+have him do it. And it was really awfully funny. He had to do it. You
+know what he did. He used to take a table-napkin, and put it on with
+one corner over his forehead, and the rest hanging down behind, like
+her veil thing. And then he sent for the kettle-lid. He always had the
+kettle-lid, for that little crown of hers. And then he impersonated her.
+But he was awfully good--so clever. 'Mr. Joyce,' she said. 'We are not
+amused. Please leave the room.' Yes, that is exactly what she said: 'WE
+are not amused--please leave the room.' I like the WE, don't you? And he
+a man of sixty or so. However, he left the room and for a fortnight or
+so he wasn't invited--Wasn't she wonderful--Queen Victoria?”
+
+And so, by light transitions, to the Prince of Wales at the front, and
+thus into the trenches. And then Herbertson was on the subject he was
+obsessed by. He had come, unconsciously, for this and this only, to talk
+war to Lilly: or at Lilly. For the latter listened and watched, and said
+nothing. As a man at night helplessly takes a taxi to find some woman,
+some prostitute, Herbertson had almost unthinkingly got into a taxi and
+come battering at the door in Covent Garden, only to talk war to Lilly,
+whom he knew very little. But it was a driving instinct--to come and get
+it off his chest.
+
+And on and on he talked, over his wine and soda. He was not
+conceited--he was not showing off--far from it. It was the same thing
+here in this officer as it was with the privates, and the same with this
+Englishman as with a Frenchman or a German or an Italian. Lilly had sat
+in a cowshed listening to a youth in the north country: he had sat on
+the corn-straw that the oxen had been treading out, in Calabria, under
+the moon: he had sat in a farm-kitchen with a German prisoner: and every
+time it was the same thing, the same hot, blind, anguished voice of a
+man who has seen too much, experienced too much, and doesn't know where
+to turn. None of the glamour of returned heroes, none of the romance of
+war: only a hot, blind, mesmerised voice, going on and on, mesmerised by
+a vision that the soul cannot bear.
+
+In this officer, of course, there was a lightness and an appearance of
+bright diffidence and humour. But underneath it all was the same as in
+the common men of all the combatant nations: the hot, seared burn of
+unbearable experience, which did not heal nor cool, and whose irritation
+was not to be relieved. The experience gradually cooled on top: but only
+with a surface crust. The soul did not heal, did not recover.
+
+“I used to be awfully frightened,” laughed Herbertson. “Now you say,
+Lilly, you'd never have stood it. But you would. You're nervous--and
+it was just the nervous ones that did stand it. When nearly all our
+officers were gone, we had a man come out--a man called Margeritson,
+from India--big merchant people out there. They all said he was no
+good--not a bit of good--nervous chap. No good at all. But when you
+had to get out of the trench and go for the Germans he was
+perfect--perfect--It all came to him then, at the crisis, and he was
+perfect.
+
+“Some things frighten one man, and some another. Now shells would never
+frighten me. But I couldn't stand bombs. You could tell the
+difference between our machines and the Germans. Ours was a steady
+noise--drrrrrrrr!--but their's was heavy, drrrrRURUrrrrRURU!-- My word,
+that got on my nerves....
+
+“No I was never hit. The nearest thing was when I was knocked down by an
+exploding shell--several times that--you know. When you shout like mad
+for the men to come and dig you out, under all the earth. And my word,
+you do feel frightened then.” Herbertson laughed with a twinkling motion
+to Lilly. But between his brows there was a tension like madness.
+
+“And a funny thing you know--how you don't notice things. In--let me
+see--1916, the German guns were a lot better than ours. Ours were old,
+and when they're old you can't tell where they'll hit: whether they'll
+go beyond the mark, or whether they'll fall short. Well, this day our
+guns were firing short, and killing our own men. We'd had the order to
+charge, and were running forward, and I suddenly felt hot water spurting
+on my neck--” He put his hand to the back of his neck and glanced round
+apprehensively. “It was a chap called Innes--Oh, an awfully decent
+sort--people were in the Argentine. He'd been calling out to me as we
+were running, and I was just answering. When I felt this hot water on my
+neck and saw him running past me with no head--he'd got no head, and he
+went running past me. I don't know how far, but a long way.... Blood,
+you know--Yes--well--
+
+“Oh, I hated Chelsea--I loathed Chelsea--Chelsea was purgatory to me.
+I had a corporal called Wallace--he was a fine chap--oh, he was a
+fine chap--six foot two--and about twenty-four years old. He was my
+stand-back. Oh, I hated Chelsea, and parades, and drills. You know, when
+it's drill, and you're giving orders, you forget what order you've just
+given--in front of the Palace there the crowd don't notice--but it's
+AWFUL for you. And you know you daren't look round to see what the men
+are doing. But Wallace was splendid. He was just behind me, and I'd
+hear him, quite quiet you know, 'It's right wheel, sir.' Always perfect,
+always perfect--yes--well....
+
+“You know you don't get killed if you don't think you will. Now I never
+thought I should get killed. And I never knew a man get killed if he
+hadn't been thinking he would. I said to Wallace I'd rather be out here,
+at the front, than at Chelsea. I hated Chelsea--I can't tell you how
+much. 'Oh no, sir!' he said. 'I'd rather be at Chelsea than here. I'd
+rather be at Chelsea. There isn't hell like this at Chelsea.' We'd had
+orders that we were to go back to the real camp the next day. 'Never
+mind, Wallace,' I said. 'We shall be out of this hell-on-earth
+tomorrow.' And he took my hand. We weren't much for showing feeling
+or anything in the guards. But he took my hand. And we climbed out to
+charge--Poor fellow, he was killed--” Herbertson dropped his head, and
+for some moments seemed to go unconscious, as if struck. Then he lifted
+his face, and went on in the same animated chatty fashion: “You see, he
+had a presentiment. I'm sure he had a presentiment. None of the men got
+killed unless they had a presentiment--like that, you know....”
+
+Herbertson nodded keenly at Lilly, with his sharp, twinkling, yet
+obsessed eyes. Lilly wondered why he made the presentiment responsible
+for the death--which he obviously did--and not vice versa. Herbertson
+implied every time, that you'd never get killed if you could keep
+yourself from having a presentiment. Perhaps there was something in it.
+Perhaps the soul issues its own ticket of death, when it can stand no
+more. Surely life controls life: and not accident.
+
+“It's a funny thing what shock will do. We had a sergeant and he shouted
+to me. Both his feet were off--both his feet, clean at the ankle. I gave
+him morphia. You know officers aren't allowed to use the needle--might
+give the man blood poisoning. You give those tabloids. They say they act
+in a few minutes, but they DON'T. It's a quarter of an hour. And nothing
+is more demoralising than when you have a man, wounded, you know, and
+crying out. Well, this man I gave him the morphia before he got over the
+stunning, you know. So he didn't feel the pain. Well, they carried him
+in. I always used to like to look after my men. So I went next morning
+and I found he hadn't been removed to the Clearing Station. I got hold
+of the doctor and I said, 'Look here! Why hasn't this man been taken
+to the Clearing Station?' I used to get excited. But after some years
+they'd got used to me. 'Don't get excited, Herbertson, the man's dying.'
+'But,' I said, 'he's just been talking to me as strong as you are.' And
+he had--he'd talk as strong and well as you or me, then go quiet for
+a bit. I said I gave him the morphia before he came round from the
+stunning. So he'd felt nothing. But in two hours he was dead. The doctor
+says that the shock does it like that sometimes. You can do nothing
+for them. Nothing vital is injured--and yet the life is broken in them.
+Nothing can be done--funny thing--Must be something in the brain--”
+
+“It's obviously not the brain,” said Lilly. “It's deeper than the
+brain.”
+
+“Deeper,” said Herbertson, nodding.
+
+“Funny thing where life is. We had a lieutenant. You know we all buried
+our own dead. Well, he looked as if he was asleep. Most of the chaps
+looked like that.” Herbertson closed his eyes and laid his face aside,
+like a man asleep and dead peacefully. “You very rarely see a man dead
+with any other look on his face--you know the other look.--” And
+he clenched his teeth with a sudden, momentaneous, ghastly
+distortion.--“Well, you'd never have known this chap was dead. He had a
+wound here--in the back of the head--and a bit of blood on his hand--and
+nothing else, nothing. Well, I said we'd give him a decent burial. He
+lay there waiting--and they'd wrapped him in a filthy blanket--you know.
+Well, I said he should have a proper blanket. He'd been dead lying there
+a day and a half you know. So I went and got a blanket, a beautiful
+blanket, out of his private kit--his people were Scotch, well-known
+family--and I got the pins, you know, ready to pin him up properly, for
+the Scots Guards to bury him. And I thought he'd be stiff, you see. But
+when I took him by the arms, to lift him on, he sat up. It gave me an
+awful shock. 'Why he's alive!' I said. But they said he was dead. I
+couldn't believe it. It gave me an awful shock. He was as flexible as
+you or me, and looked as if he was asleep. You couldn't believe he was
+dead. But we pinned him up in his blanket. It was an awful shock to me.
+I couldn't believe a man could be like that after he'd been dead two
+days....
+
+“The Germans were wonderful with the machine guns--it's a wicked thing,
+a machine gun. But they couldn't touch us with the bayonet. Every time
+the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully good.
+You know when you thrust at the Germans--so--if you miss him, you bring
+your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt comes up and
+hits up under the jaw. It's one movement, following on with the stab,
+you see, if you miss him. It was too quick for them--But bayonet charge
+was worst, you know. Because your man cries out when you catch him, when
+you get him, you know. That's what does you....
+
+“No, oh no, this was no war like other wars. All the machinery of it.
+No, you couldn't stand it, but for the men. The men are wonderful, you
+know. They'll be wiped out.... No, it's your men who keep you going,
+if you're an officer.... But there'll never be another war like this.
+Because the Germans are the only people who could make a war like
+this--and I don't think they'll ever do it again, do you?
+
+“Oh, they were wonderful, the Germans. They were amazing. It was
+incredible, what they invented and did. We had to learn from them, in
+the first two years. But they were too methodical. That's why they lost
+the war. They were too methodical. They'd fire their guns every ten
+minutes--regular. Think of it. Of course we knew when to run, and when
+to lie down. You got so that you knew almost exactly what they'd do--if
+you'd been out long enough. And then you could time what you wanted to
+do yourselves.
+
+“They were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last. They sent up
+enough light at night from their trenches--you know, those things that
+burst in the air like electric light--we had none of that to do--they
+did it all for us--lit up everything. They were more nervous than we
+were....”
+
+It was nearly two o'clock when Herbertson left. Lilly, depressed,
+remained before the fire. Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to the
+fire.
+
+“It gives me the bellyache, that damned war,” he said.
+
+“So it does me,” said Lilly. “All unreal.”
+
+“Real enough for those that had to go through it.”
+
+“No, least of all for them,” said Lilly sullenly. “Not as real as a bad
+dream. Why the hell don't they wake up and realise it!”
+
+“That's a fact,” said Aaron. “They're hypnotised by it.”
+
+“And they want to hypnotise me. And I won't be hypnotised. The war was a
+lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody busts it.”
+
+“It was a fact--you can't bust that. You can't bust the fact that it
+happened.”
+
+“Yes you can. It never happened. It never happened to me. No more than
+my dreams happen. My dreams don't happen: they only seem.”
+
+“But the war did happen, right enough,” smiled Aaron palely.
+
+“No, it didn't. Not to me or to any man, in his own self. It took place
+in the automatic sphere, like dreams do. But the ACTUAL MAN in every man
+was just absent--asleep--or drugged--inert--dream-logged. That's it.”
+
+“You tell 'em so,” said Aaron.
+
+“I do. But it's no good. Because they won't wake up now even--perhaps
+never. They'll all kill themselves in their sleep.”
+
+“They wouldn't be any better if they did wake up and be themselves--that
+is, supposing they are asleep, which I can't see. They are what they
+are--and they're all alike--and never very different from what they are
+now.”
+
+Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
+
+“Do you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?” he asked slowly.
+
+“I don't even want to believe in them.”
+
+“But in yourself?” Lilly was almost wistful--and Aaron uneasy.
+
+“I don't know that I've any more right to believe in myself than in
+them,” he replied. Lilly watched and pondered.
+
+“No,” he said. “That's not true--I KNEW the war was false: humanly
+quite false. I always knew it was false. The Germans were false, we were
+false, everybody was false.”
+
+“And not you?” asked Aaron shrewishly.
+
+“There was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war
+and all that horrible movement was false for me. And so I wasn't going
+to be dragged in. The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what
+they liked: I wouldn't have joined the WAR. I would like to kill my
+enemy. But become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the
+war, that I never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven
+mothers violated. But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more than
+one enemy. But not as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism. That never:
+no, never.”
+
+Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement. Aaron made a fine nose. It
+seemed to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of a hole.
+
+“Well,” he said, “you've got men and nations, and you've got the
+machines of war--so how are you going to get out of it? League of
+Nations?”
+
+“Damn all leagues. Damn all masses and groups, anyhow. All I want is
+to get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm. The
+swarm to me is nightmare and nullity--horrible helpless writhing in
+a dream. I want to get myself awake, out of it all--all that
+mass-consciousness, all that mass-activity--it's the most horrible
+nightmare to me. No man is awake and himself. No man who was awake and
+in possession of himself would use poison gases: no man. His own awake
+self would scorn such a thing. It's only when the ghastly mob-sleep,
+the dream helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he becomes
+completely base and obscene.”
+
+“Ha--well,” said Aaron. “It's the wide-awake ones that invent the poison
+gas, and use it. Where should we be without it?”
+
+Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
+
+“Do you mean that, Aaron?” he said, looking into Aaron's face with a
+hard, inflexible look.
+
+Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
+
+“That's how it looks on the face of it, isn't it?” he said.
+
+“Look here, my friend, it's too late for you to be talking to me about
+the face of things. If that's how you feel, put your things on and
+follow Herbertson. Yes--go out of my room. I don't put up with the face
+of things here.”
+
+Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
+
+“It'll do tomorrow morning, won't it?” he asked rather mocking.
+
+“Yes,” said Lilly coldly. “But please go tomorrow morning.”
+
+“Oh, I'll go all right,” said Aaron. “Everybody's got to agree with
+you--that's your price.”
+
+But Lilly did not answer. Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile
+under his nose. Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of
+affairs.
+
+As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once
+more to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
+
+“I'm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things. No,
+and I don't have friends who don't fundamentally agree with me. A friend
+means one who is at one with me in matters of life and death. And if
+you're at one with all the rest, then you're THEIR friend, not mine. So
+be their friend. And please leave me in the morning. You owe me
+nothing, you have nothing more to do with me. I have had enough of these
+friendships where I pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
+
+“Let me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than
+ever they won. A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual. Your heroic
+officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home. Bah, your
+Herbertson! The only justification for war is what we learn from it. And
+what have they learnt?--Why did so many of them have presentiments, as
+he called it? Because they could feel inside them, there was nothing
+to come after. There was no life-courage: only death-courage. Nothing
+beyond this hell--only death or love--languishing--”
+
+“What could they have seen, anyhow?” said Aaron.
+
+“It's not what you see, actually. It's the kind of spirit you keep
+inside you: the life spirit. When Wallace had presentiments, Herbertson,
+being officer, should have said: 'None of that, Wallace. You and I,
+we've got to live and make life smoke.'--Instead of which he let Wallace
+be killed and his own heart be broken. Always the death-choice-- And we
+won't, we simply will not face the world as we've made it, and our own
+souls as we find them, and take the responsibility. We'll never get
+anywhere till we stand up man to man and face EVERYTHING out, and
+break the old forms, but never let our own pride and courage of life be
+broken.”
+
+Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed. Aaron turned over to sleep,
+rather resenting the sound of so many words. What difference did it
+make, anyhow? In the morning, however, when he saw the other man's pale,
+closed, rather haughty face, he realised that something _had_ happened.
+Lilly was courteous and even affable: but with a curious cold space
+between him and Aaron. Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew that he must
+leave. There was something in Lilly's bearing which just showed him the
+door. In some surprise and confusion, and in some anger, not unmingled
+with humorous irony, he put his things in his bag. He put on his hat and
+coat. Lilly was seated rather stiffly writing.
+
+“Well,” said Aaron. “I suppose we shall meet again.”
+
+“Oh, sure to,” said Lilly, rising from his chair. “We are sure to run
+across one another.”
+
+“When are you going?” asked Aaron.
+
+“In a few days' time.”
+
+“Oh, well, I'll run in and see you before you go, shall I?”
+
+“Yes, do.”
+
+Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and then
+returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
+
+Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called. He took it rather
+as a slap in the face. But then he knew quite well that Lilly had made
+a certain call on his, Aaron's soul: a call which he, Aaron, did not
+at all intend to obey. If in return the soul-caller chose to shut his
+street-door in the face of the world-friend--well, let it be quits. He
+was not sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly enemy or not. He
+rather thought he did.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+
+
+The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a group
+of musical people in a village by the sea. He accepted, and spent a
+pleasant month. It pleased the young men musically-inclined and bohemian
+by profession to patronise the flautist, whom they declared marvellous.
+Bohemians with well-to-do parents, they could already afford to squander
+a little spasmodic and self-gratifying patronage. And Aaron did not mind
+being patronised. He had nothing else to do.
+
+But the party broke up early in September. The flautist was detained a
+few days at a country house, for the amusement of the guests. Then he
+left for London.
+
+In London he found himself at a loose end. A certain fretful dislike
+of the patronage of indifferent young men, younger than himself, and a
+certain distaste for regular work in the orchestra made him look round.
+He wanted something else. He wanted to disappear again. Qualms and
+emotions concerning his abandoned family overcame him. The early,
+delicate autumn affected him. He took a train to the Midlands.
+
+And again, just after dark, he strolled with his little bag across the
+field which lay at the end of his garden. It had been mown, and the
+grass was already growing long. He stood and looked at the line of back
+windows, lighted once more. He smelled the scents of autumn, phlox and
+moist old vegetation and corn in sheaf. A nostalgia which was half at
+least revulsion affected him. The place, the home, at once fascinated
+and revolted him.
+
+Sitting in his shed, he scrutinised his garden carefully, in the
+starlight. There were two rows of beans, rather disshevelled. Near at
+hand the marrow plants sprawled from their old bed. He could detect
+the perfume of a few carnations. He wondered who it was had planted
+the garden, during his long absence. Anyhow, there it was, planted and
+fruited and waning into autumn.
+
+The blind was not drawn. It was eight o'clock. The children were going
+to bed. Aaron waited in his shed, his bowels stirred with violent but
+only half-admitted emotions. There was his wife, slim and graceful,
+holding a little mug to the baby's mouth. And the baby was drinking. She
+looked lonely. Wild emotions attacked his heart. There was going to be a
+wild and emotional reconciliation.
+
+Was there? It seemed like something fearful and imminent. A passion
+arose in him, a craving for the violent emotional reconciliation. He
+waited impatiently for the children to be gone to bed, gnawed with
+restless desire.
+
+He heard the clock strike nine, then half-past, from the village behind.
+The children would be asleep. His wife was sitting sewing some little
+frock. He went lingering down the garden path, stooping to lift the
+fallen carnations, to see how they were. There were many flowers, but
+small. He broke one off, then threw it away. The golden rod was out.
+Even in the little lawn there were asters, as of old.
+
+His wife started to listen, hearing his step. He was filled with a
+violent conflict of tenderness, like a sickness. He hesitated, tapping
+at the door, and entered. His wife started to her feet, at bay.
+
+“What have you come for!” was her involuntary ejaculation.
+
+But he, with the familiar odd jerk of his head towards the garden, asked
+with a faint smile:
+
+“Who planted the garden?”
+
+And he felt himself dropping into the twang of the vernacular, which he
+had discarded.
+
+Lottie only stood and stared at him, objectively. She did not think
+to answer. He took his hat off, and put it on the dresser. Again the
+familiar act maddened her.
+
+“What have you come for?” she cried again, with a voice full of hate. Or
+perhaps it was fear and doubt and even hope as well. He heard only hate.
+
+This time he turned to look at her. The old dagger was drawn in her.
+
+“I wonder,” he said, “myself.”
+
+Then she recovered herself, and with trembling hand picked up her sewing
+again. But she still stood at bay, beyond the table. She said nothing.
+He, feeling tired, sat down on the chair nearest the door. But he
+reached for his hat, and kept it on his knee. She, as she stood there
+unnaturally, went on with her sewing. There was silence for some time.
+Curious sensations and emotions went through the man's frame seeming to
+destroy him. They were like electric shocks, which he felt she emitted
+against him. And an old sickness came in him again. He had forgotten
+it. It was the sickness of the unrecognised and incomprehensible strain
+between him and her.
+
+After a time she put down her sewing, and sat again in her chair.
+
+“Do you know how vilely you've treated me?” she said, staring across the
+space at him. He averted his face.
+
+Yet he answered, not without irony.
+
+“I suppose so.”
+
+“And why?” she cried. “I should like to know why.”
+
+He did not answer. The way she rushed in made him go vague.
+
+“Justify yourself. Say why you've been so vile to me. Say what you had
+against me,” she demanded.
+
+“What I HAD against her,” he mused to himself: and he wondered that she
+used the past tense. He made no answer.
+
+“Accuse me,” she insisted. “Say what I've done to make you treat me like
+this. Say it. You must THINK it hard enough.”
+
+“Nay,” he said. “I don't think it.”
+
+This speech, by which he merely meant that he did not trouble to
+formulate any injuries he had against her, puzzled her.
+
+“Don't come pretending you love me, NOW. It's too late,” she said with
+contempt. Yet perhaps also hope.
+
+“You might wait till I start pretending,” he said.
+
+This enraged her.
+
+“You vile creature!” she exclaimed. “Go! What have you come for?”
+
+“To look at YOU,” he said sarcastically.
+
+After a few minutes she began to cry, sobbing violently into her apron.
+And again his bowels stirred and boiled.
+
+“What have I done! What have I done! I don't know what I've done that he
+should be like this to me,” she sobbed, into her apron. It was childish,
+and perhaps true. At least it was true from the childish part of her
+nature. He sat gloomy and uneasy.
+
+She took the apron from her tear-stained face, and looked at him. It
+was true, in her moments of roused exposure she was a beautiful woman--a
+beautiful woman. At this moment, with her flushed, tear-stained, wilful
+distress, she was beautiful.
+
+“Tell me,” she challenged. “Tell me! Tell me what I've done. Tell me
+what you have against me. Tell me.”
+
+Watching like a lynx, she saw the puzzled, hurt look in his face.
+Telling isn't so easy--especially when the trouble goes too deep for
+conscious comprehension. He couldn't _tell_ what he had against her. And
+he had not the slightest intention of doing what she would have liked
+him to do, starting to pile up detailed grievances. He knew the detailed
+grievances were nothing in themselves.
+
+“You CAN'T,” she cried vindictively. “You CAN'T. You CAN'T find anything
+real to bring against me, though you'd like to. You'd like to be able
+to accuse me of something, but you CAN'T, because you know there isn't
+anything.”
+
+She watched him, watched. And he sat in the chair near the door, without
+moving.
+
+“You're unnatural, that's what you are,” she cried. “You're unnatural.
+You're not a man. You haven't got a man's feelings. You're nasty, and
+cold, and unnatural. And you're a coward. You're a coward. You run away
+from me, without telling me what you've got against me.”
+
+“When you've had enough, you go away and you don't care what you do,” he
+said, epigrammatic.
+
+She paused a moment.
+
+“Enough of what?” she said. “What have you had enough of? Of me and your
+children? It's a nice manly thing to say. Haven't I loved you? Haven't
+I loved you for twelve years, and worked and slaved for you and tried to
+keep you right? Heaven knows where you'd have been but for me, evil as
+you are at the bottom. You're evil, that's what it is--and weak. You're
+too weak to love a woman and give her what she wants: too weak. Unmanly
+and cowardly, he runs away.”
+
+“No wonder,” he said.
+
+“No,” she cried. “It IS no wonder, with a nature like yours: weak and
+unnatural and evil. It IS no wonder.”
+
+She became quiet--and then started to cry again, into her apron. Aaron
+waited. He felt physically weak.
+
+“And who knows what you've been doing all these months?” she wept. “Who
+knows all the vile things you've been doing? And you're the father of my
+children--the father of my little girls--and who knows what vile things
+he's guilty of, all these months?”
+
+“I shouldn't let my imagination run away with me,” he answered. “I've
+been playing the flute in the orchestra of one of the theatres in
+London.”
+
+“Ha!” she cried. “It's more than that. Don't think I'm going to believe
+you. I know you, with your smooth-sounding lies. You're a liar, as you
+know. And I know you've been doing other things besides play a flute
+in an orchestra. You!--as if I don't know you. And then coming crawling
+back to me with your lies and your pretense. Don't think I'm taken in.”
+
+“I should be sorry,” he said.
+
+“Coming crawling back to me, and expecting to be forgiven,” she went on.
+“But no--I don't forgive--and I can't forgive--never--not as long as I
+live shall I forgive what you've done to me.”
+
+“You can wait till you're asked, anyhow,” he said.
+
+“And you can wait,” she said. “And you shall wait.” She took up her
+sewing, and stitched steadily, as if calmly. Anyone glancing in would
+have imagined a quiet domestic hearth at that moment. He, too, feeling
+physically weak, remained silent, feeling his soul absent from the
+scene.
+
+Again she suddenly burst into tears, weeping bitterly.
+
+“And the children,” she sobbed, rocking herself with grief and chagrin.
+“What have I been able to say to the children--what have I been able to
+tell them?”
+
+“What HAVE you told them?” he asked coldly.
+
+“I told them you'd gone away to work,” she sobbed, laying her head on
+her arms on the table. “What else could I tell them? I couldn't tell
+them the vile truth about their father. I couldn't tell THEM how evil
+you are.” She sobbed and moaned.
+
+He wondered what exactly the vile truth would have been, had she
+_started_ to tell it. And he began to feel, coldly and cynically, that
+among all her distress there was a luxuriating in the violent emotions
+of the scene in hand, and the situation altogether.
+
+Then again she became quiet, and picked up her sewing. She stitched
+quietly, wistfully, for some time. Then she looked up at him--a long
+look of reproach, and sombre accusation, and wifely tenderness. He
+turned his face aside.
+
+“You know you've been wrong to me, don't you?” she said, half wistfully,
+half menacing.
+
+He felt her wistfulness and her menace tearing him in his bowels and
+loins.
+
+“You do know, don't you?” she insisted, still with the wistful appeal,
+and the veiled threat.
+
+“You do, or you would answer,” she said. “You've still got enough that's
+right in you, for you to know.”
+
+She waited. He sat still, as if drawn by hot wires.
+
+Then she slipped across to him, put her arms round him, sank on her
+knees at his side, and sank her face against his thigh.
+
+“Say you know how wrong you are. Say you know how cruel you've been to
+me,” she pleaded. But under her female pleading and appeal he felt the
+iron of her threat.
+
+“You DO know it,” she murmured, looking up into his face as she crouched
+by his knee. “You DO know it. I can see in your eyes that you know it.
+And why have you come back to me, if you don't know it! Why have you
+come back to me? Tell me!” Her arms gave him a sharp, compulsory little
+clutch round the waist. “Tell me! Tell me!” she murmured, with all her
+appeal liquid in her throat.
+
+But him, it half overcame, and at the same time, horrified. He had a
+certain horror of her. The strange liquid sound of her appeal seemed
+to him like the swaying of a serpent which mesmerises the fated,
+fluttering, helpless bird. She clasped her arms round him, she drew
+him to her, she half roused his passion. At the same time she coldly
+horrified and repelled him. He had not the faintest feeling, at the
+moment, of his own wrong. But she wanted to win his own self-betrayal
+out of him. He could see himself as the fascinated victim, falling to
+this cajoling, awful woman, the wife of his bosom. But as well, he had
+a soul outside himself, which looked on the whole scene with cold
+revulsion, and which was as unchangeable as time.
+
+“No,” he said. “I don't feel wrong.”
+
+“You DO!” she said, giving him a sharp, admonitory clutch. “You DO.
+Only you're silly, and obstinate, babyish and silly and obstinate. An
+obstinate little boy--you DO feel wrong. And you ARE wrong. And you've
+got to say it.”
+
+But quietly he disengaged himself and got to his feet, his face pale and
+set, obstinate as she said. He put his hat on, and took his little bag.
+She watched him curiously, still crouching by his chair.
+
+“I'll go,” he said, putting his hand on the latch.
+
+Suddenly she sprang to her feet and clutched him by the shirt-neck, her
+hand inside his soft collar, half strangling him.
+
+“You villain,” she said, and her face was transfigured with passion as
+he had never seen it before, horrible. “You villain!” she said thickly.
+“What have you come here for?”
+
+His soul went black as he looked at her. He broke her hand away from his
+shirt collar, bursting the stud-holes. She recoiled in silence. And in
+one black, unconscious movement he was gone, down the garden and over
+the fence and across the country, swallowed in a black unconsciousness.
+
+She, realising, sank upon the hearth-rug and lay there curled upon
+herself. She was defeated. But she, too, would never yield. She lay
+quite motionless for some time. Then she got up, feeling the draught on
+the floor. She closed the door, and drew down the blind. Then she looked
+at her wrist, which he had gripped, and which pained her. Then she
+went to the mirror and looked for a long time at her white, strained,
+determined face. Come life, come death, she, too would never yield. And
+she realised now that he would never yield.
+
+She was faint with weariness, and would be glad to get to bed and sleep.
+
+Aaron meanwhile had walked across the country and was looking for a
+place to rest. He found a cornfield with a half-built stack, and sheaves
+in stook. Ten to one some tramp would have found the stack. He threw
+a dozen sheaves together and lay down, looking at the stars in the
+September sky. He, too, would never yield. The illusion of love was gone
+for ever. Love was a battle in which each party strove for the mastery
+of the other's soul. So far, man had yielded the mastery to woman. Now
+he was fighting for it back again. And too late, for the woman would
+never yield.
+
+But whether woman yielded or not, he would keep the mastery of his own
+soul and conscience and actions. He would never yield himself up to her
+judgment again. He would hold himself forever beyond her jurisdiction.
+
+Henceforth, life single, not life double.
+
+He looked at the sky, and thanked the universe for the blessedness
+of being alone in the universe. To be alone, to be oneself, not to be
+driven or violated into something which is not oneself, surely it is
+better than anything. He thought of Lottie, and knew how much more truly
+herself she was when she was alone, with no man to distort her. And he
+was thankful for the division between them. Such scenes as the last were
+too horrible and unreal.
+
+As for future unions, too soon to think about it. Let there be clean
+and pure division first, perfected singleness. That is the only way to
+final, living unison: through sheer, finished singleness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. NOVARA
+
+
+Having no job for the autumn, Aaron fidgetted in London. He played at
+some concerts and some private shows. He was one of an odd quartette,
+for example, which went to play to Lady Artemis Hooper, when she lay
+in bed after her famous escapade of falling through the window of her
+taxi-cab. Aaron had that curious knack, which belongs to some people,
+of getting into the swim without knowing he was doing it. Lady Artemis
+thought his flute lovely, and had him again to play for her. Aaron
+looked at her and she at him. She, as she reclined there in bed in a
+sort of half-light, well made-up, smoking her cigarettes and talking in
+a rather raucous voice, making her slightly rasping witty comments
+to the other men in the room--of course there were other men, the
+audience--was a shock to the flautist. This was the bride of the moment!
+Curious how raucous her voice sounded out of the cigarette smoke. Yet
+he liked her--the reckless note of the modern, social freebooter. In
+himself was a touch of the same quality.
+
+“Do you love playing?” she asked him.
+
+“Yes,” he said, with that shadow of irony which seemed like a smile on
+his face.
+
+“Live for it, so to speak,” she said.
+
+“I make my living by it,” he said.
+
+“But that's not really how you take it?” she said. He eyed her. She
+watched him over her cigarette. It was a personal moment.
+
+“I don't think about it,” he said.
+
+“I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't be so good if you did. You're awfully
+lucky, you know, to be able to pour yourself down your flute.”
+
+“You think I go down easy?” he laughed.
+
+“Ah!” she replied, flicking her cigarette broadcast. “That's the point.
+What should you say, Jimmy?” she turned to one of the men. He screwed
+his eyeglass nervously and stiffened himself to look at her.
+
+“I--I shouldn't like to say, off-hand,” came the small-voiced,
+self-conscious answer. And Jimmy bridled himself and glanced at Aaron.
+
+“Do you find it a tight squeeze, then?” she said, turning to Aaron once
+more.
+
+“No, I can't say that,” he answered. “What of me goes down goes down
+easy enough. It's what doesn't go down.”
+
+“And how much is that?” she asked, eying him.
+
+“A good bit, maybe,” he said.
+
+“Slops over, so to speak,” she retorted sarcastically. “And which do you
+enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the lap of
+Mother Earth--of Miss, more probably!”
+
+“Depends,” he said.
+
+Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left
+him to get off by himself.
+
+So he found London got on his nerves. He felt it rubbed him the wrong
+way. He was flattered, of course, by his own success--and felt at
+the same time irritated by it. This state of mind was by no means
+acceptable. Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly, the
+first place--or a place among the first. Among the musical people
+he frequented, he found himself on a callow kind of equality with
+everybody, even the stars and aristocrats, at one moment, and a
+backstairs outsider the next. It was all just as the moment demanded.
+There was a certain excitement in slithering up and down the social
+scale, one minute chatting in a personal tete-a-tete with the most
+famous, or notorious, of the society beauties: and the next walking in
+the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby lodging in Bloomsbury.
+Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm that lay at the bottom
+of his soul, and which burned there like an unhealthy bile.
+
+Therefore he determined to clear out--to disappear. He had a letter from
+Lilly, from Novara. Lilly was drifting about. Aaron wrote to Novara, and
+asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak of. “Come
+if you want to. Bring your flute. And if you've no money, put on a good
+suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside the best cafe in
+any Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get on with.”
+
+It was a sporting chance. Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
+wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
+Franks'. He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London. But
+it didn't.
+
+Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a
+wet, dark evening. He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody. With some
+slight dismay he faced the big, crowded station. The stream of people
+carried him automatically through the barrier, a porter having seized
+his bag, and volleyed various unintelligible questions at him. Aaron
+understood not one word. So he just wandered after the blue blouse of
+the porter.
+
+The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired
+off more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space of
+darkness outside the station. Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he nodded
+and said “Yes.” But there were no cabs. So once more the blue-bloused
+porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over his
+shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and a
+sort of theatre place.
+
+One carriage stood there in the rain--yes, and it was free.
+
+“Keb? Yes--orright--sir. Whe'to? Where you go? Sir William Franks? Yes,
+I know. Long way go--go long way. Sir William Franks.”
+
+The cabman spattered his few words of English. Aaron gave the porter an
+English shilling. The porter let the coin lie in the middle of his palm,
+as if it were a live beetle, and darted to the light of the carriage to
+examine the beast, exclaiming volubly. The cabman, wild with interest,
+peered down from the box into the palm of the porter, and carried on an
+impassioned dialogue. Aaron stood with one foot on the step.
+
+“What you give--he? One franc?” asked the driver.
+
+“A shilling,” said Aaron.
+
+“One sheeling. Yes. I know that. One sheeling English”--and the driver
+went off into impassioned exclamations in Torinese. The porter, still
+muttering and holding his hand as if the coin might sting him, filtered
+away.
+
+“Orright. He know--sheeling--orright. English moneys, eh? Yes, he know.
+You get up, sir.”
+
+And away went Aaron, under the hood of the carriage, clattering down the
+wide darkness of Novara, over a bridge apparently, past huge rain-wet
+statues, and through more rainy, half-lit streets.
+
+They stopped at last outside a sort of park wall with trees above. The
+big gates were just beyond.
+
+“Sir William Franks--there.” In a mixture of Italian and English the
+driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right. Aaron got
+down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.
+
+“How much?” said Aaron to the driver.
+
+“Ten franc,” said the fat driver.
+
+But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink
+ten-shilling note. He waved it in his hand.
+
+“Not good, eh? Not good moneys?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron, rather indignantly. “Good English money. Ten
+shillings. Better than ten francs, a good deal. Better--better--”
+
+“Good--you say? Ten sheeling--” The driver muttered and muttered, as
+if dissatisfied. But as a matter of fact he stowed the note in his
+waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron
+curiously, and drove away.
+
+Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished himself
+somewhere else. However, he rang the bell. There was a huge barking
+of dogs on the other side. Presently a light switched on, and a woman,
+followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-opened doorway.
+
+“Sir William Franks?” said Aaron.
+
+“Si, signore.”
+
+And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate. Huge dogs jumped
+round. He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the
+park. The woman fastened the gate--Aaron saw a door--and through an
+uncurtained window a man writing at a desk--rather like the clerk in an
+hotel office. He was going with his two bags to the open door, when the
+woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian. It was evident
+he must not go on. So he put down the bags. The man stood a few yards
+away, watchfully.
+
+Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what
+she was saying, but could not. The dogs still barked spasmodically,
+drops fell from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.
+
+“Is Mr. Lilly here? Mr. Lilly?” he asked.
+
+“Signor Lillee. No, Signore--”
+
+And off the woman went in Italian. But it was evident Lilly was not at
+the house. Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had gone to
+an hotel.
+
+He made out that the woman was asking him for his name--“Meester--?
+Meester--?” she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.
+
+“Sisson. Mr. Sisson,” said Aaron, who was becoming impatient. And he
+found a visiting card to give her. She seemed appeased--said something
+about telephone--and left him standing.
+
+The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high
+trees. Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk reach
+the telephone. There was a long pause. At length the woman came back
+and motioned to him to go up--up the drive which curved and disappeared
+under the dark trees.
+
+“Go up there?” said Aaron, pointing.
+
+That was evidently the intention. So he picked up his bags and strode
+forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive
+in the darkness. It was a steep incline. He saw trees and the grass
+slopes. There was a tang of snow in the air.
+
+Suddenly, up ahead, a brilliant light switched on. He continued uphill
+through the trees along the path, towards it, and at length, emerged
+at the foot of a great flight of steps, above which was a wide glass
+entrance, and an Italian manservant in white gloves hovering as if on
+the brink.
+
+Aaron emerged from the drive and climbed the steps. The manservant came
+down two steps and took the little bag. Then he ushered Aaron and the
+big bag into a large, pillared hall, with thick Turkish carpet on the
+floor, and handsome appointments. It was spacious, comfortable and warm;
+but somewhat pretentious; rather like the imposing hall into which the
+heroine suddenly enters on the film.
+
+Aaron dropped his heavy bag, with relief, and stood there, hat in hand,
+in his damp overcoat in the circle of light, looking vaguely at the
+yellow marble pillars, the gilded arches above, the shadowy distances
+and the great stairs. The butler disappeared--reappeared in another
+moment--and through an open doorway came the host. Sir William was a
+small, clean old man with a thin, white beard and a courtly deportment,
+wearing a black velvet dinner jacket faced with purple silk.
+
+“How do you do, Mr. Sisson. You come straight from England?”
+
+Sir William held out his hand courteously and benevolently, smiling an
+old man's smile of hospitality.
+
+“Mr. Lilly has gone away?” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes. He left us several days ago.”
+
+Aaron hesitated.
+
+“You didn't expect me, then?”
+
+“Yes, oh, yes. Yes, oh, yes. Very glad to see you--well, now, come in
+and have some dinner--”
+
+At this moment Lady Franks appeared--short, rather plump, but erect and
+definite, in a black silk dress and pearls round her throat.
+
+“How do you do? We are just at dinner,” she said. “You haven't eaten?
+No--well, then--would you like a bath now, or--?”
+
+It was evident the Franks had dispensed much hospitality: much of it
+charitable. Aaron felt it.
+
+“No,” he said. “I'll wash my hands and come straight in, shall I?”
+
+“Yes, perhaps that would be better--”
+
+“I'm afraid I am a nuisance.”
+
+“Not at all--Beppe--” and she gave instructions in Italian.
+
+Another footman appeared, and took the big bag. Aaron took the little
+one this time. They climbed the broad, turning stairs, crossed another
+handsome lounge, gilt and ormolu and yellow silk chairs and scattered
+copies of _The Graphic_ or of _Country Life_, then they disappeared
+through a doorway into a much narrower flight of stairs. Man can so
+rarely keep it up all the way, the grandeur.
+
+Two black and white chamber-maids appeared. Aaron found himself in a
+blue silk bedroom, and a footman unstrapping his bag, which he did not
+want unstrapped. Next minute he was beckoned and allured by the Italian
+servants down the corridor, and presented to the handsome, spacious
+bathroom, which was warm and creamy-coloured and glittering with massive
+silver and mysterious with up-to-date conveniences. There he was left to
+his own devices, and felt like a small boy finding out how it works. For
+even the mere turning on of the taps was a problem in silver mechanics.
+
+In spite of all the splendours and the elaborated convenience, he washed
+himself in good hot water, and wished he were having a bath, chiefly
+because of the wardrobe of marvellous Turkish towels. Then he clicked
+his way back to his bedroom, changed his shirt and combed his hair in
+the blue silk bedroom with the Greuze picture, and felt a little dim and
+superficial surprise. He had fallen into country house parties before,
+but never into quite such a plushy sense of riches. He felt he ought to
+have his breath taken away. But alas, the cinema has taken our breath
+away so often, investing us in all the splendours of the splendidest
+American millionaire, or all the heroics and marvels of the Somme or the
+North Pole, that life has now no magnate richer than we, no hero nobler
+than we have been, on the film. _Connu_! _Connu_! Everything life has to
+offer is known to us, couldn't be known better, from the film.
+
+So Aaron tied his tie in front of a big Venice mirror, and nothing was
+a surprise to him. He found a footman hovering to escort him to the
+dining-room--a real Italian footman, uneasy because milady's dinner was
+unsettled. He entered the rather small dining-room, and saw the people
+at table.
+
+He was told various names: bowed to a young, slim woman with big
+blue eyes and dark hair like a photograph, then to a smaller rather
+colourless young woman with a large nose: then to a stout, rubicund,
+bald colonel, and to a tall, thin, Oxford-looking major with a black
+patch over his eye--both these men in khaki: finally to a good-looking,
+well-nourished young man in a dinner-jacket, and he sat down to his
+soup, on his hostess' left hand. The colonel sat on her right, and was
+confidential. Little Sir William, with his hair and his beard white like
+spun glass, his manner very courteous and animated, the purple facings
+of his velvet jacket very impressive, sat at the far end of the table
+jesting with the ladies and showing his teeth in an old man's smile, a
+little bit affected, but pleasant, wishing everybody to be happy.
+
+Aaron ate his soup, trying to catch up. Milady's own confidential
+Italian butler, fidelity itself, hovered quivering near, spiritually
+helping the newcomer to catch up. Two nice little entree dishes,
+specially prepared for Aaron to take the place of the bygone fish and
+vol au-vents of the proper dinner, testified to the courtesy and charity
+of his hostess.
+
+Well, eating rapidly, he had more or less caught up by the time the
+sweets came. So he swallowed a glass of wine and looked round. His
+hostess with her pearls, and her diamond star in her grey hair, was
+speaking of Lilly and then of music to him.
+
+“I hear you are a musician. That's what I should have been if I had had
+my way.”
+
+“What instrument?” asked Aaron.
+
+“Oh, the piano. Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says. I think the flute
+can be so attractive. But I feel, of course you have more range with the
+piano. I love the piano--and orchestra.”
+
+At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her. But she
+came back in snatches. She was a woman who reminded him a little
+of Queen Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her
+attention always given to the successful issue of her duties, the
+remainder at the disposal of her guests. It was an old-fashioned, not
+unpleasant feeling: like retrospect. But she had beautiful, big, smooth
+emeralds and sapphires on her fingers. Money! What a curious thing it
+is! Aaron noticed the deference of all the guests at table: a touch of
+obsequiousness: before the money! And the host and hostess accepted the
+deference, nay, expected it, as their due. Yet both Sir William and Lady
+Franks knew that it was only money and success. They had both a certain
+afterthought, knowing dimly that the game was but a game, and that
+they were the helpless leaders in the game. They had a certain basic
+ordinariness which prevented their making any great hits, and which
+kept them disillusioned all the while. They remembered their poor and
+insignificant days.
+
+“And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden. We came
+back from London last week. I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much.”
+
+“Which do you like best?” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh, the Russian. I think _Ivan_. It is such fine music.”
+
+“I find _Ivan_ artificial.”
+
+“Do you? Oh, I don't think so. No, I don't think you can say that.”
+
+Aaron wondered at her assurance. She seemed to put him just a tiny bit
+in his place, even in an opinion on music. Money gave her that right,
+too. Curious--the only authority left. And he deferred to her opinion:
+that is, to her money. He did it almost deliberately. Yes--what did he
+believe in, besides money? What does any man? He looked at the black
+patch over the major's eye. What had he given his eye for?--the nation's
+money. Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise we might be where
+the wretched Austrians are. Instead of which--how smooth his hostess'
+sapphires!
+
+“Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky,” said Aaron. “I think he is a
+greater artist. But perhaps it is just personal preference.”
+
+“Yes. _Boris_ is wonderful. Oh, some of the scenes in _Boris_!”
+
+“And even more _Kovantchina_,” said Aaron. “I wish we could go back
+to melody pure and simple. Yet I find _Kovantchina_, which is all mass
+music practically, gives me more satisfaction than any other opera.”
+
+“Do you really? I shouldn't say so: oh, no--but you can't mean that
+you would like all music to go back to melody pure and simple! Just a
+flute--just a pipe! Oh, Mr. Sisson, you are bigoted for your instrument.
+I just LIVE in harmony--chords, chords!” She struck imaginary chords on
+the white damask, and her sapphires swam blue. But at the same time she
+was watching to see if Sir William had still got beside his plate the
+white medicine _cachet_ which he must swallow at every meal. Because if
+so, she must remind him to swallow it. However, at that very moment,
+he put it on his tongue. So that she could turn her attention again to
+Aaron and the imaginary chord on the white damask; the thing she just
+lived in. But the rubicund bald colonel, more rubicund after wine, most
+rubicund now the Marsala was going, snatched her attention with a burly
+homage to her femininity, and shared his fear with her with a boyish
+gallantry.
+
+When the women had gone up, Sir William came near and put his hand on
+Aaron's shoulder. It was evident the charm was beginning to work. Sir
+William was a self-made man, and not in the least a snob. He liked the
+fundamental ordinariness in Aaron, the commonness of the common man.
+
+“Well now, Mr. Sisson, we are very glad to see you! Very glad, indeed. I
+count Mr. Lilly one of the most interesting men it has ever been my good
+fortune to know. And so for your own sake, and for Mr. Lilly's sake,
+we are very glad to see you. Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson some
+Marsala--and take some yourself.”
+
+“Thank you, Sir,” said the well-nourished young man in nice evening
+clothes. “You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?”
+
+“Yes, I will, I will. I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson. Major, where
+are you wandering off to? Come and take a glass with us, my boy.”
+
+“Thanks, Sir William,” drawled the young major with the black patch.
+
+“Now, Colonel--I hope you are in good health and spirits.”
+
+“Never better, Sir William, never better.”
+
+“I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed. Try my Marsala--I think it
+is quite good. Port is beyond us for the moment--for the moment--”
+
+And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again. He made quite a
+handsome picture: but he was frail.
+
+“And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson? Towards Rome?”
+
+“I came to meet Lilly,” said Aaron.
+
+“Ah! But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time. Never was such a
+man for crossing frontiers. Wonderful person, to be able to do it.”
+
+“Where has he gone?” said Aaron.
+
+“I think to Geneva for the moment. But he certainly talked of Venice.
+You yourself have no definite goal?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Ah! You have not come to Italy to practice your art?”
+
+“I shall HAVE to practice it: or else--no, I haven't come for that.”
+
+“Ah, you will HAVE to practice it. Ah, yes! We are all under the
+necessity to eat. And you have a family in England? Am I not right?”
+
+“Quite. I've got a family depending on me.”
+
+“Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art.
+Well--shall we join the ladies? Coffee will no doubt be served.”
+
+“Will you take my arm, Sir?” said the well-nourished Arthur.
+
+“Thank you, thank you,” the old man motioned him away.
+
+So they went upstairs to where the three women were sitting in the
+library round the fire, chattering not very interested. The entry of Sir
+William at once made a stir.
+
+The girl in white, with the biggish nose, fluttered round him. She was
+Arthur's wife. The girl in soft blue spread herself on the couch: she
+was the young Major's wife, and she had a blue band round her hair. The
+Colonel hovered stout and fidgetty round Lady Franks and the liqueur
+stand. He and the Major were both in khaki--belonging to the service on
+duty in Italy still.
+
+Coffee appeared--and Sir William doled out _creme de menthe_. There
+was no conversation--only tedious words. The little party was just
+commonplace and dull--boring. Yet Sir William, the self-made man, was a
+study. And the young, Oxford-like Major, with his English diffidence and
+his one dark, pensive, baffled eye was only waiting to be earnest, poor
+devil.
+
+The girl in white had been a sort of companion to Lady Franks, so that
+Arthur was more or less a son-in-law. In this capacity, he acted. Aaron
+strayed round uneasily looking at the books, bought but not read, and at
+the big pictures above. It was Arthur who fetched out the little boxes
+containing the orders conferred on Sir William for his war-work: and
+perhaps more, for the many thousands of pounds he had spent on his
+war-work.
+
+There were three orders: one British, and quite important, a large
+silver star for the breast: one Italian, smaller, and silver and gold;
+and one from the State of Ruritania, in silver and red-and-green enamel,
+smaller than the others.
+
+“Come now, William,” said Lady Franks, “you must try them all on. You
+must try them all on together, and let us see how you look.”
+
+The little, frail old man, with his strange old man's blue eyes and his
+old man's perpetual laugh, swelled out his chest and said:
+
+“What, am I to appear in all my vanities?” And he laughed shortly.
+
+“Of course you are. We want to see you,” said the white girl.
+
+“Indeed we do! We shouldn't mind all appearing in such vanities--what,
+Lady Franks!” boomed the Colonel.
+
+“I should think not,” replied his hostess. “When a man has honours
+conferred on him, it shows a poor spirit if he isn't proud of them.”
+
+“Of course I am proud of them!” said Sir William. “Well then, come and
+have them pinned on. I think it's wonderful to have got so much in one
+life-time--wonderful,” said Lady Franks.
+
+“Oh, Sir William is a wonderful man,” said the Colonel. “Well--we won't
+say so before him. But let us look at him in his orders.”
+
+Arthur, always ready on these occasions, had taken the large and shining
+British star from its box, and drew near to Sir William, who stood
+swelling his chest, pleased, proud, and a little wistful.
+
+“This one first, Sir,” said Arthur.
+
+Sir William stood very still, half tremulous, like a man undergoing an
+operation.
+
+“And it goes just here--the level of the heart. This is where it goes.”
+ And carefully he pinned the large, radiating ornament on the black
+velvet dinner-jacket of the old man.
+
+“That is the first--and very becoming,” said Lady Franks.
+
+“Oh, very becoming! Very becoming!” said the tall wife of the Major--she
+was a handsome young woman of the tall, frail type.
+
+“Do you think so, my dear?” said the old man, with his eternal smile:
+the curious smile of old people when they are dead.
+
+“Not only becoming, Sir,” said the Major, bending his tall, slim figure
+forwards. “But a reassuring sign that a nation knows how to distinguish
+her valuable men.”
+
+“Quite!” said Lady Franks. “I think it is a very great honour to have
+got it. The king was most gracious, too-- Now the other. That goes
+beside it--the Italian--”
+
+Sir William stood there undergoing the operation of the pinning-on. The
+Italian star being somewhat smaller than the British, there was a
+slight question as to where exactly it should be placed. However, Arthur
+decided it: and the old man stood before the company with his two stars
+on his breast.
+
+“And now the Ruritanian,” said Lady Franks eagerly.
+
+“That doesn't go on the same level with the others, Lady Franks,” said
+Arthur. “That goes much lower down--about here.”
+
+“Are you sure?” said Lady Franks. “Doesn't it go more here?”
+
+“No no, no no, not at all. Here! Isn't it so, Sybil?”
+
+“Yes, I think so,” said Sybil.
+
+Old Sir William stood quite silent, his breast prepared, peering over
+the facings of his coat to see where the star was going. The Colonel was
+called in, and though he knew nothing about it, he agreed with Arthur,
+who apparently did know something. So the star was pinned quite low
+down. Sir William, peeping down, exclaimed:
+
+“Well, that is most curious now! I wear an order over the pit of my
+stomach! I think that is very curious: a curious place to wear an
+order.”
+
+“Stand up! Stand up and let us look!” said Lady Franks. “There now,
+isn't it handsome? And isn't it a great deal of honour for one man?
+Could he have expected so much, in one life-time? I call it wonderful.
+Come and look at yourself, dear”--and she led him to a mirror.
+
+“What's more, all thoroughly deserved,” said Arthur.
+
+“I should think so,” said the Colonel, fidgetting.
+
+“Ah, yes, nobody has deserved them better,” cooed Sybil.
+
+“Nor on more humane and generous grounds,” said the Major, _sotto voce._
+
+“The effort to save life, indeed,” returned the Major's young wife:
+“splendid!”
+
+Sir William stood naively before the mirror and looked at his three
+stars on his black velvet dinner-jacket.
+
+“Almost directly over the pit of my stomach,” he said. “I hope that is
+not a decoration for my greedy APPETITE.” And he laughed at the young
+women.
+
+“I assure you it is in position, Sir,” said Arthur. “Absolutely correct.
+I will read it out to you later.”
+
+“Aren't you satisfied? Aren't you a proud man! Isn't it wonderful?” said
+Lady Franks. “Why, what more could a man want from life? He could never
+EXPECT so much.”
+
+“Yes, my dear. I AM a proud man. Three countries have honoured me--”
+ There was a little, breathless pause.
+
+“And not more than they ought to have done,” said Sybil.
+
+“Well! Well! I shall have my head turned. Let me return to my own humble
+self. I am too much in the stars at the moment.”
+
+Sir William turned to Arthur to have his decorations removed. Aaron,
+standing in the background, felt the whole scene strange, childish, a
+little touching. And Lady Franks was so obviously trying to _console_
+her husband: to console the frail, excitable old man with his honours.
+But why console him? Did he need consolation? And did she? It was
+evident that only the hard-money woman in her put any price on the
+decorations.
+
+Aaron came forward and examined the orders, one after the other. Just
+metal playthings of curious shiny silver and gilt and enamel. Heavy the
+British one--but only like some heavy buckle, a piece of metal merely
+when one turned it over. Somebody dropped the Italian cross, and there
+was a moment of horror. But the lump of metal took no hurt. Queer to see
+the things stowed in their boxes again. Aaron had always imagined these
+mysterious decorations as shining by nature on the breasts of heroes.
+Pinned-on pieces of metal were a considerable come-down.
+
+The orders were put away, the party sat round the fire in the
+comfortable library, the men sipping more _creme de menthe_, since
+nothing else offered, and the couple of hours in front promising the
+tedium of small-talk of tedious people who had really nothing to say and
+no particular originality in saying it.
+
+Aaron, however, had reckoned without his host. Sir William sat upright
+in his chair, with all the determination of a frail old man who insists
+on being level with the young. The new guest sat in a lower chair,
+smoking, that curious glimmer on his face which made him so attractive,
+and which only meant that he was looking on the whole scene from the
+outside, as it were, from beyond a fence. Sir William came almost
+directly to the attack.
+
+“And so, Mr. Sisson, you have no definite purpose in coming to Italy?”
+
+“No, none,” said Aaron. “I wanted to join Lilly.”
+
+“But when you had joined him--?”
+
+“Oh, nothing--stay here a time, in this country, if I could earn my
+keep.”
+
+“Ah!--earn your keep? So you hope to earn your keep here? May I ask
+how?”
+
+“By my flute.”
+
+“Italy is a poor country.”
+
+“I don't want much.”
+
+“You have a family to provide for.”
+
+“They are provided for--for a couple of years.”
+
+“Oh, indeed! Is that so?”
+
+The old man got out of Aaron the detailed account of his
+circumstances--how he had left so much money to be paid over to his
+wife, and had received only a small amount for himself.
+
+“I see you are like Lilly--you trust to Providence,” said Sir William.
+
+“Providence or fate,” said Aaron.
+
+“Lilly calls it Providence,” said Sir William. “For my own part, I
+always advise Providence plus a banking account. I have every belief in
+Providence, plus a banking account. Providence and no banking account I
+have observed to be almost invariably fatal. Lilly and I have argued it.
+He believes in casting his bread upon the waters. I sincerely hope
+he won't have to cast himself after his bread, one of these days.
+Providence with a banking account. Believe in Providence once you have
+secured enough to live on. I should consider it disastrous to believe in
+Providence BEFORE. One can never be SURE of Providence.”
+
+“What can you be sure of, then?” said Aaron.
+
+“Well, in moderation, I can believe in a little hard cash, and in my own
+ability to earn a little hard cash.”
+
+“Perhaps Lilly believes in his own ability, too.”
+
+“No. Not so. Because he will never directly work to earn money. He
+works--and works quite well, I am told: but only as the spirit moves
+him, and never with any eye to the market. Now I call that TEMPTING
+Providence, myself. The spirit may move him in quite an opposite
+direction to the market--then where is Lilly? I have put it to him more
+than once.”
+
+“The spirit generally does move him dead against the market,” said
+Aaron. “But he manages to scrape along.”
+
+“In a state of jeopardy: all the time in a state of jeopardy,” said
+the old man. “His whole existence, and that of his wife, is completely
+precarious. I found, in my youth, the spirit moved me to various things
+which would have left me and my wife starving. So I realised in time,
+this was no good. I took my spirit in hand, therefore, and made him
+pull the cart which mankind is riding in. I harnessed him to the work of
+productive labour. And so he brought me my reward.”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron. “But every man according to his belief.”
+
+“I don't see,” said Sir William, “how a man can BELIEVE in a Providence
+unless he sets himself definitely to the work of earning his daily
+bread, and making provision for future needs. That's what Providence
+means to me--making provision for oneself and one's family. Now, Mr.
+Lilly--and you yourself--you say you believe in a Providence that does
+NOT compel you to earn your daily bread, and make provision. I confess
+myself I cannot see it: and Lilly has never been able to convince me.”
+
+“I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence,” said Aaron, “and I don't
+believe Lilly does. But I believe in chance. I believe, if I go my own
+way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always throw something
+in my way: enough to get along with.”
+
+“But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?”
+
+“I just feel like that.”
+
+“And if you are ever quite without success--and nothing to fall back
+on?”
+
+“I can work at something.”
+
+“In case of illness, for example?”
+
+“I can go to a hospital--or die.”
+
+“Dear me! However, you are more logical than Lilly. He seems to believe
+that he has the Invisible--call it Providence if you will--on his side,
+and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch, or let him
+down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain, and NEVER
+works for his own ends. I don't quite see how he works. Certainly he
+seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent unworthily. Yet
+for some reason or other he calls this true, genuine activity, and has
+a contempt for actual work by which a man makes provision for his years
+and for his family. In the end, he will have to fall back on charity.
+But when I say so, he denies it, and says that in the end we, the men
+who work and make provision, will have to fall back on him. Well, all
+I can say is, that SO FAR he is in far greater danger of having to fall
+back on me, than I on him.”
+
+The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph. But it
+smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in his
+life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
+
+“I don't suppose he will do much falling back,” he said.
+
+“Well, he is young yet. You are both young. You are squandering your
+youth. I am an old man, and I see the end.”
+
+“What end, Sir William?”
+
+“Charity--and poverty--and some not very congenial 'job,' as you call
+it, to put bread in your mouth. No, no, I would not like to trust myself
+to your Providence, or to your Chance. Though I admit your Chance is
+a sounder proposition than Lilly's Providence. You speculate with your
+life and your talent. I admit the nature which is a born speculator.
+After all, with your flute, you will speculate in other people's taste
+for luxury, as a man may speculate in theatres or _trains de luxe_. You
+are the speculator. That may be your way of wisdom. But Lilly does not
+even speculate. I cannot see his point. I cannot see his point. I cannot
+see his point. Yet I have the greatest admiration for his mentality.”
+
+The old man had fired up during this conversation--and all the others
+in the room had gone silent. Lady Franks was palpably uneasy. She alone
+knew how frail the old man was--frailer by far than his years. She alone
+knew what fear of his own age, what fear of death haunted him now: fear
+of his own non-existence. His own old age was an agony to him; worse
+than an agony, a horror. He wanted to be young--to live, to live. And
+he was old, he was breaking up. The glistening youth of Aaron, the
+impetuousness of Lilly fascinated him. And both these men seemed calmly
+to contradict his own wealth and honours.
+
+Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of normal
+chit-chat. The Colonel was horribly bored--so were all the women--Arthur
+was indifferent. Only the young Major was implicated, troubled in his
+earnest and philosophic spirit.
+
+“What I can't see,” he said, “is the place that others have in your
+scheme.”
+
+“Is isn't a scheme,” said Aaron.
+
+“Well then, your way of life. Isn't it pretty selfish, to marry a woman
+and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that always
+precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or in
+Chance: which I think worse? What I don't see is where others come in.
+What would the world be like if everybody lived that way?”
+
+“Other people can please themselves,” said Aaron.
+
+“No, they can't--because you take first choice, it seems to me.
+Supposing your wife--or Lilly's wife--asks for security and for
+provision, as Sir William says. Surely she has a right to it.”
+
+“If I've no right to it myself--and I HAVE no right to it, if I don't
+want it--then what right has she?”
+
+“Every right, I should say. All the more since you are improvident.”
+
+“Then she must manage her rights for herself. It's no good her foisting
+her rights on to me.”
+
+“Isn't that pure selfishness?”
+
+“It may be. I shall send my wife money as long as I've money to send.”
+
+“And supposing you have none?”
+
+“Then I can't send it--and she must look out for herself.”
+
+“I call that almost criminal selfishness.”
+
+“I can't help it.”
+
+The conversation with the young Major broke off.
+
+“It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr.
+Lilly are not common,” said Sir William, laughing.
+
+“Becoming commoner every day, you'll find,” interjaculated the Colonel.
+
+“Indeed! Indeed! Well. May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson? I
+hope you don't object to our catechism?”
+
+“No. Nor your judgment afterwards,” said Aaron, grinning.
+
+“Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family? I know it is a
+tender subject. But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could
+see....”
+
+“There were no grounds,” said Aaron. “No, there weren't I just left
+them.”
+
+“Mere caprice?”
+
+“If it's a caprice to be begotten--and a caprice to be born--and a
+caprice to die--then that was a caprice, for it was the same.”
+
+“Like birth or death? I don't follow.”
+
+“It happened to me: as birth happened to me once--and death will happen.
+It was a sort of death, too: or a sort of birth. But as undeniable as
+either. And without any more grounds.”
+
+The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.
+
+“A natural event,” said Sir William.
+
+“A natural event,” said Aaron.
+
+“Not that you loved any other woman?”
+
+“God save me from it.”
+
+“You just left off loving?”
+
+“Not even that. I went away.”
+
+“What from?”
+
+“From it all.”
+
+“From the woman in particular?”
+
+“Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, that.”
+
+“And you couldn't go back?”
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+“Yet you can give no reasons?”
+
+“Not any reasons that would be any good. It wasn't a question of
+reasons. It was a question of her and me and what must be. What makes a
+child be born out of its mother to the pain and trouble of both of them?
+I don't know.”
+
+“But that is a natural process.”
+
+“So is this--or nothing.”
+
+“No,” interposed the Major. “Because birth is a universal process--and
+yours is a specific, almost unique event.”
+
+“Well, unique or not, it so came about. I didn't ever leave off loving
+her--not as far as I know. I left her as I shall leave the earth when I
+die--because it has to be.”
+
+“Do you know what I think it is, Mr. Sisson?” put in Lady Franks. “I
+think you are just in a wicked state of mind: just that. Mr. Lilly, too.
+And you must be very careful, or some great misfortune will happen to
+you.”
+
+“It may,” said Aaron.
+
+“And it will, mark my word, it will.”
+
+“You almost wish it might, as a judgment on me,” smiled Aaron.
+
+“Oh, no, indeed. I should only be too sorry. But I feel it will, unless
+you are careful.”
+
+“I'll be careful, then.”
+
+“Yes, and you can't be too careful.”
+
+“You make me frightened.”
+
+“I would like to make you very frightened indeed, so that you went back
+humbly to your wife and family.”
+
+“It would HAVE to be a big fright then, I assure you.”
+
+“Ah, you are really heartless. It makes me angry.”
+
+She turned angrily aside.
+
+“Well, well! Well, well! Life! Life! Young men are a new thing to me!”
+ said Sir William, shaking his head. “Well, well! What do you say to
+whiskey and soda, Colonel?”
+
+“Why, delighted, Sir William,” said the Colonel, bouncing up.
+
+“A night-cap, and then we retire,” said Lady Franks.
+
+Aaron sat thinking. He knew Sir William liked him: and that Lady Franks
+didn't. One day he might have to seek help from Sir William. So he had
+better placate milady. Wrinkling the fine, half mischievous smile on his
+face, and trading on his charm, he turned to his hostess.
+
+“You wouldn't mind, Lady Franks, if I said nasty things about my wife
+and found a lot of fault with her. What makes you angry is that I know
+it is not a bit more her fault than mine, that we come apart. It can't
+be helped.”
+
+“Oh, yes, indeed. I disapprove of your way of looking at things
+altogether. It seems to me altogether cold and unmanly and inhuman.
+Thank goodness my experience of a man has been different.”
+
+“We can't all be alike, can we? And if I don't choose to let you see me
+crying, that doesn't prove I've never had a bad half hour, does it? I've
+had many--ay, and a many.”
+
+“Then why are you so WRONG, so wrong in your behaviour?”
+
+“I suppose I've got to have my bout out: and when it's out, I can
+alter.”
+
+“Then I hope you've almost had your bout out,” she said.
+
+“So do I,” said he, with a half-repentant, half-depressed look on his
+attractive face. The corners of his mouth grimaced slightly under his
+moustache.
+
+“The best thing you can do is to go straight back to England, and to
+her.”
+
+“Perhaps I'd better ask her if she wants me, first,” he said drily.
+
+“Yes, you might do that, too.” And Lady Franks felt she was quite
+getting on with her work of reform, and the restoring of woman to her
+natural throne. Best not go too fast, either.
+
+“Say when,” shouted the Colonel, who was manipulating the syphon.
+
+“When,” said Aaron.
+
+The men stood up to their drinks.
+
+“Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Sisson?” asked Lady Franks.
+
+“May I stay till Monday morning?” said Aaron. They were at Saturday
+evening.
+
+“Certainly. And you will take breakfast in your room: we all do. At what
+time? Half past eight?”
+
+“Thank you very much.”
+
+“Then at half past eight the man will bring it in. Goodnight.”
+
+Once more in his blue silk bedroom, Aaron grimaced to himself and stood
+in the middle of the room grimacing. His hostess' admonitions were like
+vitriol in his ears. He looked out of the window. Through the darkness
+of trees, the lights of a city below. Italy! The air was cold with snow.
+He came back into his soft, warm room. Luxurious it was. And luxurious
+the deep, warm bed.
+
+He was still asleep when the man came noiselessly in with the tray: and
+it was morning. Aaron woke and sat up. He felt that the deep, warm bed,
+and the soft, warm room had made him sleep too well: robbed him of his
+night, like a narcotic. He preferred to be more uncomfortable and more
+aware of the flight of the dark hours. It seemed numbing.
+
+The footman in his grey house-jacket was neat and Italian and
+sympathising. He gave good-morning in Italian--then softly arranged the
+little table by the bedside, and put out the toast and coffee and butter
+and boiled egg and honey, with silver and delicate china. Aaron watched
+the soft, catlike motions of the man. The dark eyes glanced once at the
+blond man, leaning on his elbow on the pillow. Aaron's face had that
+watchful, half-amused expression. The man said something in Italian.
+Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said:
+
+“Tell me in English.”
+
+The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with his
+hand.
+
+“Yes, do,” said Aaron.
+
+So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting
+in bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further
+heaven great snowy mountains.
+
+“The Alps,” he said in surprise.
+
+“Gli Alpi--si, signore.” The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes, and
+silently retired.
+
+Aaron watched through the window. It was a frosty morning at the end
+of September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful,
+snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting.
+There they were, hovering round, circling, waiting. They reminded him
+of marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the
+red-roofed city. Aaron looked, and looked again. In the near distance,
+under the house elm-tree tops were yellowing. He felt himself changing
+inside his skin.
+
+So he turned away to his coffee and eggs. A little silver egg-cup with a
+curious little frill round it: honey in a frail, iridescent glass bowl,
+gold-iridescent: the charm of delicate and fine things. He smiled half
+mockingly to himself. Two instincts played in him: the one, an instinct
+for fine, delicate things: he had attractive hands; the other, an
+inclination to throw the dainty little table with all its niceties out
+of the window. It evoked a sort of devil in him.
+
+He took his bath: the man had brought back his things: he dressed and
+went downstairs. No one in the lounge: he went down to the ground floor:
+no one in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and its gold
+arches, its enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet. He stood before the great
+glass doors. Some red flowers still were blooming in the tubs, on the
+steps, handsome: and beautiful chrysanthemums in the wide portico.
+Beyond, yellow leaves were already falling on the green grass and the
+neat drive. Everywhere was silent and empty. He climbed the wide stairs,
+sat in the long, upper lounge where the papers were. He wanted his hat
+and coat, and did not know where to find them. The windows looked on to
+a terraced garden, the hill rising steeply behind the house. He wanted
+to go out.
+
+So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five or
+six manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven, neat,
+with neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather brooms, and
+all frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys. They were all
+of the same neat, smallish size. They were all laughing. They rolled
+back a great rug as if it were some football game, one flew at the
+curtains. And they merely looked at Aaron and went on chattering, and
+laughing and dusting.
+
+Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a
+moment looking out. The noise went on behind him. So he turned, smiling,
+and asked for his hat, pointing to his head. They knew at once what he
+wanted. One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to the hall and to
+the long cupboard place where hats and coats and sticks were hung. There
+was his hat; he put it on, while the man chattered to him pleasantly and
+unintelligibly, and opened for him the back door, into the garden.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+
+
+The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house. So
+Aaron found it. He felt himself dashing up the steps into the garden
+like a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught: that warm
+and luxurious house. Heaven bless us, we who want to save civilisation.
+We had better make up our minds what of it we want to save. The kernel
+may be all well and good. But there is precious little kernel, to a lot
+of woolly stuffing and poisonous rind.
+
+The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
+war-neglected. But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air, the
+flowers showed their colour beside the walks. Many birds dashed
+about, rather bewildered, having crossed the Alps in their migration
+southwards. Aaron noted with gratification a certain big magnificence,
+a certain reckless powerfulness in the still-blossoming, harsh-coloured,
+autumn flowers. Distinct satisfaction he derived from it.
+
+He wandered upwards, up the succeeding flights of step; till he came
+to the upper rough hedge, and saw the wild copse on the hill-crest just
+above. Passing through a space in the hedge, he climbed the steep last
+bit of Sir William's lane. It was a little vineyard, with small vines
+and yellowing leaves. Everywhere the place looked neglected--but as if
+man had just begun to tackle it once more.
+
+At the very top, by the wild hedge where spindle-berries hung pink,
+seats were placed, and from here the view was very beautiful. The hill
+dropped steep beneath him. A river wound on the near side of the city,
+crossed by a white bridge. The city lay close clustered, ruddy on the
+plains, glittering in the clear air with its flat roofs and domes and
+square towers, strangely naked-seeming in the clear, clean air. And
+massive in the further nearness, snow-streaked mountains, the tiger-like
+Alps. Tigers prowling between the north and the south. And this
+beautiful city lying nearest exposed. The snow-wind brushed her this
+morning like the icy whiskers of a tiger. And clear in the light lay
+Novara, wide, fearless, violent Novara. Beautiful the perfect air, the
+perfect and unblemished Alp-sky. And like the first southern flower,
+Novara.
+
+Aaron sat watching in silence. Only the uneasy birds rustled. He watched
+the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent Alps. He
+was on the south side. On the other side of the time barrier. His old,
+sleepy English nature was startled in its sleep. He felt like a man who
+knows it is time to wake up, and who doesn't want to wake up, to face
+the responsibility of another sort of day.
+
+To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility. Wake
+up and enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself. Ach, the
+horror of responsibility! He had all his life slept and shelved the
+burden. And he wanted to go on sleeping. It was so hateful to have
+to get a new grip on his own bowels, a new hard recklessness into his
+heart, a new and responsible consciousness into his mind and soul. He
+felt some finger prodding, prodding, prodding him awake out of the sleep
+of pathos and tragedy and spasmodic passion, and he wriggled, unwilling,
+oh, most unwilling to undertake the new business.
+
+In fact he ran away again. He gave a last look at the town and its
+white-fanged mountains, and descended through the garden, round the way
+of the kitchen garden and garage and stables and pecking chickens, back
+to the house again. In the hall still no one. He went upstairs to the
+long lounge. There sat the rubicund, bald, boy-like Colonel reading the
+_Graphic_. Aaron sat down opposite him, and made a feeble attempt at
+conversation. But the Colonel wasn't having any. It was evident he
+didn't care for the fellow--Mr. Aaron, that is. Aaron therefore dried
+up, and began to sit him out, with the aid of _The Queen_. Came a
+servant, however, and said that the Signor Colonello was called up from
+the hospital, on the telephone. The Colonel once departed, Aaron fled
+again, this time out of the front doors, and down the steep little park
+to the gates.
+
+Huge dogs and little dogs came bounding forward. Out of the lodge came
+the woman with the keys, smiling very pleasantly this morning. So, he
+was in the street. The wide road led him inevitably to the big bridge,
+with the violent, physical stone statue-groups. Men and women were
+moving about, and he noticed for the first time the littleness and
+the momentaneousness of the Italians in the street. Perhaps it was the
+wideness of the bridge and the subsequent big, open boulevard. But there
+it was: the people seemed little, upright brisk figures moving in a
+certain isolation, like tiny figures on a big stage. And he felt himself
+moving in the space between. All the northern cosiness gone. He was set
+down with a space round him.
+
+Little trams flitted down the boulevard in the bright, sweet light. The
+barbers' shops were all busy, half the Novarese at that moment ambushed
+in lather, full in the public gaze. A shave is nothing if not a public
+act, in the south. At the little outdoor tables of the cafes a very few
+drinkers sat before empty coffee-cups. Most of the shops were shut. It
+was too soon after the war for life to be flowing very fast. The feeling
+of emptiness, of neglect, of lack of supplies was evident everywhere.
+
+Aaron strolled on, surprised himself at his gallant feeling of liberty:
+a feeling of bravado and almost swaggering carelessness which is Italy's
+best gift to an Englishman. He had crossed the dividing line, and
+the values of life, though ostensibly and verbally the same, were
+dynamically different. Alas, however, the verbal and the ostensible,
+the accursed mechanical ideal gains day by day over the spontaneous
+life-dynamic, so that Italy becomes as idea-bound and as automatic as
+England: just a business proposition.
+
+Coming to the station, he went inside. There he saw a money-changing
+window which was open, so he planked down a five-pound note and got
+two-hundred-and-ten lire. Here was a start. At a bookstall he saw a
+man buy a big timetable with a large railway map in it. He immediately
+bought the same. Then he retired to a corner to get his whereabouts.
+
+In the morning he must move: where? He looked on the map. The map seemed
+to offer two alternatives, Milan and Genoa. He chose Milan, because of
+its musical associations and its cathedral. Milano then. Strolling and
+still strolling, he found the boards announcing Arrivals and Departures.
+As far as he could make out, the train for Milan left at 9:00 in the
+morning.
+
+So much achieved, he left the big desolating caravanserai of the
+station. Soldiers were camped in every corner, lying in heaps asleep.
+In their grey-green uniform, he was surprised at their sturdy limbs and
+uniformly short stature. For the first time, he saw the cock-feathers
+of the Bersaglieri. There seemed a new life-quality everywhere. Many
+worlds, not one world. But alas, the one world triumphing more and
+more over the many worlds, the big oneness swallowing up the many
+small diversities in its insatiable gnawing appetite, leaving a dreary
+sameness throughout the world, that means at last complete sterility.
+
+Aaron, however, was too new to the strangeness, he had no eye for the
+horrible sameness that was spreading like a disease over Italy from
+England and the north. He plunged into the space in front of the
+station, and took a new, wide boulevard. To his surprise he ran towards
+a big and over-animated statue that stood resolutely with its back to
+the magnificent snow-domes of the wild Alps. Wolves in the street
+could not have startled him more than those magnificent fierce-gleaming
+mountains of snow at the street-end, beyond the statue. He stood and
+wondered, and never thought to look who the gentleman was. Then he
+turned right round, and began to walk home.
+
+Luncheon was at one o'clock. It was half-past twelve when he rang at
+the lodge gates. He climbed through the leaves of the little park, on a
+side-path, rather reluctantly towards the house. In the hall Lady Franks
+was discussing with Arthur a fat Pekinese who did not seem very well.
+She was sure the servants did not obey her orders concerning the
+Pekinese bitch. Arthur, who was more than indifferent, assured her they
+did. But she seemed to think that the whole of the male human race was
+in league against the miserable specimen of a she-dog. She almost cried,
+thinking her Queenie _might_ by some chance meet with, perhaps, a harsh
+word or look. Queenie apparently fattened on the secret detestation of
+the male human species.
+
+“I can't bear to think that a dumb creature might be ill-treated,” she
+said to Aaron. “Thank goodness the Italians are better than they used to
+be.”
+
+“Are they better than they used to be?”
+
+“Oh, much. They have learnt it from us.”
+
+She then enquired if her guest had slept, and if he were rested from
+his journey. Aaron, into whose face the faint snow-wind and the sun had
+brought a glow, replied that he had slept well and enjoyed the morning,
+thank you. Whereupon Lady Franks knitted her brows and said Sir William
+had had such a bad night. He had not been able to sleep, and had got
+up and walked about the room. The least excitement, and she dreaded a
+break-down. He must have absolute calm and restfulness.
+
+“There's one for you and your jawing last night, Aaron, my boy!” said
+our hero to himself.
+
+“I thought Sir William seemed so full of life and energy,” he said,
+aloud.
+
+“Ah, did you! No, he WANTS to be. But he can't do it. He's very much
+upset this morning. I have been very anxious about him.”
+
+“I am sorry to hear that.”
+
+Lady Franks departed to some duty. Aaron sat alone before the fire.
+It was a huge fireplace, like a dark chamber shut in by tall,
+finely-wrought iron gates. Behind these iron gates of curly iron the
+logs burned and flickered like leopards slumbering and lifting their
+heads within their cage. Aaron wondered who was the keeper of the savage
+element, who it was that would open the iron grille and throw on another
+log, like meat to the lions. To be sure the fire was only to be looked
+at: like wild beasts in the Zoo. For the house was warm from roof to
+floor. It was strange to see the blue air of sunlight outside, the
+yellow-edged leaves falling in the wind, the red flowers shaking.
+
+The gong sounded softly through the house. The Colonel came in heartily
+from the garden, but did not speak to Aaron. The Major and his wife
+came pallid down the stairs. Lady Franks appeared, talking
+domestic-secretarial business with the wife of Arthur. Arthur,
+well-nourished and half at home, called down the stairs. And then Sir
+William descended, old and frail now in the morning, shaken: still he
+approached Aaron heartily, and asked him how he did, and how he had
+spent his morning. The old man who had made a fortune: how he expected
+homage: and how he got it! Homage, like most things, is just a
+convention and a social trick. Aaron found himself paying homage, too,
+to the old man who had made a fortune. But also, exacting a certain
+deference in return, from the old man who had made a fortune. Getting
+it, too. On what grounds? Youth, maybe. But mostly, scorn for fortunes
+and fortune-making. Did he scorn fortunes and fortune-making? Not he,
+otherwise whence this homage for the old man with much money? Aaron,
+like everybody else, was rather paralysed by a million sterling,
+personified in one old man. Paralysed, fascinated, overcome. All those
+three. Only having no final control over his own make-up, he could not
+drive himself into the money-making or even into the money-having habit.
+And he had just wit enough to threaten Sir William's golden king with
+his own ivory queen and knights of wilful life. And Sir William quaked.
+
+“Well, and how have you spent your morning?” asked the host.
+
+“I went first to look at the garden.”
+
+“Ah, not much to see now. They have been beautiful with flowers,
+once. But for two and a half years the house has been a hospital for
+officers--and even tents in the park and garden--as many as two hundred
+wounded and sick at a time. We are only just returning to civil life.
+And flowers need time. Yes--yes--British officers--for two and a half
+years. But did you go up, now, to the belvedere?”
+
+“To the top--where the vines are? I never expected the mountains.”
+
+“You never expected the mountains? Pray, why not? They are always
+there!”
+
+“But I was never there before. I never knew they were there, round the
+town. I didn't expect it like that.”
+
+“Ah! So you found our city impressive?”
+
+“Very! Ah, very! A new world to me. I feel I've come out of myself.”
+
+“Yes, it is a wonderful sight--a wonderful sight-- But you have not been
+INTO the town?”
+
+“Yes. I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station:
+and a statue, and mountains behind it. Oh, I've had a full morning.”
+
+“A full morning! That is good, that is good!” The old man looked again
+at the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live in him
+vicariously.
+
+“Come,” said the hostess. “Luncheon.”
+
+Aaron sat again on his hostess' left hand. The Colonel was more affable
+now it was meal-time. Sir William was again in a good humour, chaffing
+the young ladies with an old man's gallantry. But now he insisted on
+drawing Aaron into the play. And Aaron did not want to be drawn. He did
+not one bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young women. Between
+him and Sir William there was a curious rivalry--unconscious on both
+sides. The old knight had devoted an energetic, adventurous, almost an
+artistic nature to the making of his fortune and the developing of later
+philanthropies. He had no children. Aaron was devoting a similar nature
+to anything but fortune-making and philanthropy. The one held life to
+be a storing-up of produce and a conservation of energy: the other held
+life to be a sheer spending of energy and a storing-up of nothing but
+experience. There they were, in opposition, the old man and the young.
+Sir William kept calling Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of
+the table: and Aaron kept on refusing to join. He hated long distance
+answers, anyhow. And in his mood of the moment he hated the young women.
+He had a conversation with Arthur about statues: concerning which Aaron
+knew nothing, and Arthur less than nothing. Then Lady Franks turned the
+conversation to the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William
+had equipped rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station: but
+that such was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross--or
+some such body, locally--that Sir William's huts had been left
+empty--standing unused--while the men had slept on the stone floor of
+the station, night after night, in icy winter. There was evidently much
+bitter feeling as a result of Sir William's philanthropy. Apparently
+even the honey of lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian
+mouth: at least the official mouth. Which gall had been spat back at
+the charitable, much to his pain. It is in truth a difficult world,
+particularly when you have another race to deal with. After which came
+the beef-olives.
+
+“Oh,” said Lady Franks, “I had such a dreadful dream last night, such a
+dreadful dream. It upset me so much. I have not been able to get over it
+all day.”
+
+“What was it?” said Aaron. “Tell it, and break it.”
+
+“Why,” said his hostess, “I dreamed I was asleep in my room--just as I
+actually was--and that it was night, yet with a terrible sort of light,
+like the dead light before dawn, so that one could see. And my maid
+Giuseppina came running into my room, saying: 'Signora! Signora! Si
+alza! Subito! Signora! Vengono su!'--and I said, 'Chi? Chi sono chi
+vengono? Chi?'--'I Novaresi! I Novaresi vengono su. Vengono qui!'--I
+got out of bed and went to the window. And there they were, in the dead
+light, rushing up to the house, through the trees. It was so awful, I
+haven't been able to forget it all day.”
+
+“Tell me what the words are in English,” said Aaron.
+
+“Why,” she said, “get up, get up--the Novaresi, the people of Novara
+are coming up--vengono su--they are coming up--the Novara
+people--work-people. I can't forget it. It was so real, I can't believe
+it didn't actually happen.”
+
+“Ah,” said Aaron. “It will never happen. I know, that whatever one
+foresees, and FEELS has happened, never happens in real life. It sort of
+works itself off through the imagining of it.”
+
+“Well, it was almost more real to me than real life,” said his hostess.
+
+“Then it will never happen in real life,” he said.
+
+Luncheon passed, and coffee. The party began to disperse--Lady Franks to
+answer more letters, with the aid of Arthur's wife--some to sleep, some
+to walk. Aaron escaped once more through the big gates. This time he
+turned his back on the town and the mountains, and climbed up the hill
+into the country. So he went between the banks and the bushes, watching
+for unknown plants and shrubs, hearing the birds, feeling the influence
+of a new soil. At the top of the hill he saw over into vineyards, and a
+new strange valley with a winding river, and jumbled, entangled hills.
+Strange wild country so near the town. It seemed to keep an almost
+virgin wildness--yet he saw the white houses dotted here and there.
+
+Just below him was a peasant house: and on a little loggia in the sun
+two peasants in white shirtsleeves and black Sunday suits were sitting
+drinking wine, and talking, talking. Peasant youths in black hats, their
+sweethearts in dark stuff dresses, wearing no hat, but a black silk or
+a white silk scarf, passed slowly along the little road just below the
+ridge. None looked up to see Aaron sitting there alone. From some hidden
+place somebody was playing an accordion, a jerky sound in the still
+afternoon. And away beyond lay the unchanging, mysterious valley, and
+the infolding, mysterious hills of Italy.
+
+Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of the
+hill in new and deserted suburb streets--unfinished streets of seemingly
+unfinished houses. Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois families
+were taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout, pallid mamas
+in rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed, and long lads
+in short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering. Alien they
+felt, alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but particularly
+a foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd. Aaron wandered and wandered,
+finding the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished street after
+street. He had a great disinclination to ask his way.
+
+At last he recognised the bank and the little stream of water that ran
+along the street side. So he was back in time for tea. A hospital nurse
+was there, and two other strange women. Arthur played the part of host.
+Sir William came in from a walk with the dogs, but retired to his room
+without taking tea.
+
+And so the evening fell. Aaron sat in the hall at some distance from the
+fire, which burned behind its wrought iron gates. He was tired now with
+all his impressions, and dispirited. He thought of his wife and children
+at home: of the church-bells ringing so loudly across the field beyond
+his garden end: of the dark-clad people trailing unevenly across the two
+paths, one to the left, one to the right, forking their way towards the
+houses of the town, to church or to chapel: mostly to chapel. At this
+hour he himself would be dressed in his best clothes, tying his bow,
+ready to go out to the public house. And his wife would be resenting his
+holiday departure, whilst she was left fastened to the children.
+
+Rather tired and dispirited in this alien place, he wondered if he
+wished himself back. But the moment he actually _realised_ himself
+at home, and felt the tension of barrenness which it meant, felt the
+curious and deadly opposition of his wife's will against his own nature,
+the almost nauseating ache which it amounted to, he pulled himself
+together and rejoiced again in his new surroundings. Her will, her will,
+her terrible, implacable, cunning will! What was there in the female
+will so diabolical, he asked himself, that it could press like a flat
+sheet of iron against a man all the time? The female will! He realised
+now that he had a horror of it. It was flat and inflexible as a sheet
+of iron. But also it was cunning as a snake that could sing treacherous
+songs.
+
+Of two people at a deadlock, he always reminded himself, there is not
+one only wholly at fault. Both must be at fault. Having a detached and
+logical soul, he never let himself forget this truth. Take Lottie! He
+had loved her. He had never loved any other woman. If he had had his
+other affairs--it was out of spite or defiance or curiosity. They meant
+nothing. He and Lottie had loved one another. And the love had developed
+almost at once into a kind of combat. Lottie had been the only child of
+headstrong, well-to-do parents. He also had been the only child of his
+widowed mother. Well then, both he and Lottie had been brought up
+to consider themselves the first in whatsoever company they found
+themselves. During the early months of the marriage he had, of course,
+continued the spoiling of the young wife. But this never altered the
+fact that, by his very nature, he considered himself as first and almost
+as single in any relationship. First and single he felt, and as such he
+bore himself. It had taken him years to realise that Lottie also felt
+herself first and single: under all her whimsicalness and fretfulness
+was a conviction as firm as steel: that she, as woman, was the centre of
+creation, the man was but an adjunct. She, as woman, and particularly
+as mother, was the first great source of life and being, and also of
+culture. The man was but the instrument and the finisher. She was the
+source and the substance.
+
+Sure enough, Lottie had never formulated this belief inside herself. But
+it was formulated for her in the whole world. It is the substantial
+and professed belief of the whole white world. She did but inevitably
+represent what the whole world around her asserted: the life-centrality
+of woman. Woman, the life-bearer, the life-source.
+
+Nearly all men agree to the assertion. Practically all men, even while
+demanding their selfish rights as superior males, tacitly agree to the
+fact of the sacred life-bearing priority of woman. Tacitly, they yield
+the worship to that which is female. Tacitly, they conspire to agree
+that all that is productive, all that is fine and sensitive and most
+essentially noble, is woman. This, in their productive and religious
+souls, they believe. And however much they may react against the belief,
+loathing their women, running to prostitutes, or beer or _anything_,
+out of reaction against this great and ignominious dogma of the sacred
+priority of women, still they do but profane the god they worship.
+Profaning woman, they still inversely worship her.
+
+But in Aaron was planted another seed. He did not know it. He started
+off on the good old tack of worshipping his woman while his heart was
+honest, and profaning her in his fits of temper and revolt. But he made
+a bad show. Born in him was a spirit which could not worship woman:
+no, and would not. Could not and would not. It was not in him. In early
+days, he tried to pretend it was in him. But through his plaintive and
+homage-rendering love of a young husband was always, for the woman,
+discernible the arrogance of self-unyielding male. He never yielded
+himself: never. All his mad loving was only an effort. Afterwards, he
+was as devilishly unyielded as ever. And it was an instinct in her, that
+her man must yield to her, so that she should envelop him yielding,
+in her all-beneficent love. She was quite sure that her love was
+all-beneficent. Of this no shadow of doubt. She was quite sure that
+the highest her man could ever know or ever reach, was to be perfectly
+enveloped in her all-beneficent love. This was her idea of marriage.
+She held it not as an idea, but as a profound impulse and instinct: an
+instinct developed in her by the age in which she lived. All that was
+deepest and most sacred in he feeling centred in this belief.
+
+And he outraged her! Oh, from the first day and the first night, she
+felt he outraged her. True, for some time she had been taken in by his
+manifest love. But though you can deceive the conscious mind, you can
+never deceive the deep, unconscious instinct. She could never understand
+whence arose in her, almost from the first days of marriage with him,
+her terrible paroxysms of hatred for him. She was in love with him: ah,
+heaven, how maddeningly she was in love with him: a certain unseizable
+beauty that was his, and which fascinated her as a snake a bird. But in
+revulsion, how she hated him! How she abhorred him! How she despised and
+shuddered at him! He seemed a horrible thing to her.
+
+And then again, oh, God, the agony of her desire for him. The agony of
+her long, long desire for him. He was a passionate lover. He gave
+her, ostensibly, all she asked for. He withheld from her nothing, no
+experience, no degree of intimacy. She was his initiate, or he hers.
+
+And yet, oh, horror for a woman, he withheld everything from her.
+He withheld the very centre of himself. For a long time, she never
+realised. She was dazed and maddened only. But as months of married
+experience passed into years of married torment, she began to
+understand. It was that, after their most tremendous, and, it seemed to
+her, heaven-rending passion--yea, when for her every veil seemed
+rent and a terrible and sacred creative darkness covered the
+earth--then--after all this wonder and miracle--in crept a poisonous
+grey snake of disillusionment, a poisonous grey snake of disillusion
+that bit her to madness, so that she really was a mad woman, demented.
+
+Why? Why? He never gave himself. He never came to her, _really_. He
+withheld himself. Yes, in those supreme and sacred times which for her
+were the whole culmination of life and being, the ecstasy of unspeakable
+passional conjunction, he was not really hers. He was withheld. He
+withheld the central core of himself, like the devil and hell-fiend he
+was. He cheated and made play with her tremendous passional soul, her
+sacred sex passion, most sacred of all things for a woman. All the time,
+some central part of him stood apart from her, aside, looking on.
+
+Oh, agony and horror for a passionate, fierce-hearted woman! She who
+loved him. She who loved him to madness. She who would have died for
+him. She who did die with him, many terrible and magnificent connubial
+deaths, in his arms, her husband.
+
+Her husband! How bitter the word grew to her! Her husband! and him never
+once given, given wholly to her! Her husband--and in all the frenzied
+finality of desire, she never _fully_ possessed him, not once. No, not
+once. As time went on, she learned it for inevitable. Not once!
+
+And then, how she hated him! Cheated, foiled, betrayed, forced to love
+him or to hate him: never able to be at peace near him nor away from
+him: poor Lottie, no wonder she was as a mad woman. She was strictly
+as a woman demented, after the birth of her second child. For all
+her instinct, all her impulse, all her desire, and above all, all her
+_will_, was to possess her man in very fulness once: just once: and once
+and for all. Once, just once: and it would be once and for all.
+
+But never! Never! Not once! Never! Not for one single solitary second!
+Was it not enough to send a woman mad! Was it not enough to make her
+demented! Yes, and mad she was. She made his life a hell for him. She
+bit him to the bone with her frenzy of rage, chagrin, and agony. She
+drove him mad, too: mad, so that he beat her: mad so that he longed
+to kill her. But even in his greatest rages it was the same: he
+never finally lost himself: he remained, somewhere in the centre, in
+possession of himself. She sometimes wished he would kill her: or that
+she would kill him. Neither event happened.
+
+And neither of them understood what was happening. How should they? They
+were both dazed, horrified, and mortified. He took to leaving her alone
+as much as was possible. But when he _had_ to come home, there was
+her terrible will, like a flat, cold snake coiled round his soul and
+squeezing him to death. Yes, she did not relent. She was a good wife and
+mother. All her duties she fulfilled. But she was not one to yield. _He_
+must yield. That was written in eternal letters, on the iron tablet of
+her will. _He_ must yield. She the woman, the mother of his children,
+how should she ever even think to yield? It was unthinkable. He, the
+man, the weak, the false, the treacherous, the half-hearted, it was he
+who must yield. Was not hers the divine will and the divine right? Ha,
+she would be less than woman if she ever capitulated, abandoned her
+divine responsibility as woman! No, _he_ must yield.
+
+So, he was unfaithful to her. Piling reproach after reproach upon
+himself, he added adultery to his brutality. And this was the beginning
+of the end. She was more than maddened: but he began to grow silent,
+unresponsive, as if he did not hear her. He was unfaithful to her:
+and oh, in such a low way. Such shame, such shame! But he only smiled
+carelessly now, and asked her what she wanted. She had asked for all she
+got. That he reiterated. And that was all he would do.
+
+Terrible was, that she found even his smile of insolent indifference
+half-beautiful. Oh, bitter chain to bear! But she summoned up all
+her strange woman's will. She fought against his fascination, the
+fascination he exerted over her. With fearful efforts of will she fought
+against it, and mastered it. And then, suddenly, horror and agony of
+it, up it would rush in her again, her unbearable desire for him, the
+longing for his contact, his quality of beauty.
+
+That was a cross hard to bear. Yet even that she bore. And schooled
+herself into a fretful, petulant manner of indifference. Her odd,
+whimsical petulance hid a will which he, and he alone, knew to be
+stronger than steel, strong as a diabolical, cold, grey snake that
+presses and presses and cannot-relax: nay, cannot relax. She became the
+same as he. Even in her moments of most passionate desire for him, the
+cold and snake-like tension of her will never relaxed, and the cold,
+snake-like eye of her intention never closed.
+
+So, till it reached a deadlock. Each will was wound tense, and so fixed.
+Fixed! There was neither any relaxing or any increase of pressure.
+Fixed. Hard like a numbness, a grip that was solidifying and turning to
+stone.
+
+He realised, somehow, that at this terrible passive game of fixed
+tension she would beat him. Her fixed female soul, her wound-up female
+will would solidify into stone--whereas his must break. In him
+something must break. It was a cold and fatal deadlock, profitless. A
+life-automatism of fixed tension that suddenly, in him, did break. His
+will flew loose in a recoil: a recoil away from her. He left her, as
+inevitably as a broken spring flies out from its hold.
+
+Not that he was broken. He would not do her even that credit. He had
+only flown loose from the old centre-fixture. His will was still entire
+and unabated. Only he did not know: he did not understand. He swung
+wildly about from place to place, as if he were broken.
+
+Then suddenly, on this Sunday evening in the strange country, he
+realised something about himself. He realised that he had never intended
+to yield himself fully to her or to anything: that he did not intend
+ever to yield himself up entirely to her or to anything: that his very
+being pivoted on the fact of his isolate self-responsibility, aloneness.
+His intrinsic and central aloneness was the very centre of his being.
+Break it, and he broke his being. Break this central aloneness, and he
+broke everything. It was the great temptation, to yield himself: and
+it was the final sacrilege. Anyhow, it was something which, from his
+profoundest soul, he did not intend to do. By the innermost isolation
+and singleness of his own soul he would abide though the skies fell on
+top of one another, and seven heavens collapsed.
+
+Vaguely he realised this. And vaguely he realised that this had been the
+root cause of his strife with Lottie: Lottie, the only person who had
+mattered at all to him in all the world: save perhaps his mother. And
+his mother had not mattered, no, not one-half nor one-fifth what Lottie
+had mattered. So it was: there was, for him, only her significant in the
+universe. And between him and her matters were as they were.
+
+He coldly and terribly hated her, for a moment. Then no more. There was
+no solution. It was a situation without a solution. But at any rate, it
+was now a defined situation. He could rest in peace.
+
+Thoughts something in this manner ran through Aaron's subconscious mind
+as he sat still in the strange house. He could not have fired it all
+off at any listener, as these pages are fired off at any chance reader.
+Nevertheless there it was, risen to half consciousness in him. All
+his life he had _hated_ knowing what he felt. He had wilfully, if not
+consciously, kept a gulf between his passional soul and his open
+mind. In his mind was pinned up a nice description of himself, and a
+description of Lottie, sort of authentic passports to be used in the
+conscious world. These authentic passports, self-describing: nose short,
+mouth normal, etc.; he had insisted that they should do all the duty
+of the man himself. This ready-made and very banal idea of himself as a
+really quite nice individual: eyes blue, nose short, mouth normal, chin
+normal; this he had insisted was really himself. It was his conscious
+mask.
+
+Now at last, after years of struggle, he seemed suddenly to have dropped
+his mask on the floor, and broken it. His authentic self-describing
+passport, his complete and satisfactory idea of himself suddenly became
+a rag of paper, ridiculous. What on earth did it matter if he was nice
+or not, if his chin was normal or abnormal.
+
+His mask, his idea of himself dropped and was broken to bits. There he
+sat now maskless and invisible. That was how he strictly felt: invisible
+and undefined, rather like Wells' _Invisible Man_. He had no longer a
+mask to present to people: he was present and invisible: they _could_
+not really think anything about him, because they could not really
+see him. What did they see when they looked at him? Lady Franks, for
+example. He neither knew nor cared. He only knew he was invisible to
+himself and everybody, and that all thinking about what he was like was
+only a silly game of Mrs. Mackenzie's Dead.
+
+So there. The old Aaron Sisson was as if painfully transmuted, as the
+Invisible Man when he underwent his transmutations. Now he was gone, and
+no longer to be seen. His visibility lost for ever.
+
+And then what? Sitting there as an invisible presence, the preconceived
+world melted also and was gone. Lady Franks, Sir William, all the
+guests, they talked and maneuvered with their visible personalities,
+manipulating the masks of themselves. And underneath there was something
+invisible and dying--something fading, wilting: the essential plasm of
+themselves: their invisible being.
+
+Well now, and what next? Having in some curious manner tumbled from the
+tree of modern knowledge, and cracked and rolled out from the shell of
+the preconceived idea of himself like some dark, night-lustrous chestnut
+from the green ostensibility of the burr, he lay as it were exposed but
+invisible on the floor, knowing, but making no conceptions: knowing,
+but having no idea. Now that he was finally unmasked and exposed,
+the accepted idea of himself cracked and rolled aside like a broken
+chestnut-burr, the mask split and shattered, he was at last quiet and
+free. He had dreaded exposure: and behold, we cannot be exposed, for we
+are invisible. We cannot be exposed to the looks of others, for our very
+being is night-lustrous and unseeable. Like the Invisible Man, we are
+only revealed through our clothes and our masks.
+
+In his own powerful but subconscious fashion Aaron realized this. He was
+a musician. And hence even his deepest _ideas_: were not word-ideas, his
+very thoughts were not composed of words and ideal concepts. They
+too, his thoughts and his ideas, were dark and invisible, as electric
+vibrations are invisible no matter how many words they may purport. If
+I, as a word-user, must translate his deep conscious vibrations into
+finite words, that is my own business. I do but make a translation of
+the man. He would speak in music. I speak with words.
+
+The inaudible music of his conscious soul conveyed his meaning in him
+quite as clearly as I convey it in words: probably much more clearly.
+But in his own mode only: and it was in his own mode only he realised
+what I must put into words. These words are my own affair. His mind was
+music.
+
+Don't grumble at me then, gentle reader, and swear at me that this
+damned fellow wasn't half clever enough to think all these smart things,
+and realise all these fine-drawn-out subtleties. You are quite right, he
+wasn't, yet it all resolved itself in him as I say, and it is for you to
+prove that it didn't.
+
+In his now silent, maskless state of wordless comprehension, he knew
+that he had never wanted to surrender himself utterly to Lottie: nor to
+his mother: nor to anybody. The last extreme of self-abandon in love was
+for him an act of false behaviour. His own nature inside him fated
+him not to take this last false step, over the edge of the abyss of
+selflessness. Even if he wanted to, he could not. He might struggle on
+the edge of the precipice like an assassin struggling with his own soul,
+but he could not conquer. For, according to all the current prejudice
+and impulse in one direction, he too had believed that the final
+achievement, the consummation of human life, was this flinging oneself
+over the precipice, down the bottomless pit of love. Now he realised
+that love, even in its intensest, was only an attribute of the human
+soul: one of its incomprehensible gestures. And to fling down the whole
+soul in one gesture of finality in love was as much a criminal suicide
+as to jump off a church-tower or a mountain-peak. Let a man give himself
+as much as he liked in love, to seven thousand extremities, he must
+never give himself _away_. The more generous and the more passionate a
+soul, the more it _gives_ itself. But the more absolute remains the law,
+that it shall never give itself away. Give thyself, but give thyself not
+away. That is the lesson written at the end of the long strange lane of
+love.
+
+The _idee fixe_ of today is that every individual shall not only give
+himself, but shall achieve the last glory of giving himself away. And
+since this takes two--you can't even make a present of yourself unless
+you've got somebody to receive the present; since this last extra-divine
+act takes two people to perform it, you've got to take into count not
+only your giver but your receiver. Who is going to be the giver and who
+the receiver.
+
+Why, of course, in our long-drawn-out Christian day, man is given and
+woman is recipient. Man is the gift, woman the receiver. This is the
+sacrament we live by; the holy Communion we live for. That man gives
+himself to woman in an utter and sacred abandon, all, all, all himself
+given, and taken. Woman, eternal woman, she is the communicant. She
+receives the sacramental body and spirit of the man. And when she's got
+it, according to her passionate and all-too-sacred desire, completely,
+when she possesses her man at last finally and ultimately, without
+blemish or reservation in the perfection of the sacrament: then, also,
+poor woman, the blood and the body of which she has partaken become
+insipid or nauseous to her, she is driven mad by the endless meal of the
+marriage sacrament, poisoned by the sacred communion which was her goal
+and her soul's ambition.
+
+We have pushed a process into a goal. The aim of any process is not
+the perpetuation of that process, but the completion thereof. Love is a
+process of the incomprehensible human soul: love also incomprehensible,
+but still only a process. The process should work to a completion, not
+to some horror of intensification and extremity wherein the soul and
+body ultimately perish. The completion of the process of love is the
+arrival at a state of simple, pure self-possession, for man and woman.
+Only that. Which isn't exciting enough for us sensationalists. We prefer
+abysses and maudlin self-abandon and self-sacrifice, the degeneration
+into a sort of slime and merge.
+
+Perhaps, truly, the process of love is never accomplished. But it moves
+in great stages, and at the end of each stage a true goal, where the
+soul possesses itself in simple and generous singleness. Without this,
+love is a disease.
+
+So Aaron, crossing a certain border-line and finding himself alone
+completely, accepted his loneliness or singleness as a fulfilment, a
+state of fulfilment. The long fight with Lottie had driven him at last
+to himself, so that he was quiet as a thing which has its root deep in
+life, and has lost its anxiety. As for considering the lily, it is not
+a matter of consideration. The lily toils and spins hard enough, in her
+own way. But without that strain and that anxiety with which we try
+to weave ourselves a life. The lily is life-rooted, life-central. She
+_cannot_ worry. She is life itself, a little, delicate fountain playing
+creatively, for as long or as short a time as may be, and unable to
+be anxious. She may be sad or sorry, if the north wind blows. But even
+then, anxious she cannot be. Whether her fountain play or cease to play,
+from out the cold, damp earth, she cannot be anxious. She may only be
+glad or sorry, and continue her way. She is perfectly herself, whatever
+befall! even if frosts cut her off. Happy lily, never to be saddled with
+an _idee fixe_, never to be in the grip of a monomania for happiness or
+love or fulfilment. It is not _laisser aller_. It is life-rootedness. It
+is being by oneself, life-living, like the much-mooted lily. One toils,
+one spins, one strives: just as the lily does. But like her, taking
+one's own life-way amidst everything, and taking one's own life-way
+alone. Love too. But there also, taking one's way alone, happily alone
+in all the wonders of communion, swept up on the winds, but never swept
+away from one's very self. Two eagles in mid-air, maybe, like Whitman's
+Dalliance of Eagles. Two eagles in mid-air, grappling, whirling, coming
+to their intensification of love-oneness there in mid-air. In mid-air
+the love consummation. But all the time each lifted on its own wings:
+each bearing itself up on its own wings at every moment of the mid-air
+love consummation. That is the splendid love-way.
+
+
+        ...............
+
+
+The party was festive at dinner-time, the women in their finest dresses,
+new flowers on the table, the best wine going. It was Sunday evening.
+Aaron too was dressed--and Lady Franks, in black lace and pearls, was
+almost gay. There were quails for dinner. The Colonel was quite happy.
+An air of conviviality gathered round the table during the course of the
+meal.
+
+“I hope,” said Aaron, “that we shall have some music tonight.”
+
+“I want so much to hear your flute,” said his hostess.
+
+“And I your piano,” he said.
+
+“I am very weak--very out of practise. I tremble at the thought of
+playing before a musician. But you must not be too critical.”
+
+“Oh,” said Aaron, “I am not a man to be afraid of.”
+
+“Well, we will see,” said Lady Franks. “But I am afraid of music
+itself.”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron. “I think it is risky.”
+
+“Risky! I don't see that! Music risky? Bach? Beethoven! No, I don't
+agree. On the contrary, I think it is most elevating--most morally
+inspiring. No, I tremble before it because it is so wonderful and
+elevating.”
+
+“I often find it makes me feel diabolical,” said he.
+
+“That is your misfortune, I am sure,” said Lady Franks. “Please do take
+another--but perhaps you don't like mushrooms?”
+
+Aaron quite liked mushrooms, and helped himself to the _entree_.
+
+“But perhaps,” said she, “you are too modern. You don't care for Bach or
+Beethoven or Chopin--dear Chopin.”
+
+“I find them all quite as modern as I am.”
+
+“Is that so! Yes. For myself I am quite old-fashioned--though I can
+appreciate Strauss and Stravinsky as well, some things. But my old
+things--ah, I don't think the moderns are so fine. They are not so deep.
+They haven't fathomed life so deeply.” Lady Franks sighed faintly.
+
+“They don't care for depths,” said Aaron.
+
+“No, they haven't the capacity. But I like big, deep music. Oh, I love
+orchestra. But my instrument is the piano. I like the great
+masters, Bach, Beethoven. They have such faith. You were talking of
+faith--believing that things would work out well for you in the end.
+Beethoven inspires that in me, too.”
+
+“He makes you feel that all will be well with you at last?”
+
+“Yes, he does. He makes me feel faith in my PERSONAL destiny. And I do
+feel that there is something in one's special fate. I feel that I myself
+have a special kind of fate, that will always look after me.”
+
+“And you can trust to it?”
+
+“Yes, I can. It ALWAYS turns out right. I think something has gone
+wrong--and then, it always turns out right. Why when we were in
+London--when we were at lunch one morning it suddenly struck me, haven't
+I left my fur cloak somewhere? It was rather cold, so I had taken it
+with me, and then never put it on. And I hadn't brought it home. I had
+left it somewhere. But whether in a taxi, or in a shop, or in a little
+show of pictures I had been to, I couldn't remember. I COULD NOT
+remember. And I thought to myself: have I lost my cloak? I went round
+to everywhere I could think of: no-trace of it. But I didn't give it
+up. Something prompted me not to give it up: quite distinctly, I felt
+something telling me that I should get it back. So I called at Scotland
+Yard and gave the information. Well, two days later I had a notice from
+Scotland Yard, so I went. And there was my cloak. I had it back. And
+that has happened to me almost every time. I almost always get my things
+back. And I always feel that something looks after me, do you know:
+almost takes care of me.”
+
+“But do you mean when you lose things--or in your life?”
+
+“I mean when I lose things--or when I want to get something I want--I am
+very nearly ALWAYS successful. And I always feel there is some sort of
+higher power which does it for me.”
+
+“Finds your cloak for you.”
+
+“Yes. Wasn't it extraordinary? I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland
+Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you. And I always feel, as I say,
+that there is some higher power which helps me. Do you feel the same?”
+
+“No, not that way, worse luck. I lost a batch of music a month ago which
+didn't belong to me--and which I couldn't replace. But I never could
+recover it: though I'm sure nobody wanted it.”
+
+“How very unfortunate! Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that gets
+stolen most.”
+
+“I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren't all
+gifted alike with guardian angels.”
+
+“Apparently not. And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you
+know, that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle.”
+
+“For always recovering your property?”
+
+“Yes--and succeeding in my undertakings.”
+
+“I'm afraid I had no fairy godmother.”
+
+“Well--I think I had. And very glad I am of it.”
+
+“Why, yes,” said Aaron, looking at his hostess.
+
+So the dinner sailed merrily on.
+
+“But does Beethoven make you feel,” said Aaron as an afterthought, “in
+the same way--that you will always find the things you have lost?”
+
+“Yes--he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be
+returned to me. Just as I found my cloak. And that if I enter into an
+undertaking, it will be successful.”
+
+“And your life has been always successful?”
+
+“Yes--almost always. We have succeeded with almost everything.”
+
+“Why, yes,” said Aaron, looking at her again.
+
+But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her
+satisfaction. She had had her suffering, sure enough. But none the
+less, she was in the main satisfied. She sat there, a good hostess, and
+expected the homage due to her success. And of course she got it. Aaron
+himself did his little share of shoe-licking, and swallowed the taste of
+boot-polish with a grimace, knowing what he was about.
+
+The dinner wound gaily to an end. The ladies retired. Sir William left
+his seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next to
+Aaron, summoning the other three men to cluster near.
+
+“Now, Colonel,” said the host, “send round the bottle.”
+
+With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the port,
+actually port, in those bleak, post-war days!
+
+“Well, Mr. Sisson,” said Sir William, “we will drink to your kind
+Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by so
+doing.”
+
+“No, sir; no, sir! The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly. Mr. Sisson put
+his money on kindly fortune, I believe,” said Arthur, who rosy and fresh
+with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous _bonne bouchee_ for a
+finely-discriminating cannibal.
+
+“Ah, yes, indeed! A much more ingratiating lady to lift our glasses to.
+Mr. Sisson's kindly fortune. _Fortuna gentil-issima_! Well, Mr. Sisson,
+and may your Lady Fortune ever smile on you.”
+
+Sir William lifted his glass with an odd little smirk, some touch of a
+strange, prim old satyr lurking in his oddly inclined head. Nay, more
+than satyr: that curious, rather terrible iron demon that has fought
+with the world and wrung wealth from it, and which knows all about it.
+The devilish spirit of iron itself, and iron machines. So, with his
+strange, old smile showing his teeth rather terribly, the old knight
+glowered sightlessly over his glass at Aaron. Then he drank: the
+strange, careful, old-man's gesture in drinking.
+
+“But,” said Aaron, “if Fortune is a female---”
+
+“Fortune! Fortune! Why, Fortune is a lady. What do you say, Major?”
+
+“She has all the airs of one, Sir William,” said the Major, with the
+wistful grimness of his age and culture. And the young fellow stared
+like a crucified cyclops from his one eye: the black shutter being over
+the other.
+
+“And all the graces,” capped Sir William, delighted with himself.
+
+“Oh, quite!” said the Major. “For some, all the airs, and for others,
+all the graces.”
+
+“Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, my boy,” said Sir William. “Not that
+your heart is faint. On the contrary--as we know, and your country
+knows. But with Lady Fortune you need another kind of stout heart--oh,
+quite another kind.”
+
+“I believe it, sir: and the kind of stout heart which I am afraid I
+haven't got,” said the Major.
+
+“What!” said the old man. “Show the white feather before you've tackled
+the lady! Fill the Major's glass, Colonel. I am quite sure we will none
+of us ever say die.”
+
+“Not likely. Not if we know it,” said the Colonel, stretching himself
+heartily inside his tunic. He was becoming ruddier than the cherry.
+All he cared about at the moment was his gay little port glass. But
+the Major's young cheek was hollow and sallow, his one eye terribly
+pathetic.
+
+“And you, Mr. Sisson,” said Sir William, “mean to carry all before you
+by taking no thought for the morrow. Well, now, we can only wish you
+success.”
+
+“I don't want to carry all before me,” said Aaron. “I should be sorry. I
+want to walk past most of it.”
+
+“Can you tell us where to? I am intrigued, as Sybil says, to know where
+you will walk to. Come now. Enlighten us.”
+
+“Nowhere, I suppose.”
+
+“But is that satisfactory? Can you find it satisfactory?”
+
+“Is it even true?” said the Major. “Isn't it quite as positive an act to
+walk away from a situation as to walk towards it?”
+
+“My dear boy, you can't merely walk away from a situation. Believe that.
+If you walk away from Rome, you walk into the Maremma, or into the Alban
+Hills, or into the sea--but you walk into something. Now if I am going
+to walk away from Rome, I prefer to choose my direction, and therefore
+my destination.”
+
+“But you can't,” said the Major.
+
+“What can't you?”
+
+“Choose. Either your direction or your destination.” The Major was
+obstinate.
+
+“Really!” said Sir William. “I have not found it so. I have not found
+it so. I have had to keep myself hard at work, all my life, choosing
+between this or that.”
+
+“And we,” said the Major, “have no choice, except between this or
+nothing.”
+
+“Really! I am afraid,” said Sir William, “I am afraid I am too old--or
+too young--which shall I say?--to understand.”
+
+“Too young, sir,” said Arthur sweetly. “The child was always father to
+the man, I believe.”
+
+“I confess the Major makes me feel childish,” said the old man. “The
+choice between this or nothing is a puzzler to me. Can you help me out,
+Mr. Sisson? What do you make of this this-or-nothing business? I can
+understand neck-or-nothing---”
+
+“I prefer the NOTHING part of it to the THIS part of it,” said Aaron,
+grinning.
+
+“Colonel,” said the old man, “throw a little light on this nothingness.”
+
+“No, Sir William,” said the Colonel. “I am all right as I am.”
+
+“As a matter of fact, so are we all, perfectly A-one,” said Arthur.
+
+Aaron broke into a laugh.
+
+“That's the top and bottom of it,” he laughed, flushed with wine, and
+handsome. We're all as right as ninepence. Only it's rather nice to
+talk.”
+
+“There!” said Sir William. “We're all as right as ninepence! We're all
+as right ninepence. So there well leave it, before the Major has time to
+say he is twopence short.” Laughing his strange old soundless laugh, Sir
+William rose and made a little bow. “Come up and join the ladies in a
+minute or two,” he said. Arthur opened the door for him and he left the
+room.
+
+The four men were silent for a moment--then the Colonel whipped up the
+decanter and filled his glass. Then he stood up and clinked glasses with
+Aaron, like a real old sport.
+
+“Luck to you,” he said.
+
+“Thanks,” said Aaron.
+
+“You're going in the morning?” said Arthur.
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron.
+
+“What train?” said Arthur.
+
+“Eight-forty.”
+
+“Oh--then we shan't see you again. Well--best of luck.”
+
+“Best of luck--” echoed the Colonel.
+
+“Same to you,” said Aaron, and they all peered over their glasses and
+quite loved one another for a rosy minute.
+
+“I should like to know, though,” said the hollow-cheeked young Major
+with the black flap over his eye, “whether you do really mean you are
+all right--that it is all right with you--or whether you only say so to
+get away from the responsibility.”
+
+“I mean I don't really care--I don't a damn--let the devil take it all.”
+
+“The devil doesn't want it, either,” said the Major.
+
+“Then let him leave it. I don't care one single little curse about it
+all.”
+
+“Be damned. What is there to care about?” said the Colonel.
+
+“Ay, what?” said Aaron.
+
+“It's all the same, whether you care or don't care. So I say it's much
+easier not to care,” said Arthur.
+
+“Of course it is,” said the Colonel gaily.
+
+“And I think so, too,” said Aaron.
+
+“Right you are! We're all as right as ninepence--what? Good old sport!
+Here's yours!” cried the Colonel.
+
+“We shall have to be going up,” said Arthur, wise in his generation.
+
+As they went into the hall, Arthur suddenly put one arm round Aaron's
+waist, and one arm round the Colonel's, and the three did a sudden
+little barn-dance towards the stairs. Arthur was feeling himself quite
+let loose again, back in his old regimental mess.
+
+Approaching the foot of the stairs, he let go again. He was in that rosy
+condition when united-we-stand. But unfortunately it is a complicated
+job to climb the stairs in unison. The whole lot tends to fall
+backwards. Arthur, therefore, rosy, plump, looking so good to eat, stood
+still a moment in order to find his own neatly-slippered feet. Having
+found them, he proceeded to put them carefully one before the other, and
+to his enchantment found that this procedure was carrying him magically
+up the stairs. The Colonel, like a drowning man, clutched feebly for the
+straw of the great stair-rail--and missed it. He would have gone under,
+but that Aaron's hand gripped his arm. So, orientating once more like
+a fragile tendril, he reached again for the banister rail, and got it.
+After which, lifting his feet as if they were little packets of sand
+tied to his trouser buttons, he manipulated his way upwards. Aaron was
+in that pleasant state when he saw what everybody else was doing and was
+unconscious of what he did himself. Whilst tall, gaunt, erect, like a
+murdered Hamlet resurrected in khaki, with the terrible black shutter
+over his eye, the young Major came last.
+
+Arthur was making a stern fight for his composure. His whole future
+depended on it. But do what he would, he could not get the flushed,
+pleased, mess-happy look off his face. The Colonel, oh, awful man, did
+a sort of plump roly-poly-cake-walk, like a fat boy, right to the
+very door of that santum-sanctorum, the library. Aaron was inwardly
+convulsed. Even the Major laughed.
+
+But Arthur stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat. All four
+started to compose themselves, like actors going on the stage, outside
+that library door. And then Arthur softly, almost wistfully, opened and
+held the door for the others to pass. The Colonel slunk meekly in, and
+sat in a chair in the background. The Major stalked in expressionless,
+and hovered towards the sofa where his wife sat.
+
+There was a rather cold-water-down-your-back feeling in the library.
+The ladies had been waiting for coffee. Sir William was waiting, too.
+Therefore in a little tension, half silent, the coffee was handed round.
+Lady Franks was discussing something with Arthur's wife. Arthur's
+wife was in a cream lace dress, and looking what is called lovely.
+The Major's wife was in amethyst chiffon with dark-red roses, and
+was looking blindingly beautiful. The Colonel was looking into his
+coffee-cup as wistfully as if it contained the illusion of tawny port.
+The Major was looking into space, as if there and there alone, etc.
+Arthur was looking for something which Lady Franks had asked for, and
+which he was much too flushed to find. Sir William was looking at Aaron,
+and preparing for another _coeur a coeur_.
+
+“Well,” he said, “I doubt if you will care for Milan. It is one of the
+least Italian of all the towns, in my opinion. Venice, of course, is a
+thing apart. I cannot stand, myself, that miserable specimen the modern
+Roman. He has most of the vices of the old Romans and none of the
+virtues. The most congenial town, perhaps, for a stranger, is Florence.
+But it has a very bad climate.”
+
+Lady Franks rose significantly and left the room, accompanied by
+Arthur's wife. Aaron knew, silently, that he was summoned to follow.
+His hostess had her eye on him this evening. But always postponing his
+obedience to the cool commands of women, he remained talking with his
+host in the library, and sipping _creme de menthe_! Came the ripple
+of the pianoforte from the open doorway down at the further end of the
+room. Lady Franks was playing, in the large drawing-room. And the ripple
+of the music contained in it the hard insistence of the little woman's
+will. Coldly, and decidedly, she intended there should be no more
+unsettling conversations for the old Sir William. Aaron was to come
+forthwith into the drawing room. Which Aaron plainly understood--and
+so he didn't go. No, he didn't go, though the pianoforte rippled and
+swelled in volume. No, and he didn't go even when Lady Franks left off
+playing and came into the library again. There he sat, talking with Sir
+William. Let us do credit to Lady Franks' will-power, and admit that the
+talk was quite empty and distracted--none of the depths and skirmishes
+of the previous occasions. None the less, the talk continued. Lady
+Franks retired, discomfited, to her piano again. She would never break
+in upon her lord.
+
+So now Aaron relented. He became more and more distracted. Sir William
+wandered away like some restless, hunted soul. The Colonel still sat in
+his chair, nursing his last drop of _creme de menthe_ resentfully. He
+did not care for the green toffee-stuff. Arthur was busy. The Major
+lay sprawled in the last stages of everything on the sofa, holding
+his wife's hand. And the music came pathetically through the open
+folding-doors. Of course, she played with feeling--it went without
+saying. Aaron's soul felt rather tired. But she had a touch of
+discrimination also.
+
+He rose and went to the drawing-room. It was a large, vacant-seeming,
+Empire sort of drawing-room, with yellow silk chairs along the walls and
+yellow silk panels upon the walls, and a huge, vasty crystal chandelier
+hanging from a faraway-above ceiling. Lady Franks sat at a large black
+Bechstein piano at one end of this vacant yellow state-room. She sat,
+a little plump elderly lady in black lace, for all the world like Queen
+Victoria in Max Beerbohm's drawing of Alfred Tennyson reading to her
+Victorian Majesty, with space before her. Arthur's wife was bending over
+some music in a remote corner of the big room.
+
+Aaron seated himself on one of the chairs by the wall, to listen.
+Certainly it was a beautiful instrument. And certainly, in her way, she
+loved it. But Aaron remembered an anthem in which he had taken part as a
+boy.
+
+
+                    His eye is on the sparrow
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+For a long time he had failed to catch the word _sparrow_, and had
+heard:
+
+
+                    His eye is on the spy-hole
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+Which was just how it had all seemed to him, as a boy.
+
+Now, as ever, he felt the eye was on the spy-hole. There sat the woman
+playing music. But her inward eye was on the spy-hole of her vital
+affairs--her domestic arrangements, her control of her household, guests
+and husband included. The other eye was left for the music, don't you
+know.
+
+Sir William appeared hovering in the doorway, not at all liking the
+defection of Mr. Aaron. Then he retreated. He seemed not to care for
+music. The Major's wife hovered--felt it her duty to _aude_, or play
+audience--and entered, seating herself in a breath of lilac and amethyst
+again at the near distance. The Major, after a certain beating about the
+bush, followed and sat wrapt in dim contemplation near his wife. Arthur
+luckily was still busy with something.
+
+Aaron of course made proper musical remarks in the intervals--Arthur's
+wife sorted out more pieces. Arthur appeared--and then the Colonel. The
+Colonel tip-toed beautifully across the wide blank space of the Empire
+room, and seated himself on a chair, rather in the distance, with his
+back to the wall, facing Aaron. When Lady Franks finished her piece,
+to everybody's amazement the Colonel clapped gaily to himself and said
+Bravo! as if at a Cafe Chantant, looking round for his glass. But there
+was no glass. So he crossed his neatly-khakied legs, and looked rapt
+again.
+
+Lady Franks started with a _vivace_ Schumann piece. Everybody listened
+in sanctified silence, trying to seem to like it. When suddenly our
+Colonel began to spring and bounce in his chair, slinging his loose leg
+with a kind of rapture up and down in the air, and capering upon his
+posterior, doing a sitting-down jig to the Schumann _vivace_. Arthur,
+who had seated himself at the farthest extremity of the room, winked
+with wild bliss at Aaron. The Major tried to look as if he noticed
+nothing, and only succeeded in looking agonised. His wife studied the
+point of her silver shoe minutely, and peeped through her hair at the
+performance. Aaron grimly chuckled, and loved the Colonel with real
+tenderness.
+
+And the game went on while the _vivace_ lasted. Up and down bounced the
+plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent toe
+higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig. Rosy
+and unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to. The
+broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way. Let him enjoy
+himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled
+salon. Aaron felt quite cheered up.
+
+“Well, now,” he thought to himself, “this man is in entire command of
+a very important branch of the British Service in Italy. We are a great
+race still.”
+
+But Lady Franks must have twigged. Her playing went rather stiff. She
+came to the end of the _vivace_ movement, and abandoned her piece.
+
+“I always prefer Schumann in his _vivace_ moods,” said Aaron.
+
+“Do you?” said Lady Franks. “Oh, I don't know.”
+
+It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing. Arthur seemed to get
+further away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote end
+of the room, near the gallery doors. The Colonel became quiet, pensive.
+The Major's wife eyed the young woman in white lace, and seemed not
+to care for lace. Arthur seemed to be trying to push himself backwards
+through the wall. Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and
+voluminous crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the
+room's centre. And Arthur's wife sang sweet little French songs, and _Ye
+Banks and Braes_, and _Caro mio ben_, which goes without saying: and so
+on. She had quite a nice voice and was quite adequately trained. Which
+is enough said. Aaron had all his nerves on edge.
+
+Then he had to play the flute. Arthur strolled upstairs with him,
+arm-in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
+
+“I find music in the home rather a strain, you know,” said Arthur.
+
+“Cruel strain. I quite agree,” said Aaron.
+
+“I don't mind it so much in the theatre--or even a concert--where
+there are a lot of other people to take the edge off-- But after a good
+dinner--”
+
+“It's medicine,” said Aaron.
+
+“Well, you know, it really is, to me. It affects my inside.” Aaron
+laughed. And then, in the yellow drawing-room, blew into his pipe and
+played. He knew so well that Arthur, the Major, the Major's wife, the
+Colonel, and Sir William thought it merely an intolerable bore. However,
+he played. His hostess even accompanied him in a Mozart bit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. XX SETTEMBRE
+
+
+Aaron was awakened in the morning by the soft entrance of the butler
+with the tray: it was just seven o'clock. Lady Franks' household was
+punctual as the sun itself.
+
+But our hero roused himself with a wrench. The very act of lifting
+himself from the pillow was like a fight this morning. Why? He
+recognized his own wrench, the pain with which he struggled under the
+necessity to move. Why shouldn't he want to move? Why not? Because he
+didn't want the day in front--the plunge into a strange country, towards
+nowhere, with no aim in view. True, he said that ultimately he wanted to
+join Lilly. But this was hardly more than a sop, an excuse for his own
+irrational behaviour. He was breaking loose from one connection after
+another; and what for? Why break every tie? Snap, snap, snap went the
+bonds and ligatures which bound him to the life that had formed him, the
+people he had loved or liked. He found all his affections snapping off,
+all the ties which united him with his own people coming asunder. And
+why? In God's name, why? What was there instead?
+
+There was nothingness. There was just himself, and blank nothingness.
+He had perhaps a faint sense of Lilly ahead of him; an impulse in that
+direction, or else merely an illusion. He could not persuade himself
+that he was seeking for love, for any kind of unison or communion. He
+knew well enough that the thought of any loving, any sort of real coming
+together between himself and anybody or anything, was just objectionable
+to him. No--he was not moving _towards_ anything: he was moving almost
+violently away from everything. And that was what he wanted. Only
+that. Only let him _not_ run into any sort of embrace with anything or
+anybody--this was what he asked. Let no new connection be made between
+himself and anything on earth. Let all old connections break. This was
+his craving.
+
+Yet he struggled under it this morning as under the lid of a tomb. The
+terrible sudden weight of inertia! He knew the tray stood ready by the
+bed: he knew the automobile would be at the door at eight o'clock, for
+Lady Franks had said so, and he half divined that the servant had also
+said so: yet there he lay, in a kind of paralysis in this bed. He
+seemed for the moment to have lost his will. Why go forward into more
+nothingness, away from all that he knew, all he was accustomed to and
+all he belonged to?
+
+However, with a click he sat up. And the very instant he had poured his
+coffee from the little silver coffee-pot into his delicate cup, he was
+ready for anything and everything. The sense of silent adventure took
+him, the exhilarated feeling that he was fulfilling his own
+inward destiny. Pleasant to taste was the coffee, the bread, the
+honey--delicious.
+
+The man brought his clothes, and again informed him that the automobile
+would be at the door at eight o'clock: or at least so he made out.
+
+“I can walk,” said Aaron.
+
+“Milady ha comandato l'automobile,” said the man softly.
+
+It was evident that if Milady had ordered it, so it must be.
+
+So Aaron left the still-sleeping house, and got into the soft and
+luxurious car. As he dropped through the park he wondered that Sir
+William and Lady Franks should be so kind to him: a complete stranger.
+But so it was. There he sat in their car. He wondered, also, as he ran
+over the bridge and into the city, whether this soft-running automobile
+would ever rouse the socialistic bile of the work-people. For the first
+time in his life, as he sat among the snug cushions, he realised what
+it might be to be rich and uneasy: uneasy, even if not afraid, lurking
+there inside an expensive car.--Well, it wasn't much of a sensation
+anyhow: and riches were stuffy, like wadded upholstery on everything. He
+was glad to get out into the fresh air of the common crowd. He was glad
+to be in the bleak, not-very-busy station. He was glad to be part of
+common life. For the very atmosphere of riches seems to be stuffed and
+wadded, never any real reaction. It was terrible, as if one's very body,
+shoulders and arms, were upholstered and made cushiony. Ugh, but he was
+glad to shake off himself the atmosphere of wealth and motor-cars, to
+get out of it all. It was like getting out of quilted clothes.
+
+“Well,” thought Aaron, “if this is all it amounts to, to be rich, you
+can have riches. They talk about money being power. But the only sort of
+power it has over me is to bring on a kind of numbness, which I fairly
+hate. No wonder rich people don't seem to be really alive.”
+
+The relief of escaping quite took away his self-conscious embarrassment
+at the station. He carried his own bags, bought a third-class ticket,
+and got into the train for Milan without caring one straw for the
+comments or the looks of the porters.
+
+It began to rain. The rain ran across the great plain of north Italy.
+Aaron sat in his wood-seated carriage and smoked his pipe in silence,
+looking at the thick, short Lombards opposite him without heeding
+them. He paid hardly any outward attention to his surroundings, but sat
+involved in himself.
+
+In Milan he had been advised to go to the Hotel Britannia, because it
+was not expensive, and English people went there. So he took a carriage,
+drove round the green space in front of Milan station, and away into the
+town. The streets were busy, but only half-heartedly so.
+
+It must be confessed that every new move he made was rather an effort.
+Even he himself wondered why he was struggling with foreign porters and
+foreign cabmen, being talked at and not understanding a word. But there
+he was. So he went on with it.
+
+The hotel was small and congenial. The hotel porter answered in English.
+Aaron was given a little room with a tiny balcony, looking on to a quiet
+street. So, he had a home of his own once more. He washed, and then
+counted his money. Thirty-seven pounds he had: and no more. He stood on
+the balcony and looked at the people going by below. Life seems to be
+moving so quick, when one looks down on it from above.
+
+Across the road was a large stone house with its green shutters all
+closed. But from the flagpole under the eaves, over the central window
+of the uppermost floor--the house was four storeys high--waved the
+Italian flag in the melancholy damp air. Aaron looked at it--the red,
+white and green tricolour, with the white cross of Savoy in the centre.
+It hung damp and still. And there seemed a curious vacancy in the
+city--something empty and depressing in the great human centre. Not that
+there was really a lack of people. But the spirit of the town seemed
+depressed and empty. It was a national holiday. The Italian flag was
+hanging from almost every housefront.
+
+It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Aaron sat in the restaurant
+of the hotel drinking tea, for he was rather tired, and looking through
+the thin curtains at the little square outside, where people passed:
+little groups of dark, aimless-seeming men, a little bit poorer
+looking--perhaps rather shorter in stature--but very much like the
+people in any other town. Yet the feeling of the city was so different
+from that of London. There seemed a curious emptiness. The rain had
+ceased, but the pavements were still wet. There was a tension.
+
+Suddenly there was a noise of two shots, fired in rapid succession.
+Aaron turned startled to look into the quiet piazza. And to his
+amazement, the pavements were empty, not a soul was in sight. Two
+minutes before the place was busy with passers-by, and a newspaper man
+selling the Corriere, and little carriages rattling through. Now, as if
+by magic, nobody, nothing. It was as if they had all melted into thin
+air.
+
+The waiter, too, was peeping behind the curtain. A carriage came
+trotting into the square--an odd man took his way alone--the traffic
+began to stir once more, and people reappeared as suddenly as they had
+disappeared. Then the waiter ran hastily and furtively out and craned
+his neck, peering round the square. He spoke with two youths--rather
+loutish youths. Then he returned to his duty in the hotel restaurant.
+
+“What was it? What were the shots?” Aaron asked him.
+
+“Oh--somebody shooting at a dog,” said the man negligently.
+
+“At a dog!” said Aaron, with round eyes.
+
+He finished his tea, and went out into the town. His hotel was not far
+from the cathedral square. Passing through the arcade, he came in sight
+of the famous cathedral with its numerous spines pricking into the
+afternoon air. He was not as impressed as he should have been. And yet
+there was something in the northern city--this big square with all the
+trams threading through, the little yellow Continental trams: and the
+spiny bulk of the great cathedral, like a grey-purple sea-urchin with
+many spines, on the one side, the ornamental grass-plots and flower beds
+on the other: the big shops going all along the further strands, all
+round: and the endless restless nervous drift of a north Italian crowd,
+so nervous, so twitchy; nervous and twitchy as the slipping past of
+the little yellow tram-cars; it all affected him with a sense of
+strangeness, nervousness, and approaching winter. It struck him the
+people were afraid of themselves: afraid of their own souls, and that
+which was in their own souls.
+
+Turning up the broad steps of the cathedral, he entered the famous
+building. The sky had cleared, and the freshened light shone coloured in
+living tablets round the wonderful, towering, rose-hearted dusk of the
+great church. At some altars lights flickered uneasily. At some unseen
+side altar mass was going on, and a strange ragged music fluttered
+out on the incense-dusk of the great and lofty interior, which was all
+shadow, all shadow, hung round with jewel tablets of light. Particularly
+beautiful the great east bay, above the great altar. And all the time,
+over the big-patterned marble floor, the faint click and rustle of feet
+coming and going, coming and going, like shallow uneasy water rustled
+back and forth in a trough. A white dog trotted pale through the
+under-dusk, over the pale, big-patterned floor. Aaron came to the side
+altar where mass was going on, candles ruddily wavering. There was a
+small cluster of kneeling women--a ragged handful of on-looking men--and
+people wandering up and wandering away, young women with neatly dressed
+black hair, and shawls, but without hats; fine young women in very high
+heels; young men with nothing to do; ragged men with nothing to do.
+All strayed faintly clicking over the slabbed floor, and glanced at the
+flickering altar where the white-surpliced boys were curtseying and
+the white-and-gold priest bowing, his hands over his breast, in the
+candle-light. All strayed, glanced, lingered, and strayed away again, as
+if the spectacle were not sufficiently holding. The bell chimed for the
+elevation of the Host. But the thin trickle of people trickled the
+same, uneasily, over the slabbed floor of the vastly-upreaching
+shadow-foliaged cathedral.
+
+The smell of incense in his nostrils, Aaron went out again by a side
+door, and began to walk along the pavements of the cathedral square,
+looking at the shops. Some were closed, and had little notices pinned on
+them. Some were open, and seemed half-stocked with half-elegant things.
+Men were carrying newspapers. In the cafes a few men were seated
+drinking vermouth. In the doorway of the restaurants waiters stood
+inert, looking out on the streets. The curious heart-eating _ennui_ of
+the big town on a holiday came over our hero. He felt he must get out,
+whatever happened. He could not bear it.
+
+So he went back to his hotel and up to his room. It was still only five
+o'clock. And he did not know what to do with himself. He lay down on
+the bed, and looked at the painting on his bedroom ceiling. It was a
+terrible business in reckitt's blue and browny gold, with awful heraldic
+beasts, rather worm-wriggly, displayed in a blue field.
+
+As he lay thinking of nothing and feeling nothing except a certain
+weariness, or dreariness, or tension, or God-knows-what, he heard a loud
+hoarse noise of humanity in the distance, something frightening. Rising,
+he went on to his little balcony. It was a sort of procession, or march
+of men, here and there a red flag fluttering from a man's fist. There
+had been a big meeting, and this was the issue. The procession was
+irregular, but powerful, men four abreast. They emerged irregularly from
+the small piazza to the street, calling and vociferating. They stopped
+before a shop and clotted into a crowd, shouting, becoming vicious. Over
+the shop-door hung a tricolour, a national flag. The shop was closed,
+but the men began to knock at the door. They were all workmen, some
+in railway men's caps, mostly in black felt hats. Some wore red cotton
+neck-ties. They lifted their faces to the national flag, and as they
+shouted and gesticulated Aaron could see their strong teeth in their
+jaws. There was something frightening in their lean, strong Italian
+jaws, something inhuman and possessed-looking in their foreign,
+southern-shaped faces, so much more formed and demon-looking than
+northern faces. They had a demon-like set purpose, and the noise of
+their voices was like a jarring of steel weapons. Aaron wondered what
+they wanted. There were no women--all men--a strange male, slashing
+sound. Vicious it was--the head of the procession swirling like a little
+pool, the thick wedge of the procession beyond, flecked with red flags.
+
+A window opened above the shop, and a frowsty-looking man, yellow-pale,
+was quickly and nervously hauling in the national flag. There were
+shouts of derision and mockery--a great overtone of acrid derision--the
+flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared. And the procession moved
+on. Almost every shop had a flag flying. And every one of these flags
+now disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later, in obedience to the
+command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that marched and clotted slowly
+down the street, having its own way.
+
+Only one flag remained flying--the big tricolour that floated from the
+top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel. The ground floor of this
+house consisted of shop-premises--now closed. There was no sign of any
+occupant. The flag floated inert aloft.
+
+The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and
+all were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which
+stirred damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves of
+the house opposite. Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped almost
+unmoved from the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl itself
+up of its own accord, in obedience to the will of the masses. Then he
+looked down at the packed black shoulders of the mob below, and at the
+curious clustering pattern of a sea of black hats. He could hardly see
+anything but hats and shoulders, uneasily moving like boiling pitch away
+beneath him. But the shouts began to come up hotter and hotter. There
+had been a great ringing of a door-bell and battering on the shop-door.
+The crowd--the swollen head of the procession--talked and shouted,
+occupying the centre of the street, but leaving the pavement clear.
+A woman in a white blouse appeared in the shop-door. She came out and
+looked up at the flag and shook her head and gesticulated with her
+hands. It was evidently not her flag--she had nothing to do with it. The
+leaders again turned to the large house-door, and began to ring all
+the bells and to knock with their knuckles. But no good--there was
+no answer. They looked up again at the flag. Voices rose ragged and
+ironical. The woman explained something again. Apparently there was
+nobody at home in the upper floors--all entrance was locked--there was
+no caretaker. Nobody owned the flag. There it hung under the broad eaves
+of the strong stone house, and didn't even know that it was guilty.
+The woman went back into her shop and drew down the iron shutter from
+inside.
+
+The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle. The
+voices rose in pitch and derision. Steam was getting up. There hung the
+flag. The procession crowded forward and filled the street in a mass
+below. All the rest of the street was empty and shut up. And still hung
+the showy rag, red and white and green, up aloft.
+
+Suddenly there was a lull--then shouts, half-encouraging, half-derisive.
+And Aaron saw a smallish-black figure of a youth, fair-haired, not more
+than seventeen years old, clinging like a monkey to the front of the
+house, and by the help of the heavy drain-pipe and the stone-work
+ornamentation climbing up to the stone ledge that ran under ground-floor
+windows, up like a sudden cat on to the projecting footing. He did not
+stop there, but continued his race like some frantic lizard running up
+the great wall-front, working away from the noise below, as if in sheer
+fright. It was one unending wriggling movement, sheer up the front of
+the impassive, heavy stone house.
+
+The flag hung from a pole under one of the windows of the top
+storey--the third floor. Up went the wriggling figure of the possessed
+youth. The cries of the crowd below were now wild, ragged ejaculations
+of excitement and encouragement. The youth seemed to be lifted up,
+almost magically on the intense upreaching excitement of the massed men
+below. He passed the ledge of the first floor, like a lizard he wriggled
+up and passed the ledge or coping of the second floor, and there he was,
+like an upward-climbing shadow, scrambling on to the coping of the third
+floor. The crowd was for a second electrically still as the boy rose
+there erect, cleaving to the wall with the tips of his fingers.
+
+But he did not hesitate for one breath. He was on his feet and running
+along the narrow coping that went across the house under the third floor
+windows, running there on that narrow footing away above the street,
+straight to the flag. He had got it--he had clutched it in his hand, a
+handful of it. Exactly like a great flame rose the simultaneous yell of
+the crowd as the boy jerked and got the flag loose. He had torn it
+down. A tremendous prolonged yell, touched with a snarl of triumph, and
+searing like a puff of flame, sounded as the boy remained for one moment
+with the flag in his hand looking down at the crowd below. His face was
+odd and elated and still. Then with the slightest gesture he threw the
+flag from him, and Aaron watched the gaudy remnant falling towards the
+many faces, whilst the noise of yelling rose up unheard.
+
+There was a great clutch and hiss in the crowd. The boy still stood
+unmoved, holding by one hand behind him, looking down from above, from
+his dangerous elevation, in a sort of abstraction.
+
+And the next thing Aaron was conscious of was the sound of trumpets. A
+sudden startling challenge of trumpets, and out of nowhere a sudden rush
+of grey-green carabinieri battering the crowd wildly with truncheons. It
+was so sudden that Aaron _heard_ nothing any more. He only saw.
+
+In utmost amazement he saw the greeny-grey uniformed carabinieri rushing
+thick and wild and indiscriminate on the crowd: a sudden new excited
+crowd in uniforms attacking the black crowd, beating them wildly with
+truncheons. There was a seething moment in the street below. And almost
+instantaneously the original crowd burst into a terror of frenzy. The
+mob broke as if something had exploded inside it. A few black-hatted men
+fought furiously to get themselves free of the hated soldiers; in the
+confusion bunches of men staggered, reeled, fell, and were struggling
+among the legs of their comrades and of the carabinieri. But the bulk of
+the crowd just burst and fled--in every direction. Like drops of water
+they seemed to fly up at the very walls themselves. They darted into
+any entry, any doorway. They sprang up the walls and clambered into the
+ground-floor windows. They sprang up the walls on to window-ledges, and
+then jumped down again, and ran--clambering, wriggling, darting, running
+in every direction; some cut, blood on their faces, terror or frenzy
+of flight in their hearts. Not so much terror as the frenzy of running
+away. In a breath the street was empty.
+
+And all the time, there above on the stone coping stood the long-faced,
+fair-haired boy, while four stout carabinieri in the street below stood
+with uplifted revolvers and covered him, shouting that if he moved they
+would shoot. So there he stood, still looking down, still holding with
+his left hand behind him, covered by the four revolvers. He was not so
+much afraid as twitchily self-conscious because of his false position.
+
+Meanwhile down below the crowd had dispersed--melted momentaneously. The
+carabinieri were busy arresting the men who had fallen and been trodden
+underfoot, or who had foolishly let themselves be taken; perhaps half a
+dozen men, half a dozen prisoners; less rather than more. The sergeant
+ordered these to be secured between soldiers. And last of all the youth
+up above, still covered by the revolvers, was ordered to come down. He
+turned quite quietly, and quite humbly, cautiously picked his way along
+the coping towards the drain-pipe. He reached this pipe and began, in
+humiliation, to climb down. It was a real climb down.
+
+Once in the street he was surrounded by the grey uniforms. The soldiers
+formed up. The sergeant gave the order. And away they marched, the
+dejected youth a prisoner between them.
+
+Then were heard a few scattered yells of derision and protest, a few
+shouts of anger and derision against the carabinieri. There were once
+more gangs of men and groups of youths along the street. They sent up an
+occasional shout. But always over their shoulders, and pretending it was
+not they who shouted. They were all cowed and hang-dog once more, and
+made not the slightest effort to save the youth. Nevertheless, they
+prowled and watched, ready for the next time.
+
+So, away went the prisoner and the grey-green soldiers, and the street
+was left to the little gangs and groups of hangdog, discontented men,
+all thoroughly out of countenance. The scene was ended.
+
+Aaron looked round, dazed. And then for the first time he noticed, on
+the next balcony to his own, two young men: young gentlemen, he would
+have said. The one was tall and handsome and well-coloured, might be
+Italian. But the other with his pale thin face and his rimless monocle
+in his eye, he was surely an Englishman. He was surely one of the
+young officers shattered by the war. A look of strange, arch, bird-like
+pleasure was on his face at this moment: if one could imagine the
+gleaming smile of a white owl over the events that had just passed, this
+was the impression produced on Aaron by the face of the young man with
+the monocle. The other youth, the ruddy, handsome one, had knitted his
+brows in mock distress, and was glancing with a look of shrewd curiosity
+at Aaron, and with a look of almost self-satisfied excitement first to
+one end of the street, then to the other.
+
+“But imagine, Angus, it's all over!” he said, laying his hand on the arm
+of the monocled young man, and making great eyes--not without a shrewd
+glance in Aaron's direction.
+
+“Did you see him fall!” replied Angus, with another strange gleam.
+
+“Yes. But was he HURT--?”
+
+“I don't know. I should think so. He fell right back out of that on to
+those stones!”
+
+“But how perfectly AWFUL! Did you ever see anything like it?”
+
+“No. It's one of the funniest things I ever did see. I saw nothing quite
+like it, even in the war--”
+
+Here Aaron withdrew into his room. His mind and soul were in a whirl. He
+sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while. When
+he did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what. But strange,
+strange his soul passed into his instrument. Or passed half into his
+instrument. There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or to ferment
+into gold old wine of wisdom.
+
+He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the
+chamber-maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the
+restaurant. The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young
+Englishmen seated at a table in a corner just behind him. Their hair was
+brushed straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head
+bright and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in
+cameo. Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking
+round the room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some
+bird-creature, and seeming to see nothing. He had evidently been very
+ill: was still very ill. His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken,
+almost withered. He forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it.
+Probably the latter.
+
+“What do you think, Francis,” he said, “of making a plan to see Florence
+and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going straight
+to Rome?” He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated words, in a
+public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South Wales.
+
+“Why, Angus,” came the graceful voice of Francis, “I thought we had
+settled to go straight through via Pisa.” Francis was graceful in
+everything--in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
+head, in the modulation of his voice.
+
+“Yes, but I see we can go either way--either Pisa or Florence. And I
+thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto.
+I believe they're very lovely,” came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
+ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words “very lovely,” as if it
+were a new experience to him to be using them.
+
+“I'm SURE they're marvellous. I'm quite sure they're marvellously
+beautiful,” said Francis, in his assured, elegant way. “Well, then,
+Angus--suppose we do that, then?--When shall we start?”
+
+Angus was the nervous insister. Francis was quite occupied with his own
+thoughts and calculations and curiosity. For he was very curious, not
+to say inquisitive. And at the present moment he had a new subject to
+ponder.
+
+This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple, and
+who, with his fine sharp ears, caught every word that they said. Aaron's
+back was broad enough, and his shoulders square, and his head rather
+small and fairish and well-shaped--and Francis was intrigued. He wanted
+to know, was the man English. He _looked_ so English--yet he might
+be--he might perhaps be Danish, Scandinavian, or Dutch. Therefore, the
+elegant young man watched and listened with all his ears.
+
+The waiter who had brought Aaron his soup now came very free and easy,
+to ask for further orders.
+
+“What would you like to drink? Wine? Chianti? Or white wine? Or
+beer?”--The old-fashioned “Sir” was dropped. It is too old-fashioned
+now, since the war.
+
+“What SHOULD I drink?” said Aaron, whose acquaintance with wines was not
+very large.
+
+“Half-litre of Chianti: that is very good,” said the waiter, with the
+air of a man who knew only too well how to bring up his betters, and
+train them in the way they should go.
+
+“All right,” said Aaron.
+
+The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the
+waiter most desired. “All right! Yes! All Right!” This is the pith, the
+marrow, the sum and essence of the English language to a southerner. Of
+course it is not _all right_. It is _Or-rye_--and one word at that. The
+blow that would be given to most foreign waiters, if they were forced
+to realize that the famous _orye_ was really composed of two words, and
+spelt _all right_, would be too cruel, perhaps.
+
+“Half litre Chianti. Orye,” said the waiter. And we'll let him say it.
+
+“ENGLISH!” whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. “I
+THOUGHT so. The flautist.”
+
+Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of
+Aaron, without apparently seeing anything. “Yes. Obviously English,”
+ said Angus, pursing like a bird.
+
+“Oh, but I heard him,” whispered Francis emphatically. “Quite,” said
+Angus. “But quite inoffensive.”
+
+“Oh, but Angus, my dear--he's the FLAUTIST. Don't you remember? The
+divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin.--But
+PERFECTLY DIVINE!!! I adore the flute above all things--” And Francis
+placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes--Lay this to the
+credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like.
+
+“Yes. So do I,” said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle,
+and seeing nothing. “I wonder what he's doing here.”
+
+“Don't you think we might ASK him?” said Francis, in a vehement whisper.
+“After all, we are the only three English people in the place.”
+
+“For the moment, apparently we are,” said Angus. “But the English are
+all over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in the
+street. Don't forget that, Francesco.”
+
+“No, Angus, I don't. The point is, his flute is PERFECTLY DIVINE--and he
+seems quite attractive in himself. Don't you think so?”
+
+“Oh, quite,” said Angus, whose observations had got no further than the
+black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket. That there was a man inside
+he had not yet paused to consider.
+
+“Quite a musician,” said Francis.
+
+“The hired sort,” said Angus, “most probably.”
+
+“But he PLAYS--he plays most marvellously. THAT you can't get away from,
+Angus.”
+
+“I quite agree,” said Angus.
+
+“Well, then? Don't you think we might hear him again? Don't you think we
+might get him to play for us?--But I should love it more than anything.”
+
+“Yes, I should, too,” said Angus. “You might ask him to coffee and a
+liqueur.”
+
+“I should like to--most awfully. But do you think I might?”
+
+“Oh, yes. He won't mind being offered a coffee and liqueur. We can give
+him something decent--Where's the waiter?” Angus lifted his pinched,
+ugly bare face and looked round with weird command for the waiter. The
+waiter, having not much to do, and feeling ready to draw these two weird
+young birds, allowed himself to be summoned.
+
+“Where's the wine list? What liqueurs have you got?” demanded Angus
+abruptly.
+
+The waiter rattled off a list, beginning with Strega and ending with
+cherry brandy.
+
+“Grand Marnier,” said Angus. “And leave the bottle.”
+
+Then he looked with arch triumph at Francis, like a wicked bird. Francis
+bit his finger moodily, and glowered with handsome, dark-blue uncertain
+eyes at Mr. Aaron, who was just surveying the _Frutte_, which consisted
+of two rather old pomegranates and various pale yellow apples, with a
+sprinkling of withered dried figs. At the moment, they all looked like a
+_Natura Morta_ arrangement.
+
+“But do you think I might--?” said Francis moodily. Angus pursed his
+lips with a reckless brightness.
+
+“Why not? I see no reason why you shouldn't,” he said. Whereupon Francis
+cleared his throat, disposed of his serviette, and rose to his feet,
+slowly but gracefully. Then he composed himself, and took on the air he
+wished to assume at the moment. It was a nice degage air, half naive and
+half enthusiastic. Then he crossed to Aaron's table, and stood on one
+lounging hip, gracefully, and bent forward in a confidential manner, and
+said:
+
+“Do excuse me. But I MUST ask you if it was you we heard playing the
+flute so perfectly wonderfully, just before dinner.”
+
+The voice was confidential and ingratiating. Aaron, relieved from the
+world's stress and seeing life anew in the rosy glow of half a litre of
+good old Chianti--the war was so near but gone by--looked up at the dark
+blue, ingenuous, well-adapted eyes of our friend Francis, and smiling,
+said:
+
+“Yes, I saw you on the balcony as well.”
+
+“Oh, did you notice us?” plunged Francis. “But wasn't it an
+extraordinary affair?”
+
+“Very,” said Aaron. “I couldn't make it out, could you?”
+
+“Oh,” cried Francis. “I never try. It's all much too new and complicated
+for me.--But perhaps you know Italy?”
+
+“No, I don't,” said Aaron.
+
+“Neither do we. And we feel rather stunned. We had only just
+arrived--and then--Oh!” Francis put up his hand to his comely brow and
+rolled his eyes. “I feel perfectly overwhelmed with it still.”
+
+He here allowed himself to sink friendlily into the vacant chair
+opposite Aaron's.
+
+“Yes, I thought it was a bit exciting,” said Aaron. “I wonder what will
+become of him--”
+
+“--Of the one who climbed for the flag, you mean? No!--But wasn't it
+perfectly marvellous! Oh, incredible, quite incredible!--And then your
+flute to finish it all! Oh! I felt it only wanted that.--I haven't got
+over it yet. But your playing was MARVELLOUS, really marvellous. Do you
+know, I can't forget it. You are a professional musician, of course.”
+
+“If you mean I play for a living,” said Aaron. “I have played in
+orchestras in London.”
+
+“Of course! Of course! I knew you must be a professional. But don't you
+give private recitals, too?”
+
+“No, I never have.”
+
+“Oh!” cried Francis, catching his breath. “I can't believe it. But you
+play MARVELLOUSLY! Oh, I just loved it, it simply swept me away, after
+that scene in the street. It seemed to sum it all up, you know.”
+
+“Did it,” said Aaron, rather grimly.
+
+“But won't you come and have coffee with us at our table?” said Francis.
+“We should like it most awfully if you would.”
+
+“Yes, thank you,” said Aaron, half-rising.
+
+“But you haven't had your dessert,” said Francis, laying a fatherly
+detaining hand on the arm of the other man. Aaron looked at the
+detaining hand.
+
+“The dessert isn't much to stop for,” he said. “I can take with me what
+I want.” And he picked out a handful of dried figs.
+
+The two went across to Angus' table.
+
+“We're going to take coffee together,” said Francis complacently,
+playing the host with a suave assurance that was rather amusing and
+charming in him.
+
+“Yes. I'm very glad,” said Angus. Let us give the show away: he was
+being wilfully nice. But he _was_ quite glad; to be able to be so nice.
+Anything to have a bit of life going: especially a bit of pleased life.
+He looked at Aaron's comely, wine-warmed face with gratification.
+
+“Have a Grand Marnier,” he said. “I don't know how bad it is. Everything
+is bad now. They lay it down to the war as well. It used to be quite
+a decent drink. What the war had got to do with bad liqueurs, I don't
+know.”
+
+Aaron sat down in a chair at their table.
+
+“But let us introduce ourselves,” said Francis. “I am Francis--or really
+Franz Dekker--And this is Angus Guest, my friend.”
+
+“And my name is Aaron Sisson.”
+
+“What! What did you say?” said Francis, leaning forward. He, too, had
+sharp ears.
+
+“Aaron Sisson.”
+
+“Aaron Sisson! Oh, but how amusing! What a nice name!”
+
+“No better than yours, is it?”
+
+“Mine! Franz Dekker! Oh, much more amusing, _I_ think,” said Francis
+archly.
+
+“Oh, well, it's a matter of opinion. You're the double decker, not me.”
+
+“The double decker!” said Francis archly. “Why, what do you mean!--”
+ He rolled his eyes significantly. “But may I introduce my friend Angus
+Guest.”
+
+“You've introduced me already, Francesco,” said Angus.
+
+“So sorry,” said Francis.
+
+“Guest!” said Aaron.
+
+Francis suddenly began to laugh.
+
+“May he not be Guest?” he asked, fatherly.
+
+“Very likely,” said Aaron. “Not that I was ever good at guessing.”
+
+Francis tilted his eyebrows. Fortunately the waiter arrived with the
+coffee.
+
+“Tell me,” said Francis, “will you have your coffee black, or with
+milk?” He was determined to restore a tone of sobriety.
+
+The coffee was sipped in sober solemnity.
+
+“Is music your line as well, then?” asked Aaron.
+
+“No, we're painters. We're going to work in Rome.”
+
+“To earn your living?”
+
+“Not yet.”
+
+The amount of discretion, modesty, and reserve which Francis put into
+these two syllables gave Aaron to think that he had two real young
+swells to deal with.
+
+“No,” continued Francis. “I was only JUST down from Oxford when the
+war came--and Angus had been about ten months at the Slade--But I have
+always painted.--So now we are going to work, really hard, in Rome, to
+make up for lost time.--Oh, one has lost so much time, in the war. And
+such PRECIOUS time! I don't know if ever one will even be able to make
+it up again.” Francis tilted his handsome eyebrows and put his head on
+one side with a wise-distressed look.
+
+“No,” said Angus. “One will never be able to make it up. What is
+more, one will never be able to start again where one left off. We're
+shattered old men, now, in one sense. And in another sense, we're just
+pre-war babies.”
+
+The speech was uttered with an odd abruptness and didacticism which made
+Aaron open his eyes. Angus had that peculiar manner: he seemed to be
+haranguing himself in the circle of his own thoughts, not addressing
+himself to his listener.
+
+So his listener listened on the outside edge of the young fellow's
+crowded thoughts. Francis put on a distressed air, and let his attention
+wander. Angus pursed his lips and his eyes were stretched wide with a
+kind of pleasure, like a wicked owl which has just joyfully hooted an
+ill omen.
+
+“Tell me,” said Francis to Aaron. “Where were YOU all the time during
+the war?”
+
+“I was doing my job,” said Aaron. Which led to his explaining his
+origins.
+
+“Really! So your music is quite new! But how interesting!” cried
+Francis.
+
+Aaron explained further.
+
+“And so the war hardly affected you? But what did you FEEL about it,
+privately?”
+
+“I didn't feel much. I didn't know what to feel. Other folks did such a
+lot of feeling, I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut.”
+
+“Yes, quite!” said Angus. “Everybody had such a lot of feelings on
+somebody else's behalf, that nobody ever had time to realise what they
+felt themselves. I know I was like that. The feelings all came on to me
+from the outside: like flies settling on meat. Before I knew where I
+was I was eaten up with a swarm of feelings, and I found myself in the
+trenches. God knows what for. And ever since then I've been trying to
+get out of my swarm of feelings, which buzz in and out of me and have
+nothing to do with me. I realised it in hospital. It's exactly like
+trying to get out of a swarm of nasty dirty flies. And every one you
+kill makes you sick, but doesn't make the swarm any less.”
+
+Again Angus pursed and bridled and looked like a pleased, wicked white
+owl. Then he polished his monocle on a very choice silk handkerchief,
+and fixed it unseeing in his left eye.
+
+But Francis was not interested in his friend's experiences. For Francis
+had had a job in the War Office--whereas Angus was a war-hero with
+shattered nerves. And let him depreciate his own experiences as much as
+he liked, the young man with the monocle kept tight hold on his prestige
+as a war hero. Only for himself, though. He by no means insisted that
+anyone else should be war-bitten.
+
+Francis was one of those men who, like women, can set up the sympathetic
+flow and make a fellow give himself away without realising what he is
+doing. So there sat our friend Aaron, amusingly unbosoming himself
+of all his history and experiences, drawn out by the arch, subtle
+attentiveness of the handsome Francis. Angus listened, too, with pleased
+amusedness on his pale, emaciated face, pursing his shrunken jaw. And
+Aaron sipped various glasses of the liqueur, and told all his tale as if
+it was a comedy. A comedy it seemed, too, at that hour. And a comedy no
+doubt it was. But mixed, like most things in this life. Mixed.
+
+It was quite late before this seance broke up: and the waiter itching to
+get rid of the fellows.
+
+“Well, now,” said Francis, as he rose from the table and settled his
+elegant waist, resting on one hip, as usual. “We shall see you in the
+morning, I hope. You say you are going to Venice. Why? Have you some
+engagement in Venice?”
+
+“No,” said Aaron. “I only was going to look for a friend--Rawdon Lilly.”
+
+“Rawdon Lilly! Why, is he in Venice? Oh, I've heard SUCH a lot about
+him. I should like so much to meet him. But I heard he was in Germany--”
+
+“I don't know where he is.”
+
+“Angus! Didn't we hear that Lilly was in Germany?”
+
+“Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe it was.”
+
+Aaron looked rather blank.
+
+“But have you anything to take you to Venice? It's such a bad climate in
+the winter. Why not come with us to Florence?” said Francis.
+
+Aaron wavered. He really did not know what to do.
+
+“Think about it,” said Francis, laying his hand on Aaron's arm. “Think
+about it tonight. And we'll meet in the morning. At what time?”
+
+“Any time,” said Aaron.
+
+“Well, say eleven. We'll meet in the lounge here at eleven. Will that
+suit you? All right, then. It's so awfully nice meeting you. That
+marvellous flute.--And think about Florence. But do come. Don't
+disappoint us.”
+
+The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+
+
+The next day but one, the three set off for Florence. Aaron had made
+an excursion from Milan with the two young heroes, and dined with them
+subsequently at the most expensive restaurant in the town. Then they
+had all gone home--and had sat in the young men's bedroom drinking
+tea, whilst Aaron played the flute. Francis was really musical, and
+enchanted. Angus enjoyed the novelty, and the moderate patronage he
+was able to confer. And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he was
+paying for his treat.
+
+So behold them setting off for Florence in the early morning. Angus and
+Francis had first-class tickets: Aaron took a third-class.
+
+“Come and have lunch with us on the train,” said Angus. “I'll order
+three places, and we can lunch together.”
+
+“Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station,” said Aaron.
+
+“No, come and lunch with us. It will be much nicer. And we shall enjoy
+it as well,” said Angus.
+
+“Of course! Ever so much nicer! Of course!” cried Francis. “Yes, why
+not, indeed! Why should you hesitate?”
+
+“All right, then,” said Aaron, not without some feeling of constraint.
+
+So they separated. The young men settled themselves amidst the red plush
+and crochet-work, looking, with their hair plastered smoothly back,
+quite as first class as you could wish, creating quite the right
+impression on the porters and the travelling Italians. Aaron went to his
+third-class, further up the train.
+
+“Well, then, _au revoir_, till luncheon,” cried Francis.
+
+The train was fairly full in the third and second classes. However,
+Aaron got his seat, and the porter brought on his bags, after disposing
+of the young men's luggage. Aaron gave the tip uneasily. He always hated
+tipping--it seemed humiliating both ways. And the airy aplomb of the
+two young cavaliers, as they settled down among the red plush and the
+obsequiousness, and said “Well, then, _au revoir_ till luncheon,” was
+peculiarly unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
+
+“The porter thinks I'm their servant--their valet,” said Aaron to
+himself, and a curious half-amused, half-contemptuous look flickered on
+his face. It annoyed him. The falsity occasioned by the difference in
+the price of the tickets was really humiliating. Aaron had lived long
+enough to know that as far as manhood and intellect went--nay, even
+education--he was not the inferior of the two young “gentlemen.” He knew
+quite well that, as far as intrinsic nature went, they did not imagine
+him an inferior: rather the contrary. They had rather an exaggerated
+respect for him and his life-power, and even his origin. And yet--they
+had the inestimable cash advantage--and they were going to keep it. They
+knew it was nothing more than an artificial cash superiority. But they
+gripped it all the more intensely. They were the upper middle classes.
+They were Eton and Oxford. And they were going to hang on to their
+privileges. In these days, it is a fool who abdicates before he's forced
+to. And therefore:
+
+“Well, then--_au revoir_ till luncheon.”
+
+They were being so awfully nice. And inwardly they were not
+condescending. But socially, they just had to be. The world is made like
+that. It wasn't their own private fault. It was no fault at all. It was
+just the mode in which they were educated, the style of their living.
+And as we know, _le style, c'est l'homme_.
+
+Angus came of very wealthy iron people near Merthyr. Already he had a
+very fair income of his own. As soon as the law-business concerning his
+father's and his grandfather's will was settled, he would be well off.
+And he knew it, and valued himself accordingly. Francis was the son of a
+highly-esteemed barrister and politician of Sydney, and in his day would
+inherit his father's lately-won baronetcy. But Francis had not very much
+money: and was much more class-flexible than Angus. Angus had been born
+in a house with a park, and of awful, hard-willed, money-bound people.
+Francis came of a much more adventurous, loose, excitable family, he had
+the colonial newness and adaptability. He knew, for his own part, that
+class superiority was just a trick, nowadays. Still, it was a trick that
+paid. And a trick he was going to play as long as it did pay.
+
+While Aaron sat, a little pale at the gills, immobile, ruminating these
+matters, a not very pleasant look about his nose-end, he heard a voice:
+
+“Oh, there you ARE! I thought I'd better come and see, so that we can
+fetch you at lunch time.--You've got a seat? Are you quite comfortable?
+Is there anything I could get you? Why, you're in a non-smoker!--But
+that doesn't matter, everybody will smoke. Are you sure you have
+everything? Oh, but wait just one moment--”
+
+It was Francis, long and elegant, with his straight shoulders and his
+coat buttoned to show his waist, and his face so well-formed and so
+modern. So modern, altogether. His voice was pleasantly modulated, and
+never hurried. He now looked as if a thought had struck him. He put a
+finger to his brow, and hastened back to his own carriage. In a minute,
+he returned with a new London literary magazine.
+
+“Something to read--I shall have to FLY--See you at lunch,” and he had
+turned and elegantly hastened, but not too fast, back to his carriage.
+The porter was holding the door for him. So Francis looked pleasantly
+hurried, but by no means rushed. Oh, dear, no. He took his time. It was
+not for him to bolt and scramble like a mere Italian.
+
+The people in Aaron's carriage had watched the apparition of the elegant
+youth intently. For them, he was a being from another sphere--no doubt
+a young milordo with power wealth, and glamorous life behind him. Which
+was just what Francis intended to convey. So handsome--so very, very
+impressive in all his elegant calm showiness. He made such a _bella
+figura_. It was just what the Italians loved. Those in the first class
+regions thought he might even be an Italian, he was so attractive.
+
+The train in motion, the many Italian eyes in the carriage studied
+Aaron. He, too, was good-looking. But by no means as fascinating as
+the young milordo. Not half as sympathetic. No good at all at playing a
+role. Probably a servant of the young signori.
+
+Aaron stared out of the window, and played the one single British role
+left to him, that of ignoring his neighbours, isolating himself in
+their midst, and minding his own business. Upon this insular trick our
+greatness and our predominance depends--such as it is. Yes, they might
+look at him. They might think him a servant or what they liked. But he
+was inaccessible to them. He isolated himself upon himself, and there
+remained.
+
+It was a lovely day, a lovely, lovely day of early autumn. Over the
+great plain of Lombardy a magnificent blue sky glowed like mid-summer,
+the sun shone strong. The great plain, with its great stripes of
+cultivation--without hedges or boundaries---how beautiful it was!
+Sometimes he saw oxen ploughing. Sometimes. Oh, so beautiful, teams
+of eight, or ten, even of twelve pale, great soft oxen in procession,
+ploughing the dark velvety earth, a driver with a great whip at their
+head, a man far behind holding the plough-shafts. Beautiful the soft,
+soft plunging motion of oxen moving forwards. Beautiful the strange,
+snaky lifting of the muzzles, the swaying of the sharp horns. And the
+soft, soft crawling motion of a team of oxen, so invisible, almost, yet
+so inevitable. Now and again straight canals of water flashed blue. Now
+and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars rose and made avenues
+or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain. Their top boughs were
+spangled with gold and green leaf. Sometimes the vine-leaves were gold
+and red, a patterning. And the great square farm-homesteads, white,
+red-roofed, with their out-buildings, stood naked amid the lands,
+without screen or softening. There was something big and exposed about
+it all. No more the cosy English ambushed life, no longer the cosy
+littleness of the landscape. A bigness--and nothing to shelter the
+unshrinking spirit. It was all exposed, exposed to the sweep of plain,
+to the high, strong sky, and to human gaze. A kind of boldness, an
+indifference. Aaron was impressed and fascinated. He looked with
+new interest at the Italians in the carriage with him--for this same
+boldness and indifference and exposed gesture. And he found it in them,
+too. And again it fascinated him. It seemed so much bigger, as if the
+walls of life had fallen. Nay, the walls of English life will have to
+fall.
+
+Sitting there in the third-class carriage, he became happy again. The
+_presence_ of his fellow-passengers was not so hampering as in England.
+In England, everybody seems held tight and gripped, nothing is left
+free. Every passenger seems like a parcel holding his string as fast as
+he can about him, lest one corner of the wrapper should come undone
+and reveal what is inside. And every other passenger is forced, by
+the public will, to hold himself as tight-bound also. Which in the end
+becomes a sort of self-conscious madness.
+
+But here, in the third class carriage, there was no tight string round
+every man. They were not all trussed with self-conscious string as tight
+as capons. They had a sufficient amount of callousness and indifference
+and natural equanimity. True, one of them spat continually on the floor,
+in large spits. And another sat with his boots all unlaced and his
+collar off, and various important buttons undone. They did not seem to
+care if bits of themselves did show, through the gaps in the wrapping.
+Aaron winced--but he preferred it to English tightness. He was pleased,
+he was happy with the Italians. He thought how generous and natural they
+were.
+
+So the towns passed by, and the hours, and he seemed at last to have got
+outside himself and his old conditions. It seemed like a great escape.
+There was magic again in life--real magic. Was it illusion, or was it
+genuine? He thought it was genuine, and opened his soul a if there was
+no danger.
+
+Lunch-time came. Francis summoned Aaron down the rocking tram. The
+three men had a table to themselves, and all felt they were enjoying
+themselves very much indeed. Of course Francis and Angus made a great
+impression again. But in the dining car were mostly middle-class,
+well-to-do Italians. And these did not look upon our two young heroes as
+two young wonders. No, rather with some criticism, and some class-envy.
+But they were impressed. Oh, they were impressed! How should they not
+be, when our young gentlemen had such an air! Aaron was conscious all
+the time that the fellow-diners were being properly impressed by
+the flower of civilisation and the salt of the earth, namely, young,
+well-to-do Englishmen. And he had a faint premonition, based on
+experience perhaps, that fellow-passengers in the end never forgive the
+man who has “impressed” them. Mankind loves being impressed. It asks to
+be impressed. It almost forces those whom it can force to play a role
+and to make an impression. And afterwards, never forgives.
+
+When the train ran into Bologna Station, they were still in the
+restaurant car. Nor did they go at once to their seats. Angus had paid
+the bill. There was three-quarters-of-an-hour's wait in Bologna.
+
+“You may as well come down and sit with us,” said Francis. “We've got
+nobody in our carriage, so why shouldn't we all stay together during the
+wait. You kept your own seat, I suppose.”
+
+No, he had forgotten. So when he went to look for it, it was occupied
+by a stout man who was just taking off his collar and wrapping a white
+kerchief round his neck. The third class carriages were packed. For
+those were early days after the war, while men still had pre-war
+notions and were poor. Ten months would steal imperceptibly by, and the
+mysterious revolution would be effected. Then, the second class and the
+first class would be packed, indescribably packed, crowded, on all
+great trains: and the third class carriages, lo and behold, would be
+comparatively empty. Oh, marvellous days of bankruptcy, when nobody will
+condescend to travel third!
+
+However, these were still modest, sombre months immediately after the
+peace. So a large man with a fat neck and a white kerchief, and his
+collar over his knee, sat in Aaron's seat. Aaron looked at the man,
+and at his own luggage overhead. The fat man saw him looking and stared
+back: then stared also at the luggage overhead: and with his almost
+invisible north-Italian gesture said much plainer than words would have
+said it: “Go to hell. I'm here and I'm going to stop here.”
+
+There was something insolent and unbearable about the look--and about
+the rocky fixity of the large man. He sat as if he had insolently taken
+root in his seat. Aaron flushed slightly. Francis and Angus strolled
+along the train, outside, for the corridor was already blocked with the
+mad Bologna rush, and the baggage belonging. They joined Aaron as he
+stood on the platform.
+
+“But where is YOUR SEAT?” cried Francis, peering into the packed and
+jammed compartments of the third class.
+
+“That man's sitting in it.”
+
+“Which?” cried Francis, indignant.
+
+“The fat one there--with the collar on his knee.”
+
+“But it was your seat--!”
+
+Francis' gorge rose in indignation. He mounted into the corridor. And in
+the doorway of the compartment he bridled like an angry horse rearing,
+bridling his head. Poising himself on one hip, he stared fixedly at the
+man with the collar on his knee, then at the baggage aloft. He looked
+down at the fat man as a bird looks down from the eaves of a house. But
+the man looked back with a solid, rock-like impudence, before which an
+Englishman quails: a jeering, immovable insolence, with a sneer round
+the nose and a solid-seated posterior.
+
+“But,” said Francis in English--none of them had any Italian yet. “But,”
+ said Francis, turning round to Aaron, “that was YOUR SEAT?” and he flung
+his long fore-finger in the direction of the fat man's thighs.
+
+“Yes!” said Aaron.
+
+“And he's TAKEN it--!” cried Francis in indignation.
+
+“And knows it, too,” said Aaron.
+
+“But--!” and Francis looked round imperiously, as if to summon his
+bodyguard. But bodyguards are no longer forthcoming, and train-guards
+are far from satisfactory. The fat man sat on, with a sneer-grin,
+very faint but very effective, round his nose, and a solidly-planted
+posterior. He quite enjoyed the pantomime of the young foreigners. The
+other passengers said something to him, and he answered laconic. Then
+they all had the faint sneer-grin round their noses. A woman in the
+corner grinned jeeringly straight in Francis' face. His charm failed
+entirely this time: and as for his commandingness, that was ineffectual
+indeed. Rage came up in him.
+
+“Oh well--something must be done,” said he decisively. “But didn't you
+put something in the seat to RESERVE it?”
+
+“Only that _New Statesman_--but he's moved it.”
+
+The man still sat with the invisible sneer-grin on his face, and that
+peculiar and immovable plant of his Italian posterior.
+
+“Mais--cette place etait RESERVEE--” said Francis, moving to the direct
+attack.
+
+The man turned aside and ignored him utterly--then said something to the
+men opposite, and they all began to show their teeth in a grin.
+
+Francis was not so easily foiled. He touched the man on the arm. The man
+looked round threateningly, as if he had been struck.
+
+“Cette place est reservee--par ce Monsieur--” said Francis with hauteur,
+though still in an explanatory tone, and pointing to Aaron.
+
+The Italian looked him, not in the eyes, but between the eyes, and
+sneered full in his face. Then he looked with contempt at Aaron. And
+then he said, in Italian, that there was room for such snobs in the
+first class, and that they had not any right to come occupying the place
+of honest men in the third.
+
+“Gia! Gia!” barked the other passengers in the carriage.
+
+“Loro possono andare prima classa--PRIMA CLASSA!” said the woman in the
+corner, in a very high voice, as if talking to deaf people, and pointing
+to Aaron's luggage, then along the train to the first class carriages.
+
+“C'e posto la,” said one of the men, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+There was a jeering quality in the hard insolence which made Francis go
+very red and Augus very white. Angus stared like a death's-head behind
+his monocle, with death-blue eyes.
+
+“Oh, never mind. Come along to the first class. I'll pay the difference.
+We shall be much better all together. Get the luggage down, Francis.
+It wouldn't be possible to travel with this lot, even if he gave up the
+seat. There's plenty of room in our carriage--and I'll pay the extra,”
+ said Angus.
+
+He knew there was one solution--and only one--Money.
+
+But Francis bit his finger. He felt almost beside himself--and quite
+powerless. For he knew the guard of the train would jeer too. It is
+not so easy to interfere with honest third-class Bolognesi in Bologna
+station, even if they _have_ taken another man's seat. Powerless,
+his brow knitted, and looking just like Mephistopheles with his high
+forehead and slightly arched nose, Mephistopheles in a rage, he hauled
+down Aaron's bag and handed it to Angus. So they transferred themselves
+to the first-class carriage, while the fat man and his party in the
+third-class watched in jeering, triumphant silence. Solid, planted,
+immovable, in static triumph.
+
+So Aaron sat with the others amid the red plush, whilst the train
+began its long slow climb of the Apennines, stinking sulphurous through
+tunnels innumerable. Wonderful the steep slopes, the great chestnut
+woods, and then the great distances glimpsed between the heights,
+Firenzuola away and beneath, Turneresque hills far off, built of
+heaven-bloom, not of earth. It was cold at the summit-station, ice and
+snow in the air, fierce. Our travellers shrank into the carriage again,
+and wrapped themselves round.
+
+Then the train began its long slither downhill, still through a whole
+necklace of tunnels, which fortunately no longer stank. So down and
+down, till the plain appears in sight once more, the Arno valley. But
+then began the inevitable hitch that always happens in Italian travel.
+The train began to hesitate--to falter to a halt, whistling shrilly
+as if in protest: whistling pip-pip-pip in expostulation as it stood
+forlorn among the fields: then stealing forward again and stealthily
+making pace, gathering speed, till it had got up a regular spurt: then
+suddenly the brakes came on with a jerk, more faltering to a halt,
+more whistling and pip-pip-pipping, as the engine stood jingling with
+impatience: after which another creak and splash, and another choking
+off. So on till they landed in Prato station: and there they sat. A
+fellow passenger told them, there was an hour to wait here: an hour.
+Something had happened up the line.
+
+“Then I propose we make tea,” said Angus, beaming.
+
+“Why not! Of course. Let us make tea. And I will look for water.”
+
+So Aaron and Francis went to the restaurant bar and filled the little
+pan at the tap. Angus got down the red picnic case, of which he was so
+fond, and spread out the various arrangements on the floor of the coupe.
+He soon had the spirit-lamp burning, the water heating. Francis proposed
+that he and Aaron should dash into Prato and see what could be bought,
+whilst the tea was in preparation. So off they went, leaving Angus like
+a busy old wizard manipulating his arrangements on the floor of the
+carriage, his monocle beaming with bliss. The one fat fellow--passenger
+with a lurid striped rug over his knees watched with acute interest.
+Everybody who passed the doorway stood to contemplate the scene with
+pleasure. Officials came and studied the situation with appreciation.
+Then Francis and Aaron returned with a large supply of roast chestnuts,
+piping hot, and hard dried plums, and good dried figs, and rather stale
+rusks. They found the water just boiling, Angus just throwing in the
+tea-egg, and the fellow-passenger just poking his nose right in, he was
+so thrilled.
+
+Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of
+civilisation. The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs
+and rusks were spread out: Francis flew for salt to the man at the
+bar, and came back with a little paper of rock-salt: the brown tea was
+dispensed in the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-case:
+and the picnic was in full swing. Angus, being in the height of his
+happiness, now sat on the seat cross-legged, with his feet under him, in
+the authentic Buddha fashion, and on his face the queer rapt alert look,
+half a smile, also somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass of brown
+tea in his hand. He was as rapt and immobile as if he really were in
+a mystic state. Yet it was only his delight in the tea-party. The
+fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and said in broken French, was it
+good. In equally fragmentary French Francis said very good, and offered
+the fat passenger some. He, however, held up his hand in protest, as if
+to say not for any money would he swallow the hot-watery stuff. And he
+pulled out a flask of wine. But a handful of chestnuts he accepted.
+
+The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who
+protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively. The fellow
+passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began to
+smile good-naturedly. Then the fellow-passenger--he was stout and fifty
+and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees--pointed out the
+Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled again.
+And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too. So he put aside his
+rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes in his hands,
+and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him. But his knees
+were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril, and he could no
+more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself. So he desisted
+suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and official heads in
+the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their teeth and teasing
+him. But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes with admiration. They
+loved the novelty and the fun. And on the thin, elegant Angus in his new
+London clothes, they looked really puzzled, as he sat there immobile,
+gleaming through his monocle like some Buddha going wicked, perched
+cross-legged and ecstatic on the red velvet seat. They marvelled that
+the lower half of him could so double up, like a foot-rule. So they
+stared till they had seen enough. When they suddenly said “Buon
+'appetito,” withdrew their heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and
+departed.
+
+Then the train set off also--and shortly after six arrived in Florence.
+It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence. The young men had
+engaged a room at Bertolini's hotel, on the Lungarno. Bertolini's was
+not expensive--but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure
+hotel life. However, he went along with the other two, trusting to find
+a cheaper place on the morrow.
+
+It was growing quite dark as they drove to the hotel, but still was
+light enough to show the river rustling, the Ponte Vecchio spanning its
+little storeys across the flood, on its low, heavy piers: and some sort
+of magic of the darkening, varied houses facing, on the other side of
+the stream. Of course they were all enchanted.
+
+“I knew,” said Francis, “we should love it.”
+
+Aaron was told he could have a little back room and pension terms for
+fifteen lire a day, if he stayed at least fifteen days. The exchange
+was then at forty-five. So fifteen lire meant just six-shillings-and-six
+pence a day, without extras. Extras meant wine, tea, butter, and light.
+It was decided he should look for something cheaper next day.
+
+By the tone of the young men, he now gathered that they would prefer it
+if he took himself off to a cheaper place. They wished to be on their
+own.
+
+“Well, then,” said Francis, “you will be in to lunch here, won't you?
+Then we'll see you at lunch.”
+
+It was as if both the young men had drawn in their feelers now. They
+were afraid of finding the new man an incubus. They wanted to wash their
+hands of him. Aaron's brow darkened.
+
+
+             “Perhaps it was right your love to dissemble
+              But why did you kick me down stairs?...”
+
+
+Then morning found him out early, before his friends had arisen. It was
+sunny again. The magic of Florence at once overcame him, and he forgot
+the bore of limited means and hotel costs. He went straight out of the
+hotel door, across the road, and leaned on the river parapet. There ran
+the Arno: not such a flood after all, but a green stream with shoals of
+pebbles in its course. Across, and in the delicate shadow of the early
+sun, stood the opposite Lungarno, the old flat houses, pink, or white,
+or grey stone, with their green shutters, some closed, some opened. It
+had a flowery effect, the skyline irregular against the morning light.
+To the right the delicate Trinita bridge, to the left, the old bridge
+with its little shops over the river. Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses
+of green, sky-bloomed country: Tuscany.
+
+There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows over
+the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and shouldering
+one another affectionately, drawing a load of country produce, then
+horses in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid palls, slowly
+pulling the long narrow carts of the district: and men hu-huing!--and
+people calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise of Florence.
+
+“Oh, Angus! Do come and look! OH, so lovely!”
+
+Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-silk
+pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the river
+towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if to catch
+there his cry of delight. The whole pose was classic and effective: and
+very amusing. How the Italians would love it!
+
+Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
+towards the Ponte Vecchio. He passed the bridge--and passed the
+Uffizi--watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato. Then he
+noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana--male
+and physical and melodramatic--and then the corner house. It was a big
+old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves. There was
+a notice plate by the door--“Pension Nardini.”
+
+He came to a full stop. He stared at the notice-plate, stared at the
+glass door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead soldier
+on the arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; _Mentana_--and
+the date! Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was. Then at last
+he summoned his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the first
+stairs.
+
+He waited some time before anybody appeared. Then a maid-servant.
+
+“Can I have a room?” said Aaron.
+
+The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into
+a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic
+grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour.
+Arrived at length a stout young lady--handsome, with big dark-blue
+Italian eyes--but anaemic and too stout.
+
+“Oh!” she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
+
+“Good-morning,” said Aaron awkwardly.
+
+“Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you
+know, to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady.
+Will you sit?”
+
+“Can I have a room?” said Aaron.
+
+“A room! Yes, you can.”
+
+“What terms?”
+
+“Terms! Oh! Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension--if you stay--How
+long will you stay?”
+
+“At least a month, I expect.”
+
+“A month! Oh yes. Yes, ten francs a day.”
+
+“For everything?”
+
+“Everything. Yes, everything. Coffee, bread, honey or jam in the
+morning: lunch at half-past twelve; tea in the drawing-room, half-past
+four: dinner at half-past seven: all very nice. And a warm room with the
+sun--Would you like to see?”
+
+So Aaron was led up the big, rambling old house to the top floor--then
+along a long old corridor--and at last into a big bedroom with two
+beds and a red tiled floor--a little dreary, as ever--but the sun just
+beginning to come in, and a lovely view on to the river, towards the
+Ponte Vecchio, and at the hills with their pines and villas and verdure
+opposite.
+
+Here he would settle. The signorina would send a man for his bags, at
+half past two in the afternoon.
+
+At luncheon Aaron found the two friends, and told them of his move.
+
+“How very nice for you! Ten francs a day--but that is nothing. I am so
+pleased you've found something. And when will you be moving in?” said
+Francis.
+
+“At half-past two.”
+
+“Oh, so soon. Yes, just as well.--But we shall see you from time to
+time, of course. What did you say the address was? Oh, yes--just near
+the awful statue. Very well. We can look you up any time--and you will
+find us here. Leave a message if we should happen not to be in--we've
+got lots of engagements--”
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. FLORENCE
+
+
+The very afternoon after Aaron's arrival in Florence the sky became
+dark, the wind cold, and rain began steadily to fall. He sat in his big,
+bleak room above the river, and watched the pale green water fused with
+yellow, the many-threaded streams fuse into one, as swiftly the surface
+flood came down from the hills. Across, the dark green hills looked
+darker in the wet, the umbrella pines held up in vain above the villas.
+But away below, on the Lungarno, traffic rattled as ever.
+
+Aaron went down at five o'clock to tea, and found himself alone next a
+group of women, mostly Swedes or Danish or Dutch, drinking a peculiar
+brown herb-brew which tasted like nothing else on earth, and eating two
+thick bits of darkish bread smeared with a brown smear which hoped
+it was jam, but hoped in vain. Unhappily he sat in the gilt and red,
+massively ornate room, while the foreign women eyed him. Oh, bitter to
+be a male under such circumstances.
+
+He escaped as soon as possible back to his far-off regions, lonely and
+cheerless, away above. But he rather liked the far-off remoteness in
+the big old Florentine house: he did not mind the peculiar dark, uncosy
+dreariness. It was not really dreary: only indifferent. Indifferent
+to comfort, indifferent to all homeliness and cosiness. The over-big
+furniture trying to be impressive, but never to be pretty or bright
+or cheerful. There it stood, ugly and apart. And there let it
+stand.--Neither did he mind the lack of fire, the cold sombreness of his
+big bedroom. At home, in England, the bright grate and the ruddy fire,
+the thick hearth-rug and the man's arm-chair, these had been inevitable.
+And now he was glad to get away from it all. He was glad not to have a
+cosy hearth, and his own arm-chair. He was glad to feel the cold, and to
+breathe the unwarmed air. He preferred the Italian way of no fires, no
+heating. If the day was cold, he was willing to be cold too. If it was
+dark, he was willing to be dark. The cosy brightness of a real home--it
+had stifled him till he felt his lungs would burst. The horrors of real
+domesticity. No, the Italian brutal way was better.
+
+So he put his overcoat over his knee, and studied some music he had
+bought in Milan: some Pergolesi and the Scarlatti he liked, and some
+Corelli. He preferred frail, sensitive, abstract music, with not much
+feeling in it, but a certain limpidity and purity. Night fell as he sat
+reading the scores. He would have liked to try certain pieces on his
+flute. But his flute was too sensitive, it winced from the new strange
+surroundings, and would not blossom.
+
+Dinner sounded at last--at eight o'clock, or something after. He had to
+learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late. Down he went, down
+the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases. The dining room was
+right downstairs. But he had a little table to himself near the door,
+the elderly women were at some little distance. The only other men were
+Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife and child
+and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway down the
+room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
+
+However, the food was good enough, and sufficient, and the waiter and
+the maid-servant cheerful and bustling. Everything felt happy-go-lucky
+and informal, there was no particular atmosphere. Nobody put on any
+airs, because nobody in the Nardini took any notice if they did. The
+little ducal dog yapped, the ducal son shouted, the waiter dropped half
+a dozen spoons, the old women knitted during the waits, and all went
+off so badly that it was quite pleasant. Yes, Aaron preferred it to
+Bertolini's, which was trying to be efficient and correct: though not
+making any strenuous effort. Still, Bertolini's was much more up to
+the scratch, there was the tension of proper standards. Whereas here at
+Nardini's, nothing mattered very much.
+
+It was November. When he got up to his far-off room again, Aaron felt
+almost as if he were in a castle with the drawbridge drawn up. Through
+the open window came the sound of the swelling Arno, as it rushed and
+rustled along over its gravel-shoals. Lights spangled the opposite side.
+Traffic sounded deep below. The room was not really cold, for the summer
+sun so soaks into these thick old buildings, that it takes a month or
+two of winter to soak it out.--The rain still fell.
+
+In the morning it was still November, and the dawn came slowly. And
+through the open window was the sound of the river's rushing. But the
+traffic started before dawn, with a bang and a rattle of carts, and
+a bang and jingle of tram-cars over the not-distant bridge. Oh, noisy
+Florence! At half-past seven Aaron rang for his coffee: and got it at a
+few minutes past eight. The signorina had told him to take his coffee in
+bed.
+
+Rain was still falling. But towards nine o'clock it lifted, and he
+decided to go out. A wet, wet world. Carriages going by, with huge wet
+shiny umbrellas, black and with many points, erected to cover the driver
+and the tail of the horse and the box-seat. The hood of the carriage
+covered the fare. Clatter-clatter through the rain. Peasants with long
+wagons and slow oxen, and pale-green huge umbrellas erected for the
+driver to walk beneath. Men tripping along in cloaks, shawls, umbrellas,
+anything, quite unconcerned. A man loading gravel in the river-bed, in
+spite of the wet. And innumerable bells ringing: but innumerable bells.
+The great soft trembling of the cathedral bell felt in all the air.
+
+Anyhow it was a new world. Aaron went along close to the tall thick
+houses, following his nose. And suddenly he caught sight of the long
+slim neck of the Palazzo Vecchio up above, in the air. And in another
+minute he was passing between massive buildings, out into the Piazza
+della Signoria. There he stood still and looked round him in real
+surprise, and real joy. The flat empty square with its stone paving was
+all wet. The great buildings rose dark. The dark, sheer front of the
+Palazzo Vecchio went up like a cliff, to the battlements, and the slim
+tower soared dark and hawk-like, crested, high above. And at the foot
+of the cliff stood the great naked David, white and stripped in the wet,
+white against the dark, warm-dark cliff of the building--and near, the
+heavy naked men of Bandinelli.
+
+The first thing he had seen, as he turned into the square, was the back
+of one of these Bandinelli statues: a great naked man of marble, with a
+heavy back and strong naked flanks over which the water was trickling.
+And then to come immediately upon the David, so much whiter, glistening
+skin-white in the wet, standing a little forward, and shrinking.
+
+He may be ugly, too naturalistic, too big, and anything else you like.
+But the David in the Piazza della Signoria, there under the dark great
+palace, in the position Michelangelo chose for him, there, standing
+forward stripped and exposed and eternally half-shrinking, half--wishing
+to expose himself, he is the genius of Florence. The adolescent, the
+white, self-conscious, physical adolescent: enormous, in keeping with
+the stark, grim, enormous palace, which is dark and bare as he is white
+and bare. And behind, the big, lumpy Bandinelli men are in keeping too.
+They may be ugly--but they are there in their place, and they have their
+own lumpy reality. And this morning in the rain, standing unbroken, with
+the water trickling down their flanks and along the inner side of their
+great thighs, they were real enough, representing the undaunted physical
+nature of the heavier Florentines.
+
+Aaron looked and looked at the three great naked men. David so much
+white, and standing forward, self-conscious: then at the great splendid
+front of the Palazzo Vecchio: and at the fountain splashing water
+upon its wet, wet figures; and the distant equestrian statue; and the
+stone-flagged space of the grim square. And he felt that here he was in
+one of the world's living centres, here, in the Piazza della Signoria.
+The sense of having arrived--of having reached a perfect centre of the
+human world: this he had.
+
+And so, satisfied, he turned round to look at the bronze Perseus which
+rose just above him. Benvenuto Cellini's dark hero looked female, with
+his plump hips and his waist, female and rather insignificant: graceful,
+and rather vulgar. The clownish Bandinellis were somehow more to the
+point.--Then all the statuary in the Loggia! But that is a mistake. It
+looks too much like the yard of a monumental mason.
+
+The great, naked men in the rain, under the dark-grey November sky, in
+the dark, strong inviolable square! The wonderful hawk-head of the old
+palace. The physical, self-conscious adolescent, Michelangelo's David,
+shrinking and exposing himself, with his white, slack limbs! Florence,
+passionate, fearless Florence had spoken herself out.--Aaron was
+fascinated by the Piazza della Signoria. He never went into the town,
+nor returned from it to his lodging, without contriving to pass through
+the square. And he never passed through it without satisfaction. Here
+men had been at their intensest, most naked pitch, here, at the end of
+the old world and the beginning of the new. Since then, always rather
+puling and apologetic.
+
+Aaron felt a new self, a new life-urge rising inside himself. Florence
+seemed to start a new man in him. It was a town of men. On Friday
+morning, so early, he heard the traffic. Early, he watched the rather
+low, two-wheeled traps of the peasants spanking recklessly over the
+bridge, coming in to town. And then, when he went out, he found the
+Piazza della Signoria packed with men: but all, all men. And all
+farmers, land-owners and land-workers. The curious, fine-nosed Tuscan
+farmers, with their half-sardonic, amber-coloured eyes. Their curious
+individuality, their clothes worn so easy and reckless, their hats with
+the personal twist. Their curious full oval cheeks, their tendency to be
+too fat, to have a belly and heavy limbs. Their close-sitting dark hair.
+And above all, their sharp, almost acrid, mocking expression, the silent
+curl of the nose, the eternal challenge, the rock-bottom unbelief,
+and the subtle fearlessness. The dangerous, subtle, never-dying
+fearlessness, and the acrid unbelief. But men! Men! A town of men, in
+spite of everything. The one manly quality, undying, acrid fearlessness.
+The eternal challenge of the un-quenched human soul. Perhaps too acrid
+and challenging today, when there is nothing left to challenge. But
+men--who existed without apology and without justification. Men who
+would neither justify themselves nor apologize for themselves. Just men.
+The rarest thing left in our sweet Christendom.
+
+Altogether Aaron was pleased with himself, for being in Florence. Those
+were early days after the war, when as yet very few foreigners had
+returned, and the place had the native sombreness and intensity. So that
+our friend did not mind being alone.
+
+The third day, however, Francis called on him. There was a tap at the
+bedroom door, and the young man entered, all eyes of curiosity.
+
+“Oh, there you ARE!” he cried, flinging his hand and twisting his waist
+and then laying his hand on his breast. “Such a LONG way up to you! But
+miles--! Well, how are you? Are you quite all right here? You are?
+I'm so glad--we've been so rushed, seeing people that we haven't had a
+MINUTE. But not a MINUTE! People! People! People! Isn't it amazing how
+many there are, and how many one knows, and gets to know! But amazing!
+Endless acquaintances!--Oh, and such quaint people here! so ODD! So MORE
+than odd! Oh, extraordinary--!” Francis chuckled to himself over the
+extraordinariness. Then he seated himself gracefully at Aaron's table.
+“Oh, MUSIC! What? Corelli! So interesting! So very CLEVER, these people,
+weren't they!--Corelli and the younger Scarlatti and all that crowd.”
+ Here he closed the score again. “But now--LOOK! Do you want to know
+anybody here, or don't you? I've told them about you, and of course
+they're dying to meet you and hear you play. But I thought it best not
+to mention anything about--about your being hard-up, and all that. I
+said you were just here on a visit. You see with this kind of people I'm
+sure it's much the best not to let them start off by thinking you will
+need them at all--or that you MIGHT need them. Why give yourself away,
+anyhow? Just meet them and take them for what they're worth--and then
+you can see. If they like to give you an engagement to play at some
+show or other--well, you can decide when the time comes whether you
+will accept. Much better that these kind of people shouldn't get it into
+their heads at once that they can hire your services. It doesn't do.
+They haven't enough discrimination for that. Much best make rather
+a favour of it, than sort of ask them to hire you.--Don't you agree?
+Perhaps I'm wrong.”
+
+Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine
+kindness of the young _beau_. And more still, he wondered at the
+profound social disillusionment. This handsome collie dog was something
+of a social wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment. But with genuine
+kindheartedness for another wolf. Aaron was touched.
+
+“Yes, I think that's the best way,” he said.
+
+“You do! Yes, so do I. Oh, they are such queer people! Why is it, do
+you think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER--so
+ultra-English--INCREDIBLE!--and at the same time so perfectly
+impossible? But impossible! Pathological, I assure you.--And as for
+their sexual behaviour--oh, dear, don't mention it. I assure you it
+doesn't bear mention.--And all quite flagrant, quite unabashed--under
+the cover of this fanatical Englishness. But I couldn't begin to TELL
+you all the things. It's just incredible.”
+
+Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and bear
+witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days. But a little
+gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry you anywhere.
+
+“Well now,” said Francis. “What are you doing today?”
+
+Aaron was not doing anything in particular.
+
+“Then will you come and have dinner with us--?”
+
+Francis fixed up the time and the place--a small restaurant at the other
+end of the town. Then he leaned out of the window.
+
+“Fascinating place! Oh, fascinating place!” he said, soliloquy. “And
+you've got a superb view. Almost better than ours, I think.--Well then,
+half-past seven. We're meeting a few other people, mostly residents or
+people staying some time. We're not inviting them. Just dropping in,
+you know--a little restaurant. We shall see you then! Well then, _a
+rivederci_ till this evening.--So glad you like Florence! I'm simply
+loving it--revelling. And the pictures!--Oh--”
+
+The party that evening consisted all of men: Francis and Angus, and a
+writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee, and
+deaf Walter Rosen. They all snapped and rattled at one another, and
+were rather spiteful but rather amusing. Francis and Angus had to leave
+early. They had another appointment. And James Argyle got quite tipsy,
+and said to Aaron:
+
+“But, my boy, don't let yourself be led astray by the talk of such
+people as Algy. Beware of them, my boy, if you've a soul to save. If
+you've a soul to save!” And he swallowed the remains of his litre.
+
+Algy's nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked. “And if you've
+a soul to LOSE,” he said, “I would warn you very earnestly against
+Argyle.” Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide, that
+Aaron was almost scared. “Quite right, my boy. Ha! Ha! Never a truer
+thing said! Ha-ha-ha.” Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy laugh.
+“They'll teach you to save. Never was such a lot of ripe old savers!
+Save their old trouser-buttons! Go to them if you want to learn to
+save. Oh, yes, I advise it seriously. You'll lose nothing--not even a
+reputation.--You may lose a SOUL, of course. But that's a detail, among
+such a hoard of banknotes and trouser-buttons. Ha-ha! What's a soul, to
+them--?”
+
+“What is it to you, is perhaps the more pertinent question,” said Algy,
+flapping his eyelids like some crazy owl. “It is you who specialise in
+the matter of soul, and we who are in need of enlightenment--”
+
+“Yes, very true, you ARE! You ARE in need of enlightenment. A set of
+benighted wise virgins. Ha-ha-ha! That's good, that--benighted wise
+virgins! What--” Argyle put his red face near to Aaron's, and made a
+_moue_, narrowing his eyes quizzically as he peered up from under his
+level grey eyebrows. “Sit in the dark to save the lamp-oil--And all no
+good to them.--When the bridegroom cometh--! Ha-ha! Good that! Good,
+my boy!--The bridegroom--” he giggled to himself. “What about the
+bridegroom, Algy, my boy? Eh? What about him? Better trim your wick, old
+man, if it's not too late--”
+
+“We were talking of souls, not wicks, Argyle,” said Algy.
+
+“Same thing. Upon my soul it all amounts to the same thing. Where's the
+soul in a man that hasn't got a bedfellow--eh?--answer me that! Can't be
+done you know. Might as well ask a virgin chicken to lay you an egg.”
+
+“Then there ought to be a good deal of it about,” said Algy.
+
+“Of what? Of soul? There ought to be a good deal of soul about?--Ah,
+because there's a good deal of--, you mean.--Ah, I wish it were so. I
+wish it were so. But, believe me, there's far more damned chastity in
+the world, than anything else. Even in this town.--Call it chastity, if
+you like. I see nothing in it but sterility. It takes a rat to praise
+long tails. Impotence set up the praise of chastity--believe me
+or not--but that's the bottom of it. The virtue is made out of the
+necessity.--Ha-ha-ha!--Like them! Like them! Ha-ha! Saving their souls!
+Why they'd save the waste matter of their bodies if they could. Grieves
+them to part with it.--Ha! ha!--ha!”
+
+There was a pause. Argyle was in his cups, which left no more to be
+said. Algy, quivering and angry, looked disconcertingly round the
+room as if he were quite calm and collected. The deaf Jewish Rosen was
+smiling down his nose and saying: “What was that last? I didn't catch
+that last,” cupping his ear with his hand in the frantic hope that
+someone would answer. No one paid any heed.
+
+“I shall be going,” said Algy, looking round. Then to Aaron he said,
+“You play the flute, I hear. May we hear you some time?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron, non-committal.
+
+“Well, look here--come to tea tomorrow. I shall have some friends, and
+Del Torre will play the piano. Come to tea tomorrow, will you?”
+
+“Thank you, I will.”
+
+“And perhaps you'll bring your flute along.”
+
+“Don't you do any such thing, my boy. Make them entertain YOU, for
+once.--They're always squeezing an entertainment out of somebody--”
+ and Argyle desperately emptied the remains of Algy's wine into his
+own glass: whilst Algy stood as if listening to something far off, and
+blinking terribly.
+
+“Anyhow,” he said at length, “you'll come, won't you? And bring the
+flute if you feel like it.”
+
+“Don't you take that flute, my boy,” persisted Argyle. “Don't think of
+such a thing. If they want a concert, let them buy their tickets and go
+to the Teatro Diana. Or to Marchesa del Torre's Saturday morning. She
+can afford to treat them.” Algy looked at Argyle, and blinked. “Well,”
+ he said. “I hope you'll get home all right, Argyle.”
+
+“Thank you for your courtesy, Algy. Won't you lend me your arm?”
+
+As Algy was small and frail, somewhat shaky, and as Argyle was a finely
+built, heavy man of fifty or more, the slap was unkind.
+
+“Afraid I can't tonight. Good-night--”
+
+Algy departed, so did little Mee, who had sat with a little delighted
+disapproval on his tiny, bird-like face, without saying anything. And
+even the Jew Rosen put away his deaf-machine and began awkwardly to take
+his leave. His long nose was smiling to itself complacently at all the
+things Argyle had been saying.
+
+When he, too, had gone, Argyle arched his brows at Aaron, saying:
+
+“Oh, my dear fellow, what a lot they are!--Little Mee--looking like an
+innocent little boy. He's over seventy if he's a day. Well over seventy.
+Well, you don't believe me. Ask his mother--ask his mother. She's
+ninety-five. Old lady of ninety-five--” Argyle even laughed himself at
+his own preposterousness.
+
+“And then Algy--Algy's not a fool, you know. Oh, he can be most
+entertaining, most witty, and amusing. But he's out of place here. He
+should be in Kensington, dandling round the ladies' drawing rooms and
+making his _mots_. They're rich, you know, the pair of them. Little Mee
+used to boast that he lived on eleven-and-three-pence a week. Had to,
+poor chap. But then what does a white mouse like that need? Makes a
+heavy meal on a cheese-paring. Luck, you know--but of course he's
+come into money as well. Rich as Croesus, and still lives on
+nineteen-and-two-pence a week. Though it's nearly double, of course,
+what it used to be. No wonder he looks anxious. They disapprove of
+me--oh, quite right, quite right from their own point of view. Where
+would their money be otherwise? It wouldn't last long if I laid hands
+on it--” he made a devilish quizzing face. “But you know, they get on
+my nerves. Little old maids, you know, little old maids. I'm sure I'm
+surprised at their patience with me.--But when people are patient
+with you, you want to spit gall at them. Don't you? Ha-ha-ha! Poor old
+Algy.--Did I lay it on him tonight, or did I miss him?”
+
+“I think you got him,” said Aaron.
+
+“He'll never forgive me. Depend on it, he'll never forgive me. Ha-ha! I
+like to be unforgiven. It adds ZEST to one's intercourse with people, to
+know that they'll never forgive one. Ha-ha-ha! Little old maids, who do
+their knitting with their tongues. Poor old Algy--he drops his stitches
+now. Ha-ha-ha!--Must be eighty, I should say.”
+
+Aaron laughed. He had never met a man like Argyle before--and he could
+not help being charmed. The other man had a certain wicked whimsicality
+that was very attractive, when levelled against someone else, and not
+against oneself. He must have been very handsome in his day, with his
+natural dignity, and his clean-shaven strong square face. But now his
+face was all red and softened and inflamed, his eyes had gone small and
+wicked under his bushy grey brows. Still he had a presence. And his grey
+hair, almost gone white, was still handsome.
+
+“And what are you going to do in Florence?” asked Argyle.
+
+Aaron explained.
+
+“Well,” said Argyle. “Make what you can out of them, and then go. Go
+before they have time to do the dirty on you. If they think you want
+anything from them, they'll treat you like a dog, like a dog. Oh,
+they're very frightened of anybody who wants anything of them:
+frightened to death. I see nothing of them.--Live by myself--see nobody.
+Can't stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties--simply can't
+stand it. No, I live alone--and shall die alone.--At least, I sincerely
+hope so. I should be sorry to have any of them hanging round.”
+
+The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter--he had of course
+contracted malaria during the war--was looking purple round the eyes.
+But Argyle callously sat on. Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
+
+“Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming,” said Argyle.
+
+He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat:
+and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he
+took his stick.
+
+“Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow,” said Argyle. “I am frayed
+at the wrists--look here!” He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just
+frayed through. “I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only
+somebody would bring it out to me.--Ready then! _Avanti!_”
+
+And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the
+very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his
+hotel door.
+
+“But come and see me,” said Argyle. “Call for me at twelve o'clock--or
+just before twelve--and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that
+all right?--Yes, come just before twelve.--When?--Tomorrow? Tomorrow
+morning? Will you come tomorrow?”
+
+Aaron said he would on Monday.
+
+“Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't
+you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. _I_ shan't forget.--Just
+before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In
+Paradise, as the porter always says. _Siamo nel paradiso_. But he's
+a _cretin_. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
+summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now--Monday, twelve
+o'clock.”
+
+And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps
+to his hotel door.
+
+The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a very pleasant flat
+indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any woman's
+flat was kept. So today, with its bowls of flowers and its pictures and
+books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed, fluttering and
+blinking and making really a charming host, it was all very delightful
+to the little mob of visitors. They were a curious lot, it is true:
+everybody rather exceptional. Which though it may be startling, is so
+very much better fun than everybody all alike. Aaron talked to an old,
+old Italian elegant in side-curls, who peeled off his grey gloves and
+studied his formalities with a delightful Mid-Victorian dash, and told
+stories about a _plaint_ which Lady Surry had against Lord Marsh, and
+was quite incomprehensible. Out rolled the English words, like plums out
+of a burst bag, and all completely unintelligible. But the old _beau_
+was supremely satisfied. He loved talking English, and holding his
+listeners spell-bound.
+
+Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre, an American woman
+from the Southern States, who had lived most of her life in Europe. She
+was about forty years of age, handsome, well-dressed, and quiet in the
+buzz of the tea-party. It was evident she was one of Algy's lionesses.
+Now she sat by Aaron, eating nothing, but taking a cup of tea and
+keeping still. She seemed sad--or not well perhaps. Her eyes were
+heavy. But she was very carefully made up, and very well dressed, though
+simply: and sitting there, full-bosomed, rather sad, remote-seeming, she
+suggested to Aaron a modern Cleopatra brooding, Anthony-less.
+
+Her husband, the Marchese, was a little intense Italian in a colonel's
+grey uniform, cavalry, leather gaiters. He had blue eyes, his hair was
+cut very short, his head looked hard and rather military: he would have
+been taken for an Austrian officer, or even a German, had it not been
+for the peculiar Italian sprightliness and touch of grimace in his
+mobile countenance. He was rather like a gnome--not ugly, but odd.
+
+Now he came and stood opposite to Signor di Lanti, and quizzed him
+in Italian. But it was evident, in quizzing the old buck, the little
+Marchese was hovering near his wife, in ear-shot. Algy came up with
+cigarettes, and she at once began to smoke, with that peculiar heavy
+intensity of a nervous woman.
+
+Aaron did not say anything--did not know what to say. He was peculiarly
+conscious of the woman sitting next to him, her arm near his. She smoked
+heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of cloud on her level,
+dark brows. Her hair was dark, but a softish brown, not black, and her
+skin was fair. Her bosom would be white.--Why Aaron should have had this
+thought, he could not for the life of him say.
+
+Manfredi, her husband, rolled his blue eyes and grimaced as he laughed
+at old Lanti. But it was obvious that his attention was diverted
+sideways, towards his wife. Aaron, who was tired of nursing a tea-cup,
+placed in on a table and resumed his seat in silence. But suddenly the
+little Marchese whipped out his cigarette-case, and making a little bow,
+presented it to Aaron, saying:
+
+“Won't you smoke?”
+
+“Thank you,” said Aaron.
+
+“Turkish that side--Virginia there--you see.”
+
+“Thank you, Turkish,” said Aaron.
+
+The little officer in his dove-grey and yellow uniform snapped his box
+shut again, and presented a light.
+
+“You are new in Florence?” he said, as he presented the match.
+
+“Four days,” said Aaron.
+
+“And I hear you are musical.”
+
+“I play the flute--no more.”
+
+“Ah, yes--but then you play it as an artist, not as an accomplishment.”
+
+“But how do you know?” laughed Aaron.
+
+“I was told so--and I believe it.”
+
+“That's nice of you, anyhow--But you are a musician too.”
+
+“Yes--we are both musicians--my wife and I.”
+
+Manfredi looked at his wife. She flicked the ash off her cigarette.
+
+“What sort?” said Aaron.
+
+“Why, how do you mean, what sort? We are dilettanti, I suppose.”
+
+“No--what is your instrument? The piano?”
+
+“Yes--the pianoforte. And my wife sings. But we are very much out of
+practice. I have been at the war four years, and we have had our home
+in Paris. My wife was in Paris, she did not wish to stay in Italy alone.
+And so--you see--everything goes--”
+
+“But you will begin again?”
+
+“Yes. We have begun already. We have music on Saturday mornings. Next
+Saturday a string quartette, and violin solos by a young Florentine
+woman--a friend--very good indeed, daughter of our Professor Tortoli,
+who composes--as you may know--”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron.
+
+“Would you care to come and hear--?”
+
+“Awfully nice if you would--” suddenly said the wife, quite simply, as
+if she had merely been tired, and not talking before.
+
+“I should like to very much--”
+
+“Do come then.”
+
+While they were making the arrangements, Algy came up in his blandest
+manner.
+
+“Now Marchesa--might we hope for a song?”
+
+“No--I don't sing any more,” came the slow, contralto reply.
+
+“Oh, but you can't mean you say that deliberately--”
+
+“Yes, quite deliberately--” She threw away her cigarette and opened her
+little gold case to take another.
+
+“But what can have brought you to such a disastrous decision?”
+
+“I can't say,” she replied, with a little laugh. “The war, probably.”
+
+“Oh, but don't let the war deprive us of this, as of everything else.”
+
+“Can't be helped,” she said. “I have no choice in the matter. The bird
+has flown--” She spoke with a certain heavy languor.
+
+“You mean the bird of your voice? Oh, but that is quite impossible. One
+can hear it calling out of the leaves every time you speak.”
+
+“I'm afraid you can't get him to do any more than call out of the
+leaves.”
+
+“But--but--pardon me--is it because you don't intend there should be any
+more song? Is that your intention?”
+
+“That I couldn't say,” said the Marchesa, smoking, smoking.
+
+“Yes,” said Manfredi. “At the present time it is because she WILL
+not--not because she cannot. It is her will, as you say.”
+
+“Dear me! Dear me!” said Algy. “But this is really another disaster
+added to the war list.--But--but--will none of us ever be able to
+persuade you?” He smiled half cajoling, half pathetic, with a prodigious
+flapping of his eyes.
+
+“I don't know,” said she. “That will be as it must be.”
+
+“Then can't we say it must be SONG once more?”
+
+To this sally she merely laughed, and pressed out her half-smoked
+cigarette.
+
+“How very disappointing! How very cruel of--of fate--and the
+war--and--and all the sum total of evils,” said Algy.
+
+“Perhaps--” here the little and piquant host turned to Aaron.
+
+“Perhaps Mr. Sisson, your flute might call out the bird of song. As
+thrushes call each other into challenge, you know. Don't you think that
+is very probable?”
+
+“I have no idea,” said Aaron.
+
+“But you, Marchesa. Won't you give us hope that it might be so?”
+
+“I've no idea, either,” said she. “But I should very much like to hear
+Mr. Sisson's flute. It's an instrument I like extremely.”
+
+“There now. You see you may work the miracle, Mr. Sisson. Won't you play
+to us?”
+
+“I'm afraid I didn't bring my flute along,” said Aaron “I didn't want to
+arrive with a little bag.”
+
+“Quite!” said Algy. “What a pity it wouldn't go in your pocket.”
+
+“Not music and all,” said Aaron.
+
+“Dear me! What a _comble_ of disappointment. I never felt so strongly,
+Marchesa, that the old life and the old world had collapsed.--Really--I
+shall soon have to try to give up being cheerful at all.”
+
+“Don't do that,” said the Marchesa. “It isn't worth the effort.”
+
+“Ah! I'm glad you find it so. Then I have hope.”
+
+She merely smiled, indifferent.
+
+The teaparty began to break up--Aaron found himself going down the
+stairs with the Marchesa and her husband. They descended all three in
+silence, husband and wife in front. Once outside the door, the husband
+asked:
+
+“How shall we go home, dear? Tram or carriage--?” It was evident he was
+economical.
+
+“Walk,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Aaron. “We are all going
+the same way, I believe.”
+
+Aaron said where he lived. They were just across the river. And so all
+three proceeded to walk through the town.
+
+“You are sure it won't be too much for you--too far?” said the little
+officer, taking his wife's arm solicitously. She was taller than he. But
+he was a spirited fellow.
+
+“No, I feel like walking.”
+
+“So long as you don't have to pay for it afterwards.”
+
+Aaron gathered that she was not well. Yet she did not look ill--unless
+it were nerves. She had that peculiar heavy remote quality of
+pre-occupation and neurosis.
+
+The streets of Florence were very full this Sunday evening, almost
+impassable, crowded particularly with gangs of grey-green soldiers. The
+three made their way brokenly, and with difficulty. The Italian was in a
+constant state of returning salutes. The grey-green, sturdy, unsoldierly
+soldiers looked at the woman as she passed.
+
+“I am sure you had better take a carriage,” said Manfredi.
+
+“No--I don't mind it.”
+
+“Do you feel at home in Florence?” Aaron asked her.
+
+“Yes--as much as anywhere. Oh, yes--quite at home.”
+
+“Do you like it as well as anywhere?” he asked.
+
+“Yes--for a time. Paris for the most part.”
+
+“Never America?”
+
+“No, never America. I came when I was quite a little girl to
+Europe--Madrid--Constantinople--Paris. I hardly knew America at all.”
+
+Aaron remembered that Francis had told him, the Marchesa's father had
+been ambassador to Paris.
+
+“So you feel you have no country of your own?”
+
+“I have Italy. I am Italian now, you know.”
+
+Aaron wondered why she spoke so muted, so numbed. Manfredi seemed really
+attached to her--and she to him. They were so simple with one another.
+
+They came towards the bridge where they should part.
+
+“Won't you come and have a cocktail?” she said.
+
+“Now?” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes. This is the right time for a cocktail. What time is it, Manfredi?”
+
+“Half past six. Do come and have one with us,” said the Italian. “We
+always take one about this time.”
+
+Aaron continued with them over the bridge. They had the first floor of
+an old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill. A man-servant opened
+the door.
+
+“If only it will be warm,” she said. “The apartment is almost impossible
+to keep warm. We will sit in the little room.”
+
+Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a
+mixture of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort. The
+Marchesa went away to take off her wraps, and the Marchese chatted with
+Aaron. The little officer was amiable and kind, and it was evident he
+liked his guest.
+
+“Would you like to see the room where we have music?” he said. “It is
+a fine room for the purpose--we used before the war to have music
+every Saturday morning, from ten to twelve: and all friends might come.
+Usually we had fifteen or twenty people. Now we are starting again. I
+myself enjoy it so much. I am afraid my wife isn't so enthusiastic as
+she used to be. I wish something would rouse her up, you know. The war
+seemed to take her life away. Here in Florence are so many amateurs.
+Very good indeed. We can have very good chamber-music indeed. I hope it
+will cheer her up and make her quite herself again. I was away for such
+long periods, at the front.--And it was not good for her to be alone.--I
+am hoping now all will be better.”
+
+So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the
+long salon. It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire
+period--beautiful old faded tapestry panels--reddish--and some ormolu
+furniture--and other things mixed in--rather conglomerate, but pleasing,
+all the more pleasing. It was big, not too empty, and seemed to belong
+to human life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing
+it.
+
+“Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this,” he said. “But
+I prefer this. I prefer it here.” There was a certain wistfulness as he
+looked round, then began to switch off the lights.
+
+They returned to the little salotta. The Marchesa was seated in a low
+chair. She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her
+throat. She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout.
+
+“Make the cocktails then, Manfredi,” she said. “Do you find this room
+very cold?” she asked of Aaron.
+
+“Not a bit cold,” he said.
+
+“The stove goes all the time,” she said, “but without much effect.”
+
+“You wear such thin clothes,” he said.
+
+“Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough. Do sit down. Will you smoke?
+There are cigarettes--and cigars, if you prefer them.”
+
+“No, I've got my own, thanks.”
+
+She took her own cigarette from her gold case.
+
+“It is a fine room, for music, the big room,” said he.
+
+“Yes, quite. Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?”
+
+“Do you want me to? I mean does it interest you?”
+
+“What--the flute?”
+
+“No--music altogether--”
+
+“Music altogether--! Well! I used to love it. Now--I'm not sure.
+Manfredi lives for it, almost.”
+
+“For that and nothing else?” asked Aaron.
+
+“No, no! No, no! Other things as well.”
+
+“But you don't like it much any more?”
+
+“I don't know. Perhaps I don't. I'm not sure.”
+
+“You don't look forward to the Saturday mornings?” he asked.
+
+“Perhaps I don't--but for Manfredi's sake, of course, I do. But for his
+sake more than my own, I admit. And I think he knows it.”
+
+“A crowd of people in one's house--” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, the people. But it's not only that. It's the music itself--I think
+I can't stand it any more. I don't know.”
+
+“Too emotional? Too much feeling for you?”
+
+“Yes, perhaps. But no. What I can't stand is chords, you know:
+harmonies. A number of sounds all sounding together. It just makes me
+ill. It makes me feel so sick.”
+
+“What--do you want discords?--dissonances?”
+
+“No--they are nearly as bad. No, it's just when any number of musical
+notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords. Even a
+single chord struck on the piano. It makes me feel sick. I just feel as
+if I should retch. Isn't it strange? Of course, I don't tell Manfredi.
+It would be too cruel to him. It would cut his life in two.”
+
+“But then why do you have the music--the Saturdays--then?”
+
+“Oh, I just keep out of the way as much as possible. I'm sure you feel
+there is something wrong with me, that I take it as I do,” she added, as
+if anxious: but half ironical.
+
+“No--I was just wondering--I believe I feel something the same myself. I
+know orchestra makes me blind with hate or I don't know what. But I want
+to throw bombs.”
+
+“There now. It does that to me, too. Only now it has fairly got me down,
+and I feel nothing but helpless nausea. You know, like when you are
+seasick.”
+
+Her dark-blue, heavy, haunted-looking eyes were resting on him as if
+she hoped for something. He watched her face steadily, a curious
+intelligence flickering on his own.
+
+“Yes,” he said. “I understand it. And I know, at the bottom, I'm like
+that. But I keep myself from realising, don't you know? Else perhaps,
+where should I be? Because I make my life and my living at it, as well.”
+
+“At music! Do you! But how bad for you. But perhaps the flute is
+different. I have a feeling that it is. I can think of one single
+pipe-note--yes, I can think of it quite, quite calmly. And I can't even
+think of the piano, or of the violin with its tremolo, or of orchestra,
+or of a string quartette--or even a military band--I can't think of
+it without a shudder. I can only bear drum-and-fife. Isn't it crazy of
+me--but from the other, from what we call music proper, I've endured too
+much. But bring your flute one day. Bring it, will you? And let me hear
+it quite alone. Quite, quite alone. I think it might do me an awful lot
+of good. I do, really. I can imagine it.” She closed her eyes and her
+strange, sing-song lapsing voice came to an end. She spoke almost like
+one in a trance--or a sleep-walker.
+
+“I've got it now in my overcoat pocket,” he said, “if you like.”
+
+“Have you? Yes!” She was never hurried: always slow and resonant, so
+that the echoes of her voice seemed to linger. “Yes--do get it. Do get
+it. And play in the other room--quite--quite without accompaniment.
+Do--and try me.”
+
+“And you will tell me what you feel?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+Aaron went out to his overcoat. When he returned with his flute, which
+he was screwing together, Manfredi had come with the tray and the three
+cocktails. The Marchesa took her glass.
+
+“Listen, Manfredi,” she said. “Mr. Sisson is going to play, quite alone
+in the sala. And I am going to sit here and listen.”
+
+“Very well,” said Manfredi. “Drink your cocktail first. Are you going to
+play without music?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron.
+
+“I'll just put on the lights for you.”
+
+“No--leave it dark. Enough light will come in from here.”
+
+“Sure?” said Manfredi.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+The little soldier was an intruder at the moment. Both the others felt
+it so. But they bore him no grudge. They knew it was they who were
+exceptional, not he. Aaron swallowed his drink, and looked towards the
+door.
+
+“Sit down, Manfredi. Sit still,” said the Marchesa.
+
+“Won't you let me try some accompaniment?” said the soldier.
+
+“No. I shall just play a little thing from memory,” said Aaron.
+
+“Sit down, dear. Sit down,” said the Marchesa to her husband.
+
+He seated himself obediently. The flash of bright yellow on the grey of
+his uniform seemed to make him like a chaffinch or a gnome.
+
+Aaron retired to the other room, and waited awhile, to get back the
+spell which connected him with the woman, and gave the two of them this
+strange isolation, beyond the bounds of life, as it seemed.
+
+He caught it again. And there, in the darkness of the big room, he put
+his flute to his lips, and began to play. It was a clear, sharp, lilted
+run-and-fall of notes, not a tune in any sense of the word, and yet
+a melody, a bright, quick sound of pure animation, a bright, quick,
+animate noise, running and pausing. It was like a bird's singing, in
+that it had no human emotion or passion or intention or meaning--a
+ripple and poise of animate sound. But it was unlike a bird's singing,
+in that the notes followed clear and single one after the other, in
+their subtle gallop. A nightingale is rather like that--a wild sound.
+To read all the human pathos into nightingales' singing is nonsense.
+A wild, savage, non-human lurch and squander of sound, beautiful, but
+entirely unaesthetic.
+
+What Aaron was playing was not of his own invention. It was a bit of
+mediaeval phrasing written for the pipe and the viol. It made the piano
+seem a ponderous, nerve-wracking steam-roller of noise, and the violin,
+as we know it, a hateful wire-drawn nerve-torturer.
+
+After a little while, when he entered the smaller room again, the
+Marchesa looked full into his face.
+
+“Good!” she said. “Good!”
+
+And a gleam almost of happiness seemed to light her up. She seemed like
+one who had been kept in a horrible enchanted castle--for years and
+years. Oh, a horrible enchanted castle, with wet walls of emotions and
+ponderous chains of feelings and a ghastly atmosphere of must-be. She
+felt she had seen through the opening door a crack of sunshine, and
+thin, pure, light outside air, outside, beyond this dank and
+beastly dungeon of feelings and moral necessity. Ugh!--she shuddered
+convulsively at what had been. She looked at her little husband. Chains
+of necessity all round him: a little jailor. Yet she was fond of him.
+If only he would throw away the castle keys. He was a little gnome. What
+did he clutch the castle-keys so tight for?
+
+Aaron looked at her. He knew that they understood one another, he and
+she. Without any moral necessity or any other necessity. Outside--they
+had got outside the castle of so-called human life. Outside the
+horrible, stinking human castle Of life. A bit of true, limpid freedom.
+Just a glimpse.
+
+“Charming!” said the Marchese. “Truly charming! But what was it you
+played?”
+
+Aaron told him.
+
+“But truly delightful. I say, won't you play for us one of these
+Saturdays? And won't you let me take the accompaniment? I should be
+charmed, charmed if you would.”
+
+“All right,” said Aaron.
+
+“Do drink another cocktail,” said his hostess.
+
+He did so. And then he rose to leave.
+
+“Will you stay to dinner?” said the Marchesa. “We have two people
+coming--two Italian relatives of my husband. But--”
+
+No, Aaron declined to stay to dinner.
+
+“Then won't you come on--let me see--on Wednesday? Do come on Wednesday.
+We are alone. And do bring the flute. Come at half-past six, as today,
+will you? Yes?”
+
+Aaron promised--and then he found himself in the street. It was
+half-past seven. Instead of returning straight home, he crossed the
+Ponte Vecchio and walked straight into the crowd. The night was fine
+now. He had his overcoat over his arm, and in a sort of trance or
+frenzy, whirled away by his evening's experience, and by the woman, he
+strode swiftly forward, hardly heeding anything, but rushing blindly on
+through all the crowd, carried away by his own feelings, as much as if
+he had been alone, and all these many people merely trees.
+
+Leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele a gang of soldiers suddenly rushed
+round him, buffeting him in one direction, whilst another gang, swinging
+round the corner, threw him back helpless again into the midst of the
+first gang. For some moments he struggled among the rude, brutal little
+mob of grey-green coarse uniforms that smelt so strong of soldiers.
+Then, irritated, he found himself free again, shaking himself and
+passing on towards the cathedral. Irritated, he now put on his overcoat
+and buttoned it to the throat, closing himself in, as it were, from the
+brutal insolence of the Sunday night mob of men. Before, he had been
+walking through them in a rush of naked feeling, all exposed to their
+tender mercies. He now gathered himself together.
+
+As he was going home, suddenly, just as he was passing the Bargello,
+he stopped. He stopped, and put his hand to his breast pocket. His
+letter-case was gone. He had been robbed. It was as if lightning ran
+through him at that moment, as if a fluid electricity rushed down his
+limbs, through the sluice of his knees, and out at his feet, leaving
+him standing there almost unconscious. For a moment unconscious and
+superconscious he stood there. He had been robbed. They had put their
+hand in his breast and robbed him. If they had stabbed him, it could
+hardly have had a greater effect on him.
+
+And he had known it. He had known it. When the soldiers jostled him so
+evilly they robbed him. And he knew it. He had known it as if it were
+fate. Even as if it were fated beforehand.
+
+Feeling quite weak and faint, as if he had really been struck by some
+evil electric fluid, he walked on. And as soon as he began to walk, he
+began to reason. Perhaps his letter-case was in his other coat. Perhaps
+he had not had it with him at all. Perhaps he was feeling all this, just
+for nothing. Perhaps it was all folly.
+
+He hurried forward. He wanted to make sure. He wanted relief. It was
+as if the power of evil had suddenly seized him and thrown him, and he
+wanted to say it was not so, that he had imagined it all, conjured it
+up. He did not want to admit the power of evil--particularly at that
+moment. For surely a very ugly evil spirit had struck him, in the midst
+of that gang of Italian soldiers. He knew it--it had pierced him. It had
+_got_ him.
+
+But he wanted to say it was not so. Reaching the house, he hastened
+upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors. Once
+in his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a
+sensation like fear at his heart. Then he searched his other pockets. He
+looked everywhere. In vain.
+
+In vain, truly enough. For he _knew_ the thing was stolen. He had known
+it all along. The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had deliberately
+rushed him and taken his purse. They must have watched him previously.
+They must have grinned, and jeered at him.
+
+He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock. The pocket-book
+contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various
+letters and private effects. Well, these were lost. But it was not so
+much the loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel
+so stricken. He felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they
+jostled him.
+
+And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: “Yes--and if I
+hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if
+I hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
+through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened. I
+gave myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave. I
+gave myself away. It is my own fault. I should have been on my guard.
+I should be always on my guard: always, always. With God and the devil
+both, I should be on my guard. Godly or devilish, I should hold fast to
+my reserve and keep on the watch. And if I don't, I deserve what I get.”
+
+But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed. One part of his
+soul was saying emphatically: It serves you right. It is nothing but
+right. It serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the
+street, and trusts implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as if
+mankind and the life-spirit were a playground for enkindled individuals.
+It serves you right. You have paid about twelve pounds sterling for your
+lesson. Fool, you might have known beforehand, and then you needn't have
+paid at all. You can ill afford twelve pounds sterling, you fool. But
+since paid you have, then mind, mind the lesson is learned. Never
+again. Never expose yourself again. Never again absolute trust. It is
+a blasphemy against life, is absolute trust. Has a wild creature ever
+absolute trust? It minds itself. Sleeping or waking it is on its guard.
+And so must you be, or you'll go under. Sleeping or waking, man or
+woman, God or the devil, keep your guard over yourself. Keep your guard
+over yourself, lest worse befall you. No man is robbed unless he incites
+a robber. No man is murdered unless he attracts a murderer. Then be not
+robbed: it lies within your own power. And be not murdered. Or if you
+are, you deserve it. Keep your guard over yourself, now, always and
+forever. Yes, against God quite as hard as against the devil. He's fully
+as dangerous to you....
+
+Thus thinking, not in his mind but in his soul, his active, living soul,
+he gathered his equanimity once more, and accepted the fact. So he rose
+and tidied himself for dinner. His face was now set, and still. His
+heart also was still--and fearless. Because its sentinel was stationed.
+Stationed, stationed for ever.
+
+And Aaron never forgot. After this, it became essential to him to feel
+that the sentinel stood guard in his own heart. He felt a strange unease
+the moment he was off his guard. Asleep or awake, in the midst of the
+deepest passion or the suddenest love, or in the throes of greatest
+excitement or bewilderment, somewhere, some corner of himself was awake
+to the fact that the sentinel of the soul must not sleep, no, never, not
+for one instant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+
+
+Aaron and Lilly sat in Argyle's little loggia, high up under the eaves
+of the small hotel, a sort of long attic-terrace just under the roof,
+where no one would have suspected it. It was level with the grey conical
+roof of the Baptistery. Here sat Aaron and Lilly in the afternoon, in
+the last of the lovely autumn sunshine. Below, the square was
+already cold in shadow, the pink and white and green Baptistery rose
+lantern-shaped as from some sea-shore, cool, cold and wan now the sun
+was gone. Black figures, innumerable black figures, curious because they
+were all on end, up on end--Aaron could not say why he expected them to
+be horizontal--little black figures upon end, like fishes that swim on
+their tails, wiggled endlessly across the piazza, little carriages on
+natural all-fours rattled tinily across, the yellow little tram-cars,
+like dogs slipped round the corner. The balcony was so high up, that
+the sound was ineffectual. The upper space, above the houses, was
+nearer than the under-currents of the noisy town. Sunlight, lovely full
+sunlight, lingered warm and still on the balcony. It caught the facade
+of the cathedral sideways, like the tips of a flower, and sideways lit
+up the stem of Giotto's tower, like a lily stem, or a long, lovely pale
+pink and white and green pistil of the lily of the cathedral. Florence,
+the flowery town. Firenze--Fiorenze--the flowery town: the red lilies.
+The Fiorentini, the flower-souled. Flowers with good roots in the mud
+and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms in air, like the cathedral
+and the tower and the David.
+
+“I love it,” said Lilly. “I love this place, I love the cathedral and
+the tower. I love its pinkness and its paleness. The Gothic souls find
+fault with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap. But I love
+it, it is delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they should be,
+like the tiger marks on a pink lily. It's a lily, not a rose; a pinky
+white lily with dark tigery marks. And heavy, too, in its own substance:
+earth-substance, risen from earth into the air: and never forgetting
+the dark, black-fierce earth--I reckon here men for a moment were
+themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment completely itself.
+Then it goes off. As Florence has gone off. No flowers now. But it HAS
+flowered. And I don't see why a race should be like an aloe tree, flower
+once and die. Why should it? Why not flower again? Why not?”
+
+“If it's going to, it will,” said Aaron. “Our deciding about it won't
+alter it.”
+
+“The decision is part of the business.”
+
+Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of
+the windows. He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.
+
+“Do you think you're wise now,” he said, “to sit in that sun?”
+
+“In November?” laughed Lilly.
+
+“Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month,” said Argyle.
+“Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' _I_ say. I'm frightened of it. I've been
+in the South, I know what it is. I tell you I'm frightened of it. But if
+you think you can stand it--well--”
+
+“It won't last much longer, anyhow,” said Lilly.
+
+“Too long for me, my boy. I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the word,
+in all senses of the word.--Now are you comfortable? What? Have another
+cushion? A rug for your knees? You're quite sure now? Well, wait just
+one moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and you shall have a
+whiskey and soda. Precious--oh, yes, very precious these days--like
+drinking gold. Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!” Argyle pulled a long
+face, and made a noise with his lips. “But I had this bottle given me,
+and luckily you've come while there's a drop left. Very glad you have!
+Very glad you have.”
+
+Here he poked a little table through the window, and put a bottle and
+two glasses, one a tooth-glass, upon it. Then he withdrew again to
+finish shaving. The waiter presently hobbled up with the syphon and
+third glass. Argyle pushed his head through the window, that was only
+a little higher than the balcony. He was soon neatly shaved, and was
+brushing his hair.
+
+“Go ahead, my boys, go ahead with that whiskey!” he said.
+
+“We'll wait for you,” said Lilly.
+
+“No, no, don't think of it. However, if you will, I shall be one minute
+only--one minute only. I'll put on the water for the tea now. Oh, damned
+bad methylated spirit they sell now! And six francs a litre! Six francs
+a litre! I don't know what I'm going to do, the air I breathe costs
+money nowadays--Just one moment and I'll be with you! Just one moment--”
+
+In a very little while he came from the tiny attic bedroom, through
+the tiniest cupboard of a sitting-room under the eaves, where his
+books were, and where he had hung his old red India tapestries--or silk
+embroideries--and he emerged there up above the world on the loggia.
+
+“Now then--_siamo nel paradiso_, eh? Paradisal enough for you, is it?”
+
+“The devil looking over Lincoln,” said Lilly laughing, glancing up into
+Argyle's face.
+
+“The devil looking over Florence would feel sad,” said Argyle. “The
+place is fast growing respectable--Oh, piety makes the devil chuckle.
+But respectability, my boy, argues a serious diminution of spunk. And
+when the spunk diminishes we-ell--it's enough to make the most sturdy
+devil look sick. What? No doubt about it, no doubt whatever--There--!”
+ he had just finished settling his tie and buttoning his waistcoat. “How
+do I look, eh? Presentable?--I've just had this suit turned. Clever
+little tailor across the way there. But he charged me a hundred and
+twenty francs.” Argyle pulled a face, and made the little trumping noise
+with his lips. “However--not bad, is it?--He had to let in a bit at the
+back of the waistcoat, and a gusset, my boy, a gusset--in the trousers
+back. Seems I've grown in the arsal region. Well, well, might do
+worse.--Is it all right?”
+
+Lilly eyed the suit.
+
+“Very nice. Very nice indeed. Such a good cloth! That makes all the
+difference.”
+
+“Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference! This suit is eleven years
+old--eleven years old. But beautiful English cloth--before the war,
+before the war!”
+
+“It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now,” said Lilly.
+
+“Expensive and smart, eh! Ha-ha-ha! Well, it cost me a hundred and
+twenty francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough.
+Well, now, come--” here Argyle's voice took on a new gay cheer. “A
+whiskey and soda, Lilly? Say when! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! You're going
+to have double that. You're no lily of the valley here, remember. Not
+with me. Not likely. _Siamo nel paradiso_, remember.”
+
+“But why should we drink your whiskey? Tea would do for us just as
+well.”
+
+“Not likely! Not likely! When I have the pleasure of your company, my
+boy, we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped. Say
+when, Aaron.”
+
+“When,” said Aaron.
+
+Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair. The sun had left
+the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto's tower and the top of the
+cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red-tiled dome.
+
+“Look at my little red monthly rose,” said Argyle. “Wonderful little
+fellow! I wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world. Oh, a
+bacchic little chap. I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his hair.
+Very becoming they were, very.--Oh, I've had a charming show of flowers.
+Wonderful creatures sunflowers are.” They got up and put their heads
+over the balcony, looking down on the square below. “Oh, great fun,
+great fun.--Yes, I had a charming show of flowers, charming.--Zinnias,
+petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks--oh, charming. Look at
+that bit of honeysuckle. You see the berries where his flowers were!
+Delicious scent, I assure you.”
+
+Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red-tiled pots, all
+round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst in a
+corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood-drops. Argyle was
+as tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he were a
+first-rate sea-man on a yacht. Lilly remarked on this.
+
+“Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me? Oh, I don't doubt
+it. I don't doubt it. We all end that way. Age makes old maids of us
+all. And Tanny is all right, you say? Bring her to see me. Why didn't
+she come today?”
+
+“You know you don't like people unless you expect them.”
+
+“Oh, but my dear fellow!--You and Tanny; you'd be welcome if you came
+at my busiest moment. Of course you would. I'd be glad to see you if you
+interrupted me at any crucial moment.--I am alone now till August. Then
+we shall go away together somewhere. But you and Tanny; why, there's the
+world, and there's Lilly: that's how I put it, my boy.”
+
+“All right, Argyle.--Hoflichkeiten.”
+
+“What? Gar keine Hoflichkeiten. Wahrhaftiger Kerl bin ich.--When am I
+going to see Tanny? When are you coming to dine with me?”
+
+“After you've dined with us--say the day after tomorrow.”
+
+“Right you are. Delighted--. Let me look if that water's boiling.”
+ He got up and poked half himself inside the bedroom. “Not yet. Damned
+filthy methylated spirit they sell.”
+
+“Look,” said Lilly. “There's Del Torre!”
+
+“Like some sort of midge, in that damned grey-and-yellow uniform. I
+can't stand it, I tell you. I can't stand the sight of any more of these
+uniforms. Like a blight on the human landscape. Like a blight. Like
+green-flies on rose-trees, smother-flies. Europe's got the smother-fly
+in these infernal shoddy militarists.”
+
+“Del Torre's coming out of it as soon as he can,” said Lilly.
+
+“I should think so, too.”
+
+“I like him myself--very much. Look, he's seen us! He wants to come up,
+Argyle.”
+
+“What, in that uniform! I'll see him in his grandmother's crinoline
+first.”
+
+“Don't be fanatical, it's bad taste. Let him come up a minute.”
+
+“Not for my sake. But for yours, he shall,” Argyle stood at the parapet
+of the balcony and waved his arm. “Yes, come up,” he said, “come up, you
+little mistkafer--what the Americans call a bug. Come up and be damned.”
+
+Of course Del Torre was too far off to hear this exhortation. Lilly also
+waved to him--and watched him pass into the doorway far below.
+
+“I'll rinse one of these glasses for him,” said Argyle.
+
+The Marchese's step was heard on the stone stairs: then his knock.
+
+“Come in! Come in!” cried Argyle from the bedroom, where he was rinsing
+the glass. The Marchese entered, grinning with his curious, half
+courteous greeting. “Go through--go through,” cried Argyle. “Go on to
+the loggia--and mind your head. Good heavens, mind your head in that
+doorway.”
+
+The Marchese just missed the top of the doorway as he climbed the abrupt
+steps on to the loggia.--There he greeted Lilly and Aaron with hearty
+handshakes.
+
+“Very glad to see you--very glad, indeed!” he cried, grinning with
+excited courtesy and pleasure, and covering Lilly's hand with both his
+own gloved hands. “When did you come to Florence?”
+
+There was a little explanation. Argyle shoved the last chair--it was a
+luggage stool--through the window.
+
+“All I can do for you in the way of a chair,” he said.
+
+“Ah, that is all right,” said the Marchese. “Well, it is very nice
+up here--and very nice company. Of the very best, the very best in
+Florence.”
+
+“The highest, anyhow,” said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the glass.
+“Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre. It's the bottom of the bottle, as
+you see.”
+
+“The bottom of the bottle! Then I start with the tail-end, yes!” He
+stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and grinned
+a wide, gnome-like grin.
+
+“You made that start long ago, my dear fellow. Don't play the _ingenue_
+with me, you know it won't work. Say when, my man, say when!”
+
+“Yes, when,” said Del Torre. “When did I make that start, then?”
+
+“At some unmentionably young age. Chickens such as you soon learn to
+cheep.”
+
+“Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap,” repeated Del Torre, pleased
+with the verbal play. “What is cheap, please? What is TO CHEAP?”
+
+“Cheep! Cheep!” squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian,
+who was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool. “It's what chickens
+say when they're poking their little noses into new adventures--naughty
+ones.”
+
+“Are chickens naughty? Oh! I thought they could only be good!”
+
+“Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy.”
+
+“Oh, as for featherless--then there is no saying what they will do.--”
+ And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable
+question to Lilly:
+
+“Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?”
+
+Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.
+
+“Good! Then you will come and see us at once....”
+
+Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea. He shoved a lump of
+cake--or rather panetone, good currant loaf--through the window, with a
+knife to cut it.
+
+“Help yourselves to the panetone,” he said. “Eat it up. The tea is
+coming at once. You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only
+one old cup.”
+
+The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces. The two men took and ate.
+
+“So you have already found Mr. Sisson!” said Del Torre to Lilly.
+
+“Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale,” said Lilly.
+
+“Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence. We are all already
+acquainted: also with the flute. That is a great pleasure.”
+
+“So I think.--Does your wife like it, too?”
+
+“Very much, indeed! She is quite _eprise_. I, too, shall have to learn
+to play it.”
+
+“And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth--like Alcibiades.”
+
+“Is there a risk? Yes! Then I shan't play it. My mouth is too
+beautiful.--But Mr. Sisson has not spoilt his mouth.”
+
+“Not yet,” said Lilly. “Give him time.”
+
+“Is he also afraid--like Alcibiades?”
+
+“Are you, Aaron?” said Lilly.
+
+“What?”
+
+“Afraid of spoiling your beauty by screwing your mouth to the flute?”
+
+“I look a fool, do I, when I'm playing?” said Aaron.
+
+“Only the least little bit in the world,” said Lilly. “The way you
+prance your head, you know, like a horse.”
+
+“Ah, well,” said Aaron. “I've nothing to lose.”
+
+“And were you surprised, Lilly, to find your friend here?” asked Del
+Torre.
+
+“I ought to have been. But I wasn't really.”
+
+“Then you expected him?”
+
+“No. It came naturally, though.--But why did you come, Aaron? What
+exactly brought you?”
+
+“Accident,” said Aaron.
+
+“Ah, no! No! There is no such thing as accident,” said the Italian. “A
+man is drawn by his fate, where he goes.”
+
+“You are right,” said Argyle, who came now with the teapot. “A man is
+drawn--or driven. Driven, I've found it. Ah, my dear fellow, what is
+life but a search for a friend? A search for a friend--that sums it up.”
+
+“Or a lover,” said the Marchese, grinning.
+
+“Same thing. Same thing. My hair is white--but that is the sum of my
+whole experience. The search for a friend.” There was something at once
+real and sentimental in Argyle's tone.
+
+“And never finding?” said Lilly, laughing.
+
+“Oh, what would you? Often finding. Often finding. And losing, of
+course.--A life's history. Give me your glass. Miserable tea, but nobody
+has sent me any from England--”
+
+“And you will go on till you die, Argyle?” said Lilly. “Always seeking a
+friend--and always a new one?”
+
+“If I lose the friend I've got. Ah, my dear fellow, in that case I shall
+go on seeking. I hope so, I assure you. Something will be very wrong
+with me, if ever I sit friendless and make no search.”
+
+“But, Argyle, there is a time to leave off.”
+
+“To leave off what, to leave off what?”
+
+“Having friends: or a friend, rather: or seeking to have one.”
+
+“Oh, no! Not at all, my friend. Not at all! Only death can make an end
+of that, my friend. Only death. And I should say, not even death. Not
+even death ends a man's search for a friend. That is my belief. You may
+hang me for it, but I shall never alter.”
+
+“Nay,” said Lilly. “There is a time to love, and a time to leave off
+loving.”
+
+“All I can say to that is that my time to leave off hasn't come yet,”
+ said Argyle, with obstinate feeling.
+
+“Ah, yes, it has. It is only a habit and an idea you stick to.”
+
+“Indeed, it is no such thing. Indeed, it is no such thing. It is a
+profound desire and necessity: and what is more, a belief.”
+
+“An obstinate persistency, you mean,” said Lilly.
+
+“Well, call it so if it pleases you. It is by no means so to me.” There
+was a brief pause. The sun had left the cathedral dome and the tower,
+the sky was full of light, the square swimming in shadow.
+
+“But can a man live,” said the Marchese, “without having something he
+lives for: something he wishes for, or longs for, and tries that he may
+get?”
+
+“Impossible! Completely impossible!” said Argyle. “Man is a seeker, and
+except as such, he has no significance, no importance.”
+
+“He bores me with his seeking,” said Lilly. “He should learn to possess
+himself--to be himself--and keep still.”
+
+“Ay, perhaps so,” said Aaron. “Only--”
+
+“But my dear boy, believe me, a man is never himself save in the supreme
+state of love: or perhaps hate, too, which amounts to the same thing.
+Never really himself.--Apart from this he is a tram-driver or a
+money-shoveller or an idea-machine. Only in the state of love is he
+really a man, and really himself. I say so, because I know,” said
+Argyle.
+
+“Ah, yes. That is one side of the truth. It is quite true, also. But it
+is just as true to say, that a man is never less himself, than in the
+supreme state of love. Never less himself, than then.”
+
+“Maybe! Maybe! But what could be better? What could be better than to
+lose oneself with someone you love, entirely, and so find yourself. Ah,
+my dear fellow, that is my creed, that is my creed, and you can't shake
+me in it. Never in that. Never in that.”
+
+“Yes, Argyle,” said Lilly. “I know you're an obstinate love-apostle.”
+
+“I am! I am! And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals
+which I never transgress. Never transgress. And never abandon.”
+
+“All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker.”
+
+“Pray God I am,” said Argyle.
+
+“Yes,” said the Marchese. “Perhaps we are all so. What else do you give?
+Would you have us make money? Or do you give the centre of your spirit
+to your work? How is it to be?”
+
+“I don't vitally care either about money or my work or--” Lilly
+faltered.
+
+“Or what, then?”
+
+“Or anything. I don't really care about anything. Except that--”
+
+“You don't care about anything? But what is that for a life?” cried the
+Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
+
+“What do YOU care for?” asked Lilly.
+
+“Me? I care for several things. I care for my wife. I care for love. And
+I care to be loved. And I care for some pleasures. And I care for music.
+And I care for Italy.”
+
+“You are well off for cares,” said Lilly.
+
+“And you seem to me so very poor,” said Del Torre.
+
+“I should say so--if he cares for nothing,” interjaculated Argyle. Then
+he clapped Lilly on the shoulder with a laugh. “Ha! Ha! Ha!--But he only
+says it to tease us,” he cried, shaking Lilly's shoulder. “He cares more
+than we do for his own way of loving. Come along, don't try and take
+us in. We are old birds, old birds,” said Argyle. But at that moment he
+seemed a bit doddering.
+
+“A man can't live,” said the Italian, “without an object.”
+
+“Well--and that object?” said Lilly.
+
+“Well--it may be many things. Mostly it is two things.--love, and money.
+But it may be many things: ambition, patriotism, science, art--many
+things. But it is some objective. Something outside the self. Perhaps
+many things outside the self.”
+
+“I have had only one objective all my life,” said Argyle. “And that was
+love. For that I have spent my life.”
+
+“And the lives of a number of other people, too,” said Lilly.
+
+“Admitted. Oh, admitted. It takes two to make love: unless you're a
+miserable--”
+
+“Don't you think,” said Aaron, turning to Lilly, “that however you try
+to get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself
+into a job--you've got to, you've got to try and find something
+else--somebody else--somebody. You can't really be alone.”
+
+“No matter how many mistakes you've made--you can't really be alone--?”
+ asked Lilly.
+
+“You can be alone for a minute. You can be alone just in that minute
+when you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone,
+because the other thing wasn't to be borne. But you can't keep on being
+alone. No matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel, thank God
+to be alone (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh air and be
+alone), no matter how many times you've felt this--it wears off every
+time, and you begin to look again--and you begin to roam round. And
+even if you won't admit it to yourself, still you are seeking--seeking.
+Aren't you? Aren't you yourself seeking?”
+
+“Oh, that's another matter,” put in Argyle. “Lilly is happily married
+and on the shelf. With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think
+so--RATHER! But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case.
+As for me, I made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent me
+to hell. But I didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and woman.
+Not by ANY means.”
+
+“Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?” asked the Marchese. “Do you seek
+nothing?”
+
+“We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek
+anything?” said Lilly. “Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss with
+the wonderful women who honour us as wives?”
+
+“Ah, yes, yes!” said the Marchese. “But now we are not speaking to the
+world. Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre of our
+hearts.”
+
+“And what have we there?” said Lilly.
+
+“Well--shall I say? We have unrest. We have another need. We have
+something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside. Do I speak the
+truth?”
+
+“Yes. But what is the something?”
+
+“I don't know. I don't know. But it is something in love, I think. It is
+love itself which gnaws us inside, like a cancer,” said the Italian.
+
+“But why should it? Is that the nature of love?” said Lilly.
+
+“I don't know. Truly. I don't know.--But perhaps it is in the nature of
+love--I don't know.--But I tell you, I love my wife--she is very dear
+to me. I admire her, I trust her, I believe her. She is to me much more
+than any woman, more even than my mother.--And so, I am very happy. I am
+very happy, she is very happy, in our love and our marriage.--But wait.
+Nothing has changed--the love has not changed: it is the same.--And yet
+we are NOT happy. No, we are not happy. I know she is not happy, I know
+I am not--”
+
+“Why should you be?” said Lilly.
+
+“Yes--and it is not even happiness,” said the Marchese, screwing up his
+face in a painful effort of confession. “It is not even happiness. No,
+I do not ask to be happy. Why should I? It is childish--but there is for
+both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which eats us within,
+and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know where. But it drives
+us, and eats away the life--and yet we love each other, and we must not
+separate--Do you know what I mean? Do you understand me at all in what I
+say? I speak what is true.”
+
+“Yes, I understand. I'm in the same dilemma myself.--But what I want to
+hear, is WHY you think it is so. Why is it?”
+
+“Shall I say what I think? Yes? And you can tell me if it is foolish to
+you.--Shall I tell you? Well. Because a woman, she now first wants the
+man, and he must go to her because he is wanted. Do you understand?--You
+know--supposing I go to a woman--supposing she is my wife--and I go to
+her, yes, with my blood all ready, because it is I who want. Then she
+puts me off. Then she says, not now, not now, I am tired, I am not well.
+I do not feel like it. She puts me off--till I am angry or sorry or
+whatever I am--but till my blood has gone down again, you understand,
+and I don't want her any more. And then she puts her arms round me, and
+caresses me, and makes love to me--till she rouses me once more. So, and
+so she rouses me--and so I come to her. And I love her, it is very good,
+very good. But it was she who began, it was her initiative, you know.--I
+do not think, in all my life, my wife has loved me from my initiative,
+you know. She will yield to me--because I insist, or because she wants
+to be a good submissive wife who loves me. So she will yield to me. But
+ah, what is it, you know? What is it a woman who allows me, and who has
+no answer? It is something worse than nothing--worse than nothing. And
+so it makes me very discontented and unbelieving.--If I say to her, she
+says it is not true--not at all true. Then she says, all she wants is
+that I should desire her, that I should love her and desire her. But
+even that is putting her will first. And if I come to her so, if I come
+to her of my own desire, then she puts me off. She puts me off, or she
+only allows me to come to her. Even now it is the same after ten years,
+as it was at first. But now I know, and for many years I did not know--”
+
+The little man was intense. His face was strained, his blue eyes so
+stretched that they showed the whites all round. He gazed into Lilly's
+face.
+
+“But does it matter?” said Lilly slowly, “in which of you the desire
+initiates? Isn't the result the same?”
+
+“It matters. It matters--” cried the Marchese.
+
+“Oh, my dear fellow, how MUCH it matters--” interrupted Argyle sagely.
+
+“Ay!” said Aaron.
+
+The Marchese looked from one to the other of them.
+
+“It matters!” he cried. “It matters life or death. It used to be, that
+desire started in the man, and the woman answered. It used to be so for
+a long time in Italy. For this reason the women were kept away from the
+men. For this reason our Catholic religion tried to keep the young girls
+in convents, and innocent, before marriage. So that with their minds
+they should not know, and should not start this terrible thing, this
+woman's desire over a man, beforehand. This desire which starts in a
+woman's head, when she knows, and which takes a man for her use, for her
+service. This is Eve. Ah, I hate Eve. I hate her, when she knows, and
+when she WILLS. I hate her when she will make of me that which serves
+her desire.--She may love me, she may be soft and kind to me, she may
+give her life for me. But why? Only because I am HERS. I am that thing
+which does her most intimate service. She can see no other in me. And I
+may be no other to her--”
+
+“Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?” said Lilly.
+
+“Because I cannot. I cannot. I would. But I cannot. The Borghesia--the
+citizens--the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can. Oh, yes. The
+bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and their
+wives love them. They are the marital maquereaux--the husband-maquereau,
+you know. Their wives are so stout and happy, and they dote on their
+husbands and always betray them. So it is with the bourgeoise. She loves
+her husband so much, and is always seeking to betray him. Or she is a
+Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal. But the bourgeois husband, he goes
+on being the same. He is the horse, and she the driver. And when she
+says gee-up, you know--then he comes ready, like a hired maquereau. Only
+he feels so good, like a good little boy at her breast. And then there
+are the nice little children. And so they keep the world going.--But for
+me--” he spat suddenly and with frenzy on the floor.
+
+“You are quite right, my boy,” said Argyle. “You are quite right.
+They've got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when
+they say gee-up. I--oh, I went through it all. But I broke the shafts
+and smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't care
+whether I smashed her up along with it or not. I didn't care one single
+bit, I assure you.--And here I am. And she is dead and buried these
+dozen years. Well--well! Life, you know, life. And women oh, they are
+the very hottest hell once they get the start of you. There's NOTHING
+they won't do to you, once they've got you. Nothing they won't do to
+you. Especially if they love you. Then you may as well give up the
+ghost: or smash the cart behind you, and her in it. Otherwise she will
+just harry you into submission, and make a dog of you, and cuckold you
+under your nose. And you'll submit. Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling
+her my darling. Or else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you. Your
+only chance is to smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart. Or
+she'll do for you. For a woman has an uncanny, hellish strength--she's
+a she-bear and a wolf, is a woman when she's got the start of you. Oh,
+it's a terrible experience, if you're not a bourgeois, and not one of
+the knuckling-under money-making sort.”
+
+“Knuckling-under sort. Yes. That is it,” said the Marchese.
+
+“But can't there be a balancing of wills?” said Lilly.
+
+“My dear boy, the balance lies in that, that when one goes up, the other
+goes down. One acts, the other takes. It is the only way in love--And
+the women are nowadays the active party. Oh, yes, not a shadow of doubt
+about it. They take the initiative, and the man plays up. That's how it
+is. The man just plays up.--Nice manly proceeding, what!” cried Argyle.
+
+“But why can't man accept it as the natural order of things?” said
+Lilly. “Science makes it the natural order.”
+
+“All my ---- to science,” said Argyle. “No man with one drop of real
+spunk in him can stand it long.”
+
+“Yes! Yes! Yes!” cried the Italian. “Most men want it so. Most men want
+only, that a woman shall want them, and they shall then play up to her
+when she has roused them. Most men want only this: that a woman shall
+choose one man out, to be her man, and he shall worship her and come
+up when she shall provoke him. Otherwise he is to keep still. And the
+woman, she is quite sure of her part. She must be loved and adored, and
+above all, obeyed, particularly in her sex desire. There she must not
+be thwarted, or she becomes a devil. And if she is obeyed, she becomes a
+misunderstood woman with nerves, looking round for the next man whom she
+can bring under. So it is.”
+
+“Well,” said Lilly. “And then what?”
+
+“Nay,” interrupted Aaron. “But do you think it's true what he says?
+Have you found it like that? You're married. Has your experience been
+different, or the same?”
+
+“What was yours?” asked Lilly.
+
+“Mine was the same. Mine was the same, if ever it was,” said Aaron.
+
+“And mine was EXTREMELY similar,” said Argyle with a grimace.
+
+“And yours, Lilly?” asked the Marchese anxiously.
+
+“Not very different,” said Lilly.
+
+“Ah!” cried Del Torre, jerking up erect as if he had found something.
+
+“And what's your way out?” Aaron asked him.
+
+“I'm not out--so I won't holloa,” said Lilly. “But Del Torre puts it
+best.--What do you say is the way out, Del Torre?”
+
+“The way out is that it should change: that the man should be the asker
+and the woman the answerer. It must change.”
+
+“But it doesn't. Prrr!” Argyle made his trumpeting noise.
+
+“Does it?” asked Lilly of the Marchese.
+
+“No. I think it does not.”
+
+“And will it ever again?”
+
+“Perhaps never.”
+
+“And then what?”
+
+“Then? Why then man seeks a _pis-aller_. Then he seeks something which
+will give him answer, and which will not only draw him, draw him, with a
+terrible sexual will.--So he seeks young girls, who know nothing, and so
+cannot force him. He thinks he will possess them while they are young,
+and they will be soft and responding to his wishes.--But in this, too,
+he is mistaken. Because now a baby of one year, if it be a female, is
+like a woman of forty, so is its will made up, so it will force a man.”
+
+“And so young girls are no good, even as a _pis-aller_.”
+
+“No good--because they are all modern women. Every one, a modern woman.
+Not one who isn't.”
+
+“Terrible thing, the modern woman,” put in Argyle.
+
+“And then--?”
+
+“Then man seeks other forms of loves, always seeking the loving
+response, you know, of one gentler and tenderer than himself, who will
+wait till the man desires, and then will answer with full love.--But it
+is all _pis-aller_, you know.”
+
+“Not by any means, my boy,” cried Argyle.
+
+“And then a man naturally loves his own wife, too, even if it is not
+bearable to love her.”
+
+“Or one leaves her, like Aaron,” said Lilly.
+
+“And seeks another woman, so,” said the Marchese.
+
+“Does he seek another woman?” said Lilly. “Do you, Aaron?”
+
+“I don't WANT to,” said Aaron. “But--I can't stand by myself in the
+middle of the world and in the middle of people, and know I am quite by
+myself, and nowhere to go, and nothing to hold on to. I can for a day
+or two--But then, it becomes unbearable as well. You get frightened. You
+feel you might go funny--as you would if you stood on this balcony wall
+with all the space beneath you.”
+
+“Can't one be alone--quite alone?” said Lilly.
+
+“But no--it is absurd. Like Saint Simeon Stylites on a pillar. But it is
+absurd!” cried the Italian.
+
+“I don't mean like Simeon Stylites. I mean can't one live with one's
+wife, and be fond of her: and with one's friends, and enjoy their
+company: and with the world and everything, pleasantly: and yet KNOW
+that one is alone? Essentially, at the very core of me, alone. Eternally
+alone. And choosing to be alone. Not sentimental or LONELY. Alone,
+choosing to be alone, because by one's own nature one is alone. The
+being with another person is secondary,” said Lilly.
+
+“One is alone,” said Argyle, “in all but love. In all but love, my dear
+fellow. And then I agree with you.”
+
+“No,” said Lilly, “in love most intensely of all, alone.”
+
+“Completely incomprehensible,” said Argyle. “Amounts to nothing.”
+
+“One man is but a part. How can he be so alone?” said the Marchese.
+
+“In so far as he is a single individual soul, he IS alone--ipso facto.
+In so far as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, in so far, I am
+inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to
+know it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my
+self-knowledge.”
+
+“My dear boy, you are becoming metaphysical, and that is as bad as
+softening of the brain,” said Argyle.
+
+“All right,” said Lilly.
+
+“And,” said the Marchese, “it may be so by REASON. But in the heart--?
+Can the heart ever beat quite alone? Plop! Plop!--Can the heart beat
+quite alone, alone in all the atmosphere, all the space of the universe?
+Plop! Plop! Plop!--Quite alone in all the space?” A slow smile came over
+the Italian's face. “It is impossible. It may eat against the heart of
+other men, in anger, all in pressure against the others. It may beat
+hard, like iron, saying it is independent. But this is only beating
+against the heart of mankind, not alone.--But either with or against
+the heart of mankind, or the heart of someone, mother, wife, friend,
+children--so must the heart of every man beat. It is so.”
+
+“It beats alone in its own silence,” said Lilly.
+
+The Italian shook his head.
+
+“We'd better be going inside, anyhow,” said Argyle. “Some of you will be
+taking cold.”
+
+“Aaron,” said Lilly. “Is it true for you?”
+
+“Nearly,” said Aaron, looking into the quiet, half-amused, yet
+frightening eyes of the other man. “Or it has been.”
+
+“A miss is as good as a mile,” laughed Lilly, rising and picking up his
+chair to take it indoors. And the laughter of his voice was so like a
+simple, deliberate amiability, that Aaron's heart really stood still
+for a second. He knew that Lilly was alone--as far as he, Aaron, was
+concerned. Lilly was alone--and out of his isolation came his words,
+indifferent as to whether they came or not. And he left his friends
+utterly to their own choice. Utterly to their own choice. Aaron felt
+that Lilly was _there_, existing in life, yet neither asking for
+connection nor preventing any connection. He was present, he was the
+real centre of the group. And yet he asked nothing of them, and he
+imposed nothing. He left each to himself, and he himself remained just
+himself: neither more nor less. And there was a finality about it, which
+was at once maddening and fascinating. Aaron felt angry, as if he were
+half insulted by the other man's placing the gift of friendship or
+connection so quietly back in the giver's hands. Lilly would receive no
+gift of friendship in equality. Neither would he violently refuse it. He
+let it lie unmarked. And yet at the same time Aaron knew that he could
+depend on the other man for help, nay, almost for life itself--so long
+as it entailed no breaking of the intrinsic isolation of Lilly's
+soul. But this condition was also hateful. And there was also a great
+fascination in it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE MARCHESA
+
+
+So Aaron dined with the Marchesa and Manfredi. He was quite startled
+when his hostess came in: she seemed like somebody else. She seemed like
+a demon, her hair on her brows, her terrible modern elegance. She wore
+a wonderful gown of thin blue velvet, of a lovely colour, with some kind
+of gauzy gold-threaded filament down the sides. It was terribly modern,
+short, and showed her legs and her shoulders and breast and all her
+beautiful white arms. Round her throat was a collar of dark-blue
+sapphires. Her hair was done low, almost to the brows, and heavy, like
+an Aubrey Beardsley drawing. She was most carefully made up--yet with
+that touch of exaggeration, lips slightly too red, which was quite
+intentional, and which frightened Aaron. He thought her wonderful, and
+sinister. She affected him with a touch of horror. She sat down opposite
+him, and her beautifully shapen legs, in frail, goldish stockings,
+seemed to glisten metallic naked, thrust from out of the wonderful,
+wonderful skin, like periwinkle-blue velvet. She had tapestry shoes,
+blue and gold: and almost one could see her toes: metallic naked. The
+gold-threaded gauze slipped at her side. Aaron could not help watching
+the naked-seeming arch of her foot. It was as if she were dusted with
+dark gold-dust upon her marvellous nudity.
+
+She must have seen his face, seen that he was _ebloui_.
+
+“You brought the flute?” she said, in that toneless, melancholy,
+unstriving voice of hers. Her voice alone was the same: direct and bare
+and quiet.
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Perhaps I shall sing later on, if you'll accompany me. Will you?”
+
+“I thought you hated accompaniments.”
+
+“Oh, no--not just unison. I don't mean accompaniment. I mean unison. I
+don't know how it will be. But will you try?”
+
+“Yes, I'll try.”
+
+“Manfredi is just bringing the cocktails. Do you think you'd prefer
+orange in yours?”
+
+“Ill have mine as you have yours.”
+
+“I don't take orange in mine. Won't you smoke?”
+
+The strange, naked, remote-seeming voice! And then the beautiful firm
+limbs thrust out in that dress, and nakedly dusky as with gold-dust. Her
+beautiful woman's legs, slightly glistening, duskily. His one abiding
+instinct was to touch them, to kiss them. He had never known a woman to
+exercise such power over him. It was a bare, occult force, something he
+could not cope with.
+
+Manfredi came in with the little tray. He was still in uniform.
+
+“Hello!” cried the little Italian. “Glad to see you--well, everything
+all right? Glad to hear it. How is the cocktail, Nan?”
+
+“Yes,” she said. “All right.”
+
+“One drop too much peach, eh?”
+
+“No, all right.”
+
+“Ah,” and the little officer seated himself, stretching his gaitered
+legs as if gaily. He had a curious smiling look on his face, that
+Aaron thought also diabolical--and almost handsome. Suddenly the odd,
+laughing, satanic beauty of the little man was visible.
+
+“Well, and what have you been doing with yourself?” said he. “What did
+you do yesterday?”
+
+“Yesterday?” said Aaron. “I went to the Uffizi.”
+
+“To the Uffizi? Well! And what did you think of it?”
+
+“Very fine.”
+
+“I think it is. I think it is. What pictures did you look at?”
+
+“I was with Dekker. We looked at most, I believe.”
+
+“And what do you remember best?”
+
+“I remember Botticelli's Venus on the Shell.”
+
+“Yes! Yes!--” said Manfredi. “I like her. But I like others better. You
+thought her a pretty woman, yes?”
+
+“No--not particularly pretty. But I like her body. And I like the fresh
+air. I like the fresh air, the summer sea-air all through it--through
+her as well.”
+
+“And her face?” asked the Marchesa, with a slow, ironic smile.
+
+“Yes--she's a bit baby-faced,” said Aaron.
+
+“Trying to be more innocent than her own common-sense will let her,”
+ said the Marchesa.
+
+“I don't agree with you, Nan,” said her husband. “I think it is just
+that wistfulness and innocence which makes her the true Venus: the
+true modern Venus. She chooses NOT to know too much. And that is her
+attraction. Don't you agree, Aaron? Excuse me, but everybody speaks of
+you as Aaron. It seems to come naturally. Most people speak of me as
+Manfredi, too, because it is easier, perhaps, than Del Torre. So if you
+find it easier, use it. Do you mind that I call you Aaron?”
+
+“Not at all. I hate Misters, always.”
+
+“Yes, so do I. I like one name only.”
+
+The little officer seemed very winning and delightful to Aaron this
+evening--and Aaron began to like him extremely. But the dominating
+consciousness in the room was the woman's.
+
+“DO you agree, Mr. Sisson?” said the Marchesa. “Do you agree that the
+mock-innocence and the sham-wistfulness of Botticelli's Venus are her
+great charms?”
+
+“I don't think she is at all charming, as a person,” said Aaron. “As
+a particular woman, she makes no impression on me at all. But as a
+picture--and the fresh air, particularly the fresh air. She doesn't seem
+so much a woman, you know, as the kind of out-of-doors morning-feelings
+at the seaside.”
+
+“Quite! A sort of sea-scape of a woman. With a perfectly sham innocence.
+Are you as keen on innocence as Manfredi is?”
+
+“Innocence?” said Aaron. “It's the sort of thing I don't have much
+feeling about.”
+
+“Ah, I know you,” laughed the soldier wickedly. “You are the sort of man
+who wants to be Anthony to Cleopatra. Ha-ha!”
+
+Aaron winced as if struck. Then he too smiled, flattered. Yet he felt
+he had been struck! Did he want to be Anthony to Cleopatra? Without
+knowing, he was watching the Marchesa. And she was looking away, but
+knew he was watching her. And at last she turned her eyes to his, with a
+slow, dark smile, full of pain and fuller still of knowledge. A strange,
+dark, silent look of knowledge she gave him: from so far away, it
+seemed. And he felt all the bonds that held him melting away. His eyes
+remained fixed and gloomy, but with his mouth he smiled back at her. And
+he was terrified. He knew he was sulking towards her--sulking towards
+her. And he was terrified. But at the back of his mind, also, he knew
+there was Lilly, whom he might depend on. And also he wanted to sink
+towards her. The flesh and blood of him simply melted out, in desire
+towards her. Cost what may, he must come to her. And yet he knew at the
+same time that, cost what may, he must keep the power to recover himself
+from her. He must have his cake and eat it.
+
+And she became Cleopatra to him. “Age cannot wither, nor custom stale--”
+ To his instinctive, unwilled fancy, she was Cleopatra.
+
+They went in to dinner, and he sat on her right hand. It was a smallish
+table, with a very few daisy-flowers: everything rather frail, and
+sparse. The food the same--nothing very heavy, all rather exquisite.
+They drank hock. And he was aware of her beautiful arms, and her bosom;
+her low-crowded, thick hair, parted in the centre: the sapphires on her
+throat, the heavy rings on her fingers: and the paint on her lips,
+the fard. Something deep, deep at the bottom of him hovered upon her,
+cleaved to her. Yet he was as if sightless, in a stupor. Who was she,
+what was she? He had lost all his grasp. Only he sat there, with his
+face turned to hers, or to her, all the time. And she talked to him. But
+she never looked at him.
+
+Indeed she said little. It was the husband who talked. His manner
+towards Aaron was almost caressive. And Aaron liked it. The woman was
+silent mostly, and seemed remote. And Aaron felt his life ebb towards
+her. He felt the marvellousness, the rich beauty of her arms and breast.
+And the thought of her gold-dusted smooth limbs beneath the table made
+him feel almost an idiot.
+
+The second wine was a gold-coloured Moselle, very soft and rich and
+beautiful. She drank this with pleasure, as one who understands. And for
+dessert there was a dish of cacchi--that orange-coloured, pulpy Japanese
+fruit--persimmons. Aaron had never eaten these before. Soft, almost
+slimy, of a wonderful colour, and of a flavour that had sunk from harsh
+astringency down to that first decay-sweetness which is all autumn-rich.
+The Marchese loved them, and scooped them out with his spoon. But she
+ate none.
+
+Aaron did not know what they talked about, what was said. If someone had
+taken his mind away altogether, and left him with nothing but a body and
+a spinal consciousness, it would have been the same.
+
+But at coffee the talk turned to Manfredi's duties. He would not be free
+from the army for some time yet. On the morrow, for example, he had to
+be out and away before it was day. He said he hated it, and wanted to
+be a free man once more. But it seemed to Aaron he would be a very bored
+man, once he was free. And then they drifted on to talk of the palazzo
+in which was their apartment.
+
+“We've got such a fine terrace--you can see it from your house where you
+are,” said Manfredi. “Have you noticed it?”
+
+“No,” said Aaron.
+
+“Near that tuft of palm-trees. Don't you know?”
+
+“No,” said Aaron.
+
+“Let us go out and show it him,” said the Marchesa.
+
+Manfredi fetched her a cloak, and they went through various doors, then
+up some steps. The terrace was broad and open. It looked straight across
+the river at the opposite Lungarno: and there was the thin-necked tower
+of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the great dome of the cathedral in the
+distance, in shadow-bulk in the cold-aired night of stars. Little trams
+were running brilliant over the flat new bridge on the right. And from a
+garden just below rose a tuft of palm-trees.
+
+“You see,” said the Marchesa, coming and standing close to Aaron, so
+that she just touched him, “you can know the terrace, just by these palm
+trees. And you are in the Nardini just across there, are you? On the top
+floor, you said?”
+
+“Yes, the top floor--one of the middle windows, I think.”
+
+“One that is always open now--and the others are shut. I have noticed
+it, not connecting it with you.”
+
+“Yes, my window is always open.”
+
+She was leaning very slightly against him, as he stood. And he knew,
+with the same kind of inevitability with which he knew he would one
+day die, that he would be the lover of this woman. Nay, that he was her
+lover already.
+
+“Don't take cold,” said Manfredi.
+
+She turned at once indoors. Aaron caught a faint whiff of perfume from
+the little orange trees in tubs round the wall.
+
+“Will you get the flute?” she said as they entered.
+
+“And will you sing?” he answered.
+
+“Play first,” she said.
+
+He did as she wished. As the other night, he went into the big
+music-room to play. And the stream of sound came out with the quick wild
+imperiousness of the pipe. It had an immediate effect on her. She seemed
+to relax the peculiar, drug-like tension which was upon her at all
+ordinary times. She seemed to go still, and yielding. Her red mouth
+looked as if it might moan with relief. She sat with her chin dropped
+on her breast, listening. And she did not move. But she sat softly,
+breathing rather quick, like one who has been hurt, and is soothed. A
+certain womanly naturalness seemed to soften her.
+
+And the music of the flute came quick, rather brilliant like a
+call-note, or like a long quick message, half command. To her it was
+like a pure male voice--as a blackbird's when he calls: a pure male
+voice, not only calling, but telling her something, telling her
+something, and soothing her soul to sleep. It was like the fire-music
+putting Brunnhilde to sleep. But the pipe did not flicker and sink. It
+seemed to cause a natural relaxation in her soul, a peace. Perhaps it
+was more like waking to a sweet, morning awakening, after a night of
+tormented, painful tense sleep. Perhaps more like that.
+
+When Aaron came in, she looked at him with a gentle, fresh smile that
+seemed to make the fard on her face look like a curious tiredness, which
+now she might recover from. And as the last time, it was difficult for
+her to identify this man with the voice of the flute. It was rather
+difficult. Except that, perhaps, between his brows was something of a
+doubt, and in his bearing an aloofness that made her dread he might go
+away and not come back. She could see it in him, that he might go away
+and not come back.
+
+She said nothing to him, only just smiled. And the look of knowledge in
+her eyes seemed, for the moment, to be contained in another look: a look
+of faith, and at last happiness. Aaron's heart stood still. No, in her
+moment's mood of faith and at last peace, life-trust, he was perhaps
+more terrified of her than in her previous sinister elegance. His spirit
+started and shrank. What was she going to ask of him?
+
+“I am so anxious that you should come to play one Saturday morning,”
+ said Manfredi. “With an accompaniment, you know. I should like so much
+to hear you with piano accompaniment.”
+
+“Very well,” said Aaron.
+
+“Will you really come? And will you practise with me, so that I can
+accompany you?” said Manfredi eagerly.
+
+“Yes. I will,” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh, good! Oh, good! Look here, come in on Friday morning and let us
+both look through the music.”
+
+“If Mr. Sisson plays for the public,” said the Marchesa, “he must not do
+it for charity. He must have the proper fee.”
+
+“No, I don't want it,” said Aaron.
+
+“But you must earn money, mustn't you?” said she.
+
+“I must,” said Aaron. “But I can do it somewhere else.”
+
+“No. If you play for the public, you must have your earnings. When you
+play for me, it is different.”
+
+“Of course,” said Manfredi. “Every man must have his wage. I have mine
+from the Italian government---”
+
+After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing.
+
+“Shall I?” she said.
+
+“Yes, do.”
+
+“Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it--I
+shall be like Trilby--I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I
+daren't. So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song. Though
+not Malbrouck, and without a Svengali to keep me in tune.”
+
+She went near the door, and stood with heir hands by her side. There was
+something wistful, almost pathetic now, in her elegance.
+
+
+                    “Derriere chez mon pere
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Derriere chez mon pere
+                     Il y a un pommier doux.
+                       _Tout doux, et iou
+                        Et iou, tout doux.
+                        Il y a unpommier doux_.
+
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                     Sont assis dessous.
+                      _Tout doux, et iou
+                       Et iou, tout doux.
+                       Sont asses dessous._”
+
+
+She had a beautiful, strong, sweet voice. But it was faltering,
+stumbling and sometimes it seemed to drop almost to speech. After three
+verses she faltered to an end, bitterly chagrined.
+
+“No,” she said. “It's no good. I can't sing.” And she dropped in her
+chair.
+
+“A lovely little tune,” said Aaron. “Haven't you got the music?”
+
+She rose, not answering, and found him a little book.
+
+“What do the words mean?” he asked her.
+
+She told him. And then he took his flute.
+
+“You don't mind if I play it, do you?” he said.
+
+So he played the tune. It was so simple. And he seemed to catch the lilt
+and the timbre of her voice.
+
+“Come and sing it while I play--” he said.
+
+“I can't sing,” she said, shaking her head rather bitterly.
+
+“But let us try,” said he, disappointed.
+
+“I know I can't,” she said. But she rose.
+
+He remained sitting at the little table, the book propped up under the
+reading lamp. She stood at a little distance, unhappy.
+
+“I've always been like that,” she said. “I could never sing music,
+unless I had a thing drilled into me, and then it wasn't singing any
+more.”
+
+But Aaron wasn't heeding. His flute was at his mouth, he was watching
+her. He sounded the note, but she did not begin. She was twisting her
+handkerchief. So he played the melody alone. At the end of the verse,
+he looked up at her again, and a half mocking smile played in his
+eyes. Again he sounded the note, a challenge. And this time, as at his
+bidding, she began to sing. The flute instantly swung with a lovely soft
+firmness into the song, and she wavered only for a minute or two. Then
+her soul and her voice got free, and she sang--she sang as she wanted to
+sing, as she had always wanted to sing, without that awful scotch, that
+impediment inside her own soul, which prevented her.
+
+She sang free, with the flute gliding along with her. And oh, how
+beautiful it was for her! How beautiful it was to sing the little song
+in the sweetness of her own spirit. How sweet it was to move pure and
+unhampered at last in the music! The lovely ease and lilt of her own
+soul in its motion through the music! She wasn't aware of the flute. She
+didn't know there was anything except her own pure lovely song-drift.
+Her soul seemed to breathe as a butterfly breathes, as it rests on a
+leaf and slowly breathes its wings. For the first time! For the first
+time her soul drew its own deep breath. All her life, the breath had
+caught half-way. And now she breathed full, deep, to the deepest extent
+of her being.
+
+And oh, it was so wonderful, she was dazed. The song ended, she stood
+with a dazed, happy face, like one just coming awake. And the fard
+on her face seemed like the old night-crust, the bad sleep. New and
+luminous she looked out. And she looked at Aaron with a proud smile.
+
+“Bravo, Nan! That was what you wanted,” said her husband.
+
+“It was, wasn't it?” she said, turning a wondering, glowing face to him.
+
+His face looked strange and withered and gnome-like, at the moment.
+
+She went and sat in her chair, quite silent, as if in a trance. The
+two men also sat quite still. And in the silence a little drama played
+itself between the three, of which they knew definitely nothing. But
+Manfredi knew that Aaron had done what he himself never could do, for
+this woman. And yet the woman was his own woman, not Aaron's. And so, he
+was displaced. Aaron, sitting there, glowed with a sort of triumph. He
+had performed a little miracle, and felt himself a little wonder-worker,
+to whom reverence was due. And as in a dream the woman sat, feeling what
+a joy it was to float and move like a swan in the high air, flying upon
+the wings of her own spirit. She was as a swan which never before could
+get its wings quite open, and so which never could get up into the open,
+where alone it can sing. For swans, and storks make their music only
+when they are high, high up in the air. Then they can give sound to
+their strange spirits. And so, she.
+
+Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and hardly
+spoke to one another. It was as if two invisible hands pushed their
+faces apart, away, averted. And Aaron's face glimmered with a little
+triumph, and a little grimace of obstinacy. And the Italian's face
+looked old, rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare
+bitterness. The woman looked wondering from one man to the
+other--wondering. The glimmer of the open flower, the wonder-look, still
+lasted. And Aaron said in his heart, what a goodly woman, what a woman
+to taste and enjoy. Ah, what a woman to enjoy! And was it not his
+privilege? Had he not gained it?
+
+His manhood, or rather his maleness, rose powerfully in him, in a sort
+of mastery. He felt his own power, he felt suddenly his own virile title
+to strength and reward. Suddenly, and newly flushed with his own male
+super-power, he was going to have his reward. The woman was his reward.
+So it was, in him. And he cast it over in his mind. He wanted her--ha,
+didn't he! But the husband sat there, like a soap-stone Chinese monkey,
+greyish-green. So, it would have to be another time.
+
+He rose, therefore, and took his leave.
+
+“But you'll let us do that again, won't you?” said she.
+
+“When you tell me, I'll come,” said he.
+
+“Then I'll tell you soon,” said she.
+
+So he left, and went home to his own place, and there to his own remote
+room. As he laid his flute on the table he looked at it and smiled. He
+remembered that Lilly had called it Aaron's Rod.
+
+“So you blossom, do you?--and thorn as well,” said he.
+
+For such a long time he had been gripped inside himself, and withheld.
+For such a long time it had been hard and unyielding, so hard and
+unyielding. He had wanted nothing, his desire had kept itself back, fast
+back. For such a long time his desire for woman had withheld itself,
+hard and resistant. All his deep, desirous blood had been locked, he had
+wanted nobody, and nothing. And it had been hard to live, so. Without
+desire, without any movement of passionate love, only gripped back in
+recoil! That was an experience to endure.
+
+And now came his desire back. But strong, fierce as iron. Like the
+strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons. Something to
+glory in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant,
+royal, Jove's thunderbolt. Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming again
+with red Florentine lilies and fierce thorns. He moved about in the
+splendour of his own male lightning, invested in the thunder of the male
+passion-power. He had got it back, the male godliness, the male godhead.
+
+So he slept, and dreamed violent dreams of strange, black strife,
+something like the street-riot in Milan, but more terrible. In the
+morning, however, he cared nothing about his dreams. As soon as it was
+really light, he rose, and opened his window wide. It was a grey, slow
+morning. But he saw neither the morning nor the river nor the woman
+walking on the gravel river-bed with her goose nor the green hill up to
+San Miniato. He watched the tuft of palm-trees, and the terrace beside
+it. He could just distinguish the terrace clearly, among the green of
+foliage. So he stood at his window for a full hour, and did not move.
+Motionless, planted, he stood and watched that terrace across above the
+Arno. But like a statue.
+
+After an hour or so, he looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. So he
+rang for his coffee, and meanwhile still stood watching the terrace
+on the hill. He felt his turn had come. The phoenix had risen in fire
+again, out of the ashes.
+
+Therefore at ten o'clock he went over the bridge. He wrote on the back
+of his card a request, would she please let him have the little book of
+songs, that he might practise them over. The manservant went, and came
+back with the request that Aaron should wait. So Aaron entered, while
+the man took his hat.
+
+The manservant spoke only French and Spanish, no English. He was
+a Spaniard, with greyish hair and stooping shoulders, and dark,
+mute-seeming eyes. He spoke as little as possible. The Marchesa had
+inherited him from her father.
+
+Aaron sat in the little sitting-room and waited. After a rather long
+time the Marchesa came in--wearing a white, thin blouse and a blue
+skirt. She was hardly made up at all. She had an odd pleased, yet
+brooding look on her face as she gave Aaron her hand. Something brooded
+between her brows. And her voice was strange, with a strange, secret
+undertone, that he could not understand. He looked up at her. And his
+face was bright, and his knees, as he sat, were like the knees of the
+gods.
+
+“You wanted the book of _chansons_?” she said.
+
+“I wanted to learn your tunes,” he replied.
+
+“Yes. Look--here it is!” And she brought him the little yellow book. It
+was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment. So
+she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something else,
+and standing as if with another meaning.
+
+He opened the leaves at random.
+
+“But I ought to know which ones you sing,” said he, rising and standing
+by her side with the open book.
+
+“Yes,” she said, looking over his arm. He turned the pages one by one.
+“_Trois jeunes tambours_,” said she. “Yes, that.... Yes, _En passant
+par la Lorraine_.... _Aupres de ma blonde_.... Oh, I like that one so
+much--” He stood and went over the tune in his mind.
+
+“Would you like me to play it?” he said.
+
+“Very much,” said she.
+
+So he got his flute, propped up the book against a vase, and played the
+tune, whilst she hummed it fragmentarily. But as he played, he felt that
+he did not cast the spell over her. There was no connection. She was in
+some mysterious way withstanding him. She was withstanding him, and
+his male super-power, and his thunderbolt desire. She was, in some
+indescribable way, throwing cold water over his phoenix newly risen from
+the ashes of its nest in flames.
+
+He realised that she did not want him to play. She did not want him to
+look at the songs. So he put the book away, and turned round, rather
+baffled, not quite sure what was happening, yet feeling she was
+withstanding him. He glanced at her face: it was inscrutable: it was
+her Cleopatra face once more, yet with something new and warm in it.
+He could not understand it. What was it in her face that puzzled him?
+Almost angered him? But she could not rob him of his male power, she
+could not divest him of his concentrated force.
+
+“Won't you take off your coat?” she said, looking at him with strange,
+large dark eyes. A strange woman, he could not understand her. Yet, as
+he sat down again, having removed his overcoat, he felt her looking at
+his limbs, his physical body. And this went against him, he did not want
+it. Yet quite fixed in him too was the desire for her, her beautiful
+white arms, her whole soft white body. And such desire he would not
+contradict nor allow to be contradicted. It was his will also. Her whole
+soft white body--to possess it in its entirety, its fulness.
+
+“What have you to do this morning?” she asked him.
+
+“Nothing,” he said. “Have you?” He lifted his head and looked at her.
+
+“Nothing at all,” said she.
+
+And then they sat in silence, he with his head dropped. Then again he
+looked at her.
+
+“Shall we be lovers?” he said.
+
+She sat with her face averted, and did not answer. His heart struck
+heavily, but he did not relax.
+
+“Shall we be lovers?” came his voice once more, with the faintest touch
+of irony.
+
+Her face gradually grew dusky. And he wondered very much to see it.
+
+“Yes,” said she, still not looking at him. “If you wish.”
+
+“I do wish,” he said. And all the time he sat with his eyes fixed on her
+face, and she sat with her face averted.
+
+“Now?” he said. “And where?”
+
+Again she was silent for some moments, as if struggling with herself.
+Then she looked at him--a long, strange, dark look, incomprehensible,
+and which he did not like.
+
+“You don't want emotions? You don't want me to say things, do you?” he
+said.
+
+A faint ironic smile came on her face.
+
+“I know what all that is worth,” she said, with curious calm equanimity.
+“No, I want none of that.”
+
+“Then--?”
+
+But now she sat gazing on him with wide, heavy, incomprehensible eyes.
+It annoyed him.
+
+“What do you want to see in me?” he asked, with a smile, looking
+steadily back again.
+
+And now she turned aside her face once more, and once more the dusky
+colour came in her cheek. He waited.
+
+“Shall I go away?” he said at length.
+
+“Would you rather?” she said, keeping her face averted.
+
+“No,” he said.
+
+Then again she was silent.
+
+“Where shall I come to you?” he said.
+
+She paused a moment still, then answered:
+
+“I'll go to my room.”
+
+“I don't know which it is,” he said.
+
+“I'll show it you,” she said.
+
+“And then I shall come to you in ten minutes. In ten minutes,” he
+reiterated.
+
+So she rose, and led the way out of the little salon. He walked with her
+to the door of her room, bowed his head as she looked at him, holding
+the door handle; and then he turned and went back to the drawing-room,
+glancing at his watch.
+
+In the drawing-room he stood quite still, with his feet apart, and
+waited. He stood with his hands behind him, and his feet apart, quite
+motionless, planted and firm. So the minutes went by unheeded. He looked
+at his watch. The ten minutes were just up. He had heard footsteps and
+doors. So he decided to give her another five minutes. He wished to be
+quite sure that she had had her own time for her own movements.
+
+Then at the end of the five minutes he went straight to her room,
+entered, and locked the door behind him. She was lying in bed, with her
+back to him.
+
+He found her strange, not as he had imagined her. Not powerful, as
+he had imagined her. Strange, in his arms she seemed almost small
+and childish, whilst in daily life she looked a full, womanly woman.
+Strange, the naked way she clung to him! Almost like a sister, a younger
+sister! Or like a child! It filled him with a curious wonder, almost a
+bewilderment. In the dark sightlessness of passion, she seemed almost
+like a clinging child in his arms. And yet like a child who in some deep
+and essential way mocked him. In some strange and incomprehensible way,
+as a girl-child blindly obstinate in her deepest nature, she was against
+him. He felt she was not his woman. Through him went the feeling, “This
+is not my woman.”
+
+When, after a long sleep, he awoke and came fully to himself, with that
+click of awakeness which is the end, the first shades were closing on
+the afternoon. He got up and reached for his watch.
+
+“Quarter past four,” he said.
+
+Her eyes stretched wide with surprise as she looked at him. But she
+said nothing. The same strange and wide, perhaps insatiable child-like
+curiosity was in her eyes as she watched him. He dressed very quickly.
+And her eyes were wide, and she said no single word.
+
+But when he was dressed, and bent over her to say goodbye, she put her
+arms round him, that seemed such frail and childish arms now, yet withal
+so deadly in power. Her soft arms round his neck, her tangle of hair
+over his face. And yet, even as he kissed her, he felt her deadly. He
+wanted to be gone. He wanted to get out of her arms and her clinging and
+her tangle of hair and her curiosity and her strange and hateful power.
+
+“You'll come again. We'll be like this again?” she whispered.
+
+And it was hard for him to realise that this was that other woman, who
+had sat so silently on the sofa, so darkly and reservedly, at the tea at
+Algy's.
+
+“Yes! I will! Goodbye now!” And he kissed her, and walked straight out
+of the room. Quickly he took his coat and his hat, quickly, and left the
+house. In his nostrils was still the scent with which the bed linen was
+faintly scented--he did not know what it was. But now he wiped his face
+and his mouth, to wipe it away.
+
+He had eaten nothing since coffee that morning, and was hungry,
+faint-feeling. And his face, and his mind, felt withered. Curiously he
+felt blasted as if blighted by some electricity. And he knew, he
+knew quite well he was only in possession of a tithe of his natural
+faculties. And in his male spirit he felt himself hating her: hating her
+deeply, damnably. But he said to himself: “No, I won't hate her. I won't
+hate her.”
+
+So he went on, over the Ponte Vecchio, where the jeweller's windows on
+the bridge were already blazing with light, on into the town. He wanted
+to eat something, so he decided to go to a shop he knew, where one could
+stand and eat good tiny rolls split into truffle or salami sandwiches,
+and drink Marsala. So one after the other he ate little truffle rolls,
+and drank a few glasses of Marsala. And then he did not know what to do.
+He did not want to eat any more, he had had what he wanted. His hunger
+had been more nervous than sensual.
+
+So he went into the street. It was just growing dark and the town was
+lighting up. He felt curiously blazed, as if some flame or electric
+power had gone through him and withered his vital tissue. Blazed, as if
+some kind of electric flame had run over him and withered him. His brain
+felt withered, his mind had only one of its many-sighted eyes left open
+and unscorched. So many of the eyes of his mind were scorched now and
+sightless.
+
+Yet a restlessness was in his nerves. What should he do? He remembered
+he had a letter in his pocket from Sir William Franks. Sir William had
+still teased him about his fate and his providence, in which he, Aaron,
+was supposed to trust. “I shall be very glad to hear from you, and to
+know how your benevolent Providence--or was yours a Fate--has treated
+you since we saw you---”
+
+So, Aaron turned away, and walked to the post office. There he took
+paper, and sat down at one of the tables in the writing room, and wrote
+his answer. It was very strange, writing thus when most of his mind's
+eyes were scorched, and it seemed he could hardly see to hold the pen,
+to drive it straight across the paper. Yet write he must. And most of
+his faculties being quenched or blasted for the moment, he wrote perhaps
+his greatest, or his innermost, truth.--“I don't want my Fate or my
+Providence to treat me well. I don't want kindness or love. I don't
+believe in harmony and people loving one another. I believe in the fight
+and in nothing else. I believe in the fight which is in everything. And
+if it is a question of women, I believe in the fight of love, even if it
+blinds me. And if it is a question of the world, I believe in fighting
+it and in having it hate me, even if it breaks my legs. I want the world
+to hate me, because I can't bear the thought that it might love me. For
+of all things love is the most deadly to me, and especially from such a
+repulsive world as I think this is....”
+
+Well, here was a letter for a poor old man to receive. But, in the
+dryness of his withered mind, Aaron got it out of himself. When a man
+writes a letter to himself, it is a pity to post it to somebody else.
+Perhaps the same is true of a book.
+
+His letter written, however, he stamped it and sealed it and put it
+in the box. That made it final. Then he turned towards home. One fact
+remained unbroken in the debris of his consciousness: that in the town
+was Lilly: and that when he needed, he could go to Lilly: also, that
+in the world was Lottie, his wife: and that against Lottie, his heart
+burned with a deep, deep, almost unreachable bitterness.--Like a deep
+burn on his deepest soul, Lottie. And like a fate which he resented, yet
+which steadied him, Lilly.
+
+He went home and lay on his bed. He had enough self-command to hear the
+gong and go down to dinner. White and abstract-looking, he sat and ate
+his dinner. And then, thank God, he could go to bed, alone, in his own
+cold bed, alone, thank God. To be alone in the night! For this he was
+unspeakably thankful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+
+
+Aaron awoke in the morning feeling better, but still only a part
+himself. The night alone had restored him. And the need to be alone
+still was his greatest need. He felt an intense resentment against the
+Marchesa. He felt that somehow, she had given him a scorpion. And his
+instinct was to hate her. And yet he avoided hating her. He remembered
+Lilly--and the saying that one must possess oneself, and be alone in
+possession of oneself. And somehow, under the influence of Lilly, he
+refused to follow the reflex of his own passion. He refused to hate the
+Marchesa. He _did_ like her. He did _esteem_ her. And after all, she too
+was struggling with her fate. He had a genuine sympathy with her. Nay,
+he was not going to hate her.
+
+But he could not see her. He could not bear the thought that she might
+call and see him. So he took the tram to Settignano, and walked away all
+day into the country, having bread and sausage in his pocket. He sat for
+long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany. And never had any trees
+seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange, pregnant presences. He lay
+and watched tall cypresses breathing and communicating, faintly moving
+and as it were walking in the small wind. And his soul seemed to
+leave him and to go far away, far back, perhaps, to where life was
+all different and time passed otherwise than time passes now. As in
+clairvoyance he perceived it: that our life is only a fragment of the
+shell of life. That there has been and will be life, human life such as
+we do not begin to conceive. Much that is life has passed away from men,
+leaving us all mere bits. In the dark, mindful silence and inflection of
+the cypress trees, lost races, lost language, lost human ways of feeling
+and of knowing. Men have known as we can no more know, have felt as we
+can no more feel. Great life-realities gone into the darkness. But the
+cypresses commemorate. In the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising
+dark about him, like so many high visitants from an old, lost, lost
+subtle world, where men had the wonder of demons about them, the aura of
+demons, such as still clings to the cypresses, in Tuscany.
+
+All day, he did not make up his mind what he was going to do. His first
+impulse was never to see her again. And this was his intention all day.
+But as he went home in the tram he softened, and thought. Nay,
+that would not be fair. For how had she treated him, otherwise than
+generously.
+
+She had been generous, and the other thing, that he felt blasted
+afterwards, which was his experience, that was fate, and not her fault.
+So he must see her again. He must not act like a churl. But he would
+tell her--he would tell her that he was a married man, and that though
+he had left his wife, and though he had no dogma of fidelity, still,
+the years of marriage had made a married man of him, and any other woman
+than his wife was a strange woman to him, a violation. “I will tell
+her,” he said to himself, “that at the bottom of my heart I love Lottie
+still, and that I can't help it. I believe that is true. It isn't love,
+perhaps. But it is marriage. I am married to Lottie. And that means I
+can't be married to another woman. It isn't my nature. And perhaps I
+can't bear to live with Lottie now, because I am married and not in
+love. When a man is married, he is not in love. A husband is not a
+lover. Lilly told me that: and I know it's true now. Lilly told me that
+a husband cannot be a lover, and a lover cannot be a husband. And that
+women will only have lovers now, and never a husband. Well, I am a
+husband, if I am anything. And I shall never be a lover again, not while
+I live. No, not to anybody. I haven't it in me. I'm a husband, and so it
+is finished with me as a lover. I can't be a lover any more, just as I
+can't be aged twenty any more. I am a man now, not an adolescent. And to
+my sorrow I am a husband to a woman who wants a lover: always a lover.
+But all women want lovers. And I can't be it any more. I don't want to.
+I have finished that. Finished for ever: unless I become senile---”
+
+Therefore next day he gathered up his courage. He would not have had
+courage unless he had known that he was not alone. The other man was
+in the town, and from this fact he derived his strength: the fact that
+Lilly was there. So at teatime he went over the river, and rang at her
+door. Yes, she was at home, and she had other visitors. She was wearing
+a beautiful soft afternoon dress, again of a blue like chicory-flowers,
+a pale, warm blue. And she had cornflowers in her belt: heaven knows
+where she had got them.
+
+She greeted Aaron with some of the childish shyness. He could tell that
+she was glad he had come, and that she had wondered at his not coming
+sooner. She introduced him to her visitors: two young ladies and one
+old lady and one elderly Italian count. The conversation was mostly in
+French or Italian, so Aaron was rather out of it.
+
+However, the visitors left fairly early, so Aaron stayed them out. When
+they had gone, he asked:
+
+“Where is Manfredi?”
+
+“He will come in soon. At about seven o'clock.”
+
+Then there was a silence again.
+
+“You are dressed fine today,” he said to her.
+
+“Am I?” she smiled.
+
+He was never able to make out quite what she felt, what she was feeling.
+But she had a quiet little air of proprietorship in him, which he did
+not like.
+
+“You will stay to dinner tonight, won't you?” she said.
+
+“No--not tonight,” he said. And then, awkwardly, he added: “You know. I
+think it is better if we are friends--not lovers. You know--I don't feel
+free. I feel my wife, I suppose, somewhere inside me. And I can't help
+it---”
+
+She bent her head and was silent for some moments. Then she lifted her
+face and looked at him oddly.
+
+“Yes,” she said. “I am sure you love your wife.”
+
+The reply rather staggered him--and to tell the truth, annoyed him.
+
+“Well,” he said. “I don't know about love. But when one has been married
+for ten years--and I did love her--then--some sort of bond or something
+grows. I think some sort of connection grows between us, you know. And
+it isn't natural, quite, to break it.--Do you know what I mean?”
+
+She paused a moment. Then, very softly, almost gently, she said:
+
+“Yes, I do. I know so well what you mean.”
+
+He was really surprised at her soft acquiescence. What _did_ she mean?
+
+“But we can be friends, can't we?” he said.
+
+“Yes, I hope so. Why, yes! Goodness, yes! I should be sorry if we
+couldn't be friends.”
+
+After which speech he felt that everything was all right--everything
+was A-one. And when Manfredi came home, the first sound he heard was the
+flute and his wife's singing.
+
+“I'm so glad you've come,” his wife said to him. “Shall we go into the
+sala and have real music? Will you play?”
+
+“I should love to,” replied the husband.
+
+Behold them then in the big drawing-room, and Aaron and the Marchese
+practising together, and the Marchesa singing an Italian folk-song
+while her husband accompanied her on the pianoforte. But her singing was
+rather strained and forced. Still, they were quite a little family, and
+it seemed quite nice. As soon as she could, the Marchesa left the two
+men together, whilst she sat apart. Aaron and Manfredi went through
+old Italian and old German music, tried one thing and then another, and
+seemed quite like brothers. They arranged a piece which they should play
+together on a Saturday morning, eight days hence.
+
+The next day, Saturday, Aaron went to one of the Del Torre music
+mornings. There was a string quartette--and a violin soloist--and the
+Marchese at the piano. The audience, some dozen or fourteen friends,
+sat at the near end of the room, or in the smaller salotta, whilst the
+musicians performed at the further end of the room. The Lillys were
+there, both Tanny and her husband. But apart from these, Aaron knew
+nobody, and felt uncomfortable. The Marchesa gave her guests little
+sandwiches and glasses of wine or Marsala or vermouth, as they chose.
+And she was quite the hostess: the well-bred and very simple, but still
+the conventional hostess. Aaron did not like it. And he could see that
+Lilly too was unhappy. In fact, the little man bolted the moment he
+could, dragging after him the indignant Tanny, who was so looking
+forward to the excellent little sandwiches. But no--Lilly just rudely
+bolted. Aaron followed as soon as he could.
+
+“Will you come to dinner tomorrow evening?” said his hostess to him as
+he was leaving. And he agreed. He had really resented seeing her as a
+conventional hostess, attending so charmingly to all the other people,
+and treating him so merely as one of the guests, among many others. So
+that when at the last moment she quietly invited him to dinner next day,
+he was flattered and accepted at once.
+
+The next day was Sunday--the seventh day after his coming together with
+the Marchesa--which had taken place on the Monday. And already he was
+feeling much less dramatic in his decision to keep himself apart from
+her, to be merely friends. Already the memory of the last time was
+fanning up in him, not as a warning but as a terrible incitement. Again
+the naked desire was getting hold of him, with that peculiar brutal
+powerfulness which startled him and also pleased him.
+
+So that by the time Sunday morning came, his recoil had exhausted
+itself, and he was ready again, eager again, but more wary this time.
+He sat in his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing over
+from memory the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she would get
+into unison in the evening. His flute, his Aaron's rod, would blossom
+once again with splendid scarlet flowers, the red Florentine lilies.
+It was curious, the passion he had for her: just unalloyed desire, and
+nothing else. Something he had not known in his life before. Previously
+there had been always _some_ personal quality, some sort of personal
+tenderness. But here, none. She did not seem to want it. She seemed
+to hate it, indeed. No, all he felt was stark, naked desire, without a
+single pretension. True enough, his last experience had been a warning
+to him. His desire and himself likewise had broken rather disastrously
+under the proving. But not finally broken. He was ready again. And with
+all the sheer powerful insolence of desire he looked forward to the
+evening. For he almost expected Manfredi would not be there. The
+officer had said something about having to go to Padua on the Saturday
+afternoon.
+
+So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock. Judge
+of his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an
+elderly, quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected English
+authoress. She was charming, in her white hair and dress of soft white
+wool and white lace, with a long chain of filigree gold beads, like
+bubbles. She was charming in her old-fashioned manner too, as if the
+world were still safe and stable, like a garden in which delightful
+culture, and choice ideas bloomed safe from wind and weather. Alas,
+never was Aaron more conscious of the crude collapse in the world than
+when he listened to this animated, young-seeming lady from the safe
+days of the seventies. All the old culture and choice ideas seemed like
+blowing bubbles. And dear old Corinna Wade, she seemed to be blowing
+bubbles still, as she sat there so charming in her soft white dress,
+and talked with her bright animation about the influence of woman
+in Parliament and the influence of woman in the Periclean day. Aaron
+listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles float round his head, and
+almost hearing them go pop.
+
+To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud
+of his not-very-important social standing than of his literature. In
+fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad.
+Perfectly well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face
+was the most well-dressed thing to be met in North Italy.
+
+“Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French. I didn't know you were in Florence
+again. You make that journey from Venice so often. I wonder you don't
+get tired of it,” cried Corinna Wade.
+
+“No,” he said. “So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I shall
+come to Florence. But I can LIVE in no town but Venice.”
+
+“No, I suppose you can't. Well, there is something special about Venice:
+having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a gondola. I
+suppose it is all much more soothing.”
+
+“Much less nerve-racking, yes. And then there is a quality in the
+whole life. Of course I see few English people in Venice--only the old
+Venetian families, as a rule.”
+
+“Ah, yes. That must be very interesting. They are very exclusive still,
+the Venetian _noblesse_?” said Miss Wade.
+
+“Oh, very exclusive,” said Mr. French. “That is one of the charms.
+Venice is really altogether exclusive. It excludes the world, really,
+and defies time and modern movement. Yes, in spite of the steamers on
+the canal, and the tourists.”
+
+“That is so. That is so. Venice is a strange back-water. And the old
+families are very proud still, in these democratic days. They have a
+great opinion of themselves, I am told.”
+
+“Well,” said Mr. French. “Perhaps you know the rhyme:
+
+                     “'Veneziano gran' Signore
+                     Padovano buon' dotore.
+                     Vicenzese mangia il gatto
+                     Veronese tutto matto---'”
+
+“How very amusing!” said Miss Wade. “_Veneziana_ gran' Signore. The
+Venetian is a great gentleman! Yes, I know they are all convinced of it.
+Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days. To be born a Venetian,
+is to be born a great gentleman! But this outdoes divine right of king.”
+
+“To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman,” said
+Mr. French, rather fussily.
+
+“You seriously think so?” said Miss Wade. “Well now, what do you base
+your opinion on?”
+
+Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.
+
+“Yes--interesting. Very interesting. Rather like the
+Byzantines--lingering on into far other ages. Anna Comnena always
+charmed me very much. HOW she despised the flower of the north--even
+Tancred! And so the lingering Venetian families! And you, in your
+palazzo on the Grand Canal: you are a northern barbarian civilised into
+the old Venetian Signoria. But how very romantic a situation!”
+
+It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit
+out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor,
+how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
+
+But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it. He sat and
+listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam
+in his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion. He made
+the two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his democratic
+silence, Miss Wade might have said.
+
+However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early, to
+catch her tram. And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to accompany
+her, to see her safe on board. Which left Aaron and the Marchesa alone.
+
+“What time is Manfredi coming back?” said he.
+
+“Tomorrow,” replied she.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+“Why do you have those people?” he asked.
+
+“Who?”
+
+“Those two who were here this evening.”
+
+“Miss Wade and Mr. French?--Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much. She is so
+refreshing.”
+
+“Those old people,” said Aaron. “They licked the sugar off the pill, and
+go on as if everything was toffee. And we've got to swallow the pill.
+It's easy to be refreshing---”
+
+“No, don't say anything against her. I like her so much.”
+
+“And him?”
+
+“Mr. French!--Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt
+the pea through three feather-beds. But he can be quite witty, and an
+excellent conversationalist, too. Oh yes, I like him quite well.”
+
+“Matter of taste,” said Aaron.
+
+They had not much to say to one another. The time passed, in the pauses.
+He looked at his watch.
+
+“I shall have to go,” he said.
+
+“Won't you stay?” she said, in a small, muted voice.
+
+“Stay all night?” he said.
+
+“Won't you?”
+
+“Yes,” he said quietly. Did he not feel the strength of his desire on
+him.
+
+After which she said no more. Only she offered him whiskey and soda,
+which he accepted.
+
+“Go then,” he said to her. “And I'll come to you.--Shall I come in
+fifteen minutes?”
+
+She looked at him with strange, slow dark eyes. And he could not
+understand.
+
+“Yes,” she said. And she went.
+
+And again, this night as before, she seemed strangely small and clinging
+in his arms. And this night he felt his passion drawn from him as if
+a long, live nerve were drawn out from his body, a long live thread of
+electric fire, a long, living nerve finely extracted from him, from the
+very roots of his soul. A long fine discharge of pure, bluish fire,
+from the core of his soul. It was an excruciating, but also an intensely
+gratifying sensation.
+
+This night he slept with a deeper obliviousness than before. But ah, as
+it grew towards morning how he wished he could be alone.
+
+They must stay together till the day was light. And she seemed to love
+clinging to him and curling strangely on his breast. He could never
+reconcile it with her who was a hostess entertaining her guests. How
+could she now in a sort of little ecstasy curl herself and nestle
+herself on his, Aaron's breast, tangling his face all over with her
+hair. He verily believed that this was what she really wanted of him: to
+curl herself on his naked breast, to make herself small, small, to feel
+his arms around her, while he himself was remote, silent, in some
+way inaccessible. This seemed almost to make her beside herself with
+gratification. But why, why? Was it because he was one of her own race,
+and she, as it were, crept right home to him?
+
+He did not know. He only knew it had nothing to do with him: and that,
+save out of _complaisance_, he did not want it. It simply blasted his
+own central life. It simply blighted him.
+
+And she clung to him closer. Strange, she was afraid of him! Afraid of
+him as of a fetish! Fetish afraid, and fetish-fascinated! Or was her
+fear only a delightful game of cat and mouse? Or was the fear genuine,
+and the delight the greater: a sort of sacrilege? The fear, and the
+dangerous, sacrilegious power over that which she feared.
+
+In some way, she was not afraid of him at all. In some other way she
+used him as a mere magic implement, used him with the most amazing
+priestess-craft. Himself, the individual man which he was, this she
+treated with an indifference that was startling to him.
+
+He forgot, perhaps, that this was how he had treated her. His famous
+desire for her, what had it been but this same attempt to strike a magic
+fire out of her, for his own ecstasy. They were playing the same game
+of fire. In him, however, there was all the time something hard and
+reckless and defiant, which stood apart. She was absolutely gone in
+her own incantations. She was absolutely gone, like a priestess utterly
+involved in her terrible rites. And he was part of the ritual only, God
+and victim in one. God and victim! All the time, God and victim. When
+his aloof soul realised, amid the welter of incantation, how he was
+being used,--not as himself but as something quite different--God and
+victim--then he dilated with intense surprise, and his remote soul stood
+up tall and knew itself alone. He didn't want it, not at all. He knew
+he was apart. And he looked back over the whole mystery of their
+love-contact. Only his soul was apart.
+
+He was aware of the strength and beauty and godlikeness that his breast
+was then to her--the magic. But himself, he stood far off, like Moses'
+sister Miriam. She would drink the one drop of his innermost heart's
+blood, and he would be carrion. As Cleopatra killed her lovers in the
+morning. Surely they knew that death was their just climax. They had
+approached the climax. Accept then.
+
+But his soul stood apart, and could have nothing to do with it. If he
+had really been tempted, he would have gone on, and she might have had
+his central heart's blood. Yes, and thrown away the carrion. He would
+have been willing.
+
+But fatally, he was not tempted. His soul stood apart and decided. At
+the bottom of his soul he disliked her. Or if not her, then her whole
+motive. Her whole life-mode. He was neither God nor victim: neither
+greater nor less than himself. His soul, in its isolation as she lay on
+his breast, chose it so, with the soul's inevitability. So, there was no
+temptation.
+
+When it was sufficiently light, he kissed her and left her. Quietly he
+left the silent flat. He had some difficulty in unfastening the various
+locks and bars and catches of the massive door downstairs, and began, in
+irritation and anger, to feel he was a prisoner, that he was locked
+in. But suddenly the ponderous door came loose, and he was out in the
+street. The door shut heavily behind him, with a shudder. He was out in
+the morning streets of Florence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE BROKEN ROD
+
+
+The day was rainy. Aaron stayed indoors alone, and copied music and
+slept. He felt the same stunned, withered feeling as before, but less
+intensely, less disastrously, this time. He knew now, without argument
+or thought that he would never go again to the Marchesa: not as a lover.
+He would go away from it all. He did not dislike her. But he would never
+see her again. A great gulf had opened, leaving him alone on the far
+side.
+
+He did not go out till after dinner. When he got downstairs he found the
+heavy night-door closed. He wondered: then remembered the Signorina's
+fear of riots and disturbances. As again he fumbled with the catches,
+he felt that the doors of Florence were trying to prevent his egress.
+However, he got out.
+
+It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming. He
+was struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere.
+Yet he noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one
+with a torch: a long torch with naked flames. The men were stooping over
+something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too. It was a
+dark, weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence. Aaron lingered on his
+doorstep, watching. He could not see what they were doing. But now, the
+two were crouching down; over a long dark object on the ground, and the
+one with the torch bending also to look. What was it? They were just at
+the foot of the statue, a dark little group under the big pediment, the
+torch-flames weirdly flickering as the torch-bearer moved and stooped
+lower to the two crouching men, who seemed to be kneeling.
+
+Aaron felt his blood stir. There was something dark and mysterious,
+stealthy, in the little scene. It was obvious the men did not want to
+draw attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming. And an eerie
+instinct prevented Aaron's going nearer to look. Instead, he swerved
+on to the Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the
+little group in the centre. He walked the deserted dark-seeming street
+by the river, then turned inwards, into the city. He was going to the
+Piazza Vittoria Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre
+of Florence at night. There he could sit for an hour, and drink his
+vermouth and watch the Florentines.
+
+As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
+hurrying of feet behind him. Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
+coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him as
+he trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street. Aaron shrank under
+the wall. The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron perceived
+the other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily, bearing a
+stretcher on which a body was wrapped up, completely and darkly covered.
+The torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher passed too, hastily
+and stealthily, the flickering flames revealing them. They took no
+notice of Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted softly on towards
+the centre of the city. Their queer, quick footsteps echoed down the
+distance. Then Aaron too resumed his way.
+
+He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe. It was Sunday evening,
+and the place was full. Men, Florentines, many, many men sat in groups
+and in twos and threes at the little marble tables. They were mostly in
+dark clothes or black overcoats. They had mostly been drinking just a
+cup of coffee--others however had glasses of wine or liquor. But mostly
+it was just a little coffee-tray with a tiny coffee pot and a cup and
+saucer. There was a faint film of tobacco smoke. And the men were
+all talking: talking, talking with that peculiar intensity of
+the Florentines. Aaron felt the intense, compressed sound of many
+half-secret voices. For the little groups and couples abated their
+voices, none wished that others should hear what they said.
+
+Aaron was looking for a seat--there was no table to him-—when suddenly
+someone took him by the arm. It was Argyle.
+
+“Come along, now! Come and join us. Here, this way! Come along!”
+
+Aaron let himself be led away towards a corner. There sat Lilly and a
+strange man: called Levison. The room was warm. Aaron could never bear
+to be too hot. After sitting a minute, he rose and took off his coat,
+and hung it on a stand near the window. As he did so he felt the weight
+of his flute--it was still in his pocket. And he wondered if it was safe
+to leave it.
+
+“I suppose no one will steal from the overcoat pockets,” he said, as he
+sat down.
+
+“My dear chap, they'd steal the gold filling out of your teeth, if you
+happened to yawn,” said Argyle. “Why, have you left valuables in your
+overcoat?”
+
+“My flute,” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh, they won't steal that,” said Argyle.
+
+“Besides,” said Lilly, “we should see anyone who touched it.”
+
+And so they settled down to the vermouth.
+
+“Well,” said Argyle, “what have you been doing with yourself, eh? I
+haven't seen a glimpse of you for a week. Been going to the dogs, eh?”
+
+“Or the bitches,” said Aaron.
+
+“Oh, but look here, that's bad! That's bad! I can see I shall have
+to take you in hand, and commence my work of reform. Oh, I'm a great
+reformer, a Zwingli and Savonarola in one. I couldn't count the number
+of people I've led into the right way. It takes some finding, you know.
+Strait is the gate--damned strait sometimes. A damned tight squeeze....”
+ Argyle was somewhat intoxicated. He spoke with a slight slur, and
+laughed, really tickled at his own jokes. The man Levison smiled
+acquiescent. But Lilly was not listening. His brow was heavy and he
+seemed abstracted. He hardly noticed Aaron's arrival.
+
+“Did you see the row yesterday?” asked Levison.
+
+“No,” said Aaron. “What was it?”
+
+It was the socialists. They were making a demonstration against the
+imprisonment of one of the railway-strikers. I was there. They went on
+all right, with a good bit of howling and gibing: a lot of young louts,
+you know. And the shop-keepers shut up shop, and nobody showed the
+Italian flag, of course. Well, when they came to the Via Benedetto
+Croce, there were a few mounted carabinieri. So they stopped the
+procession, and the sergeant said that the crowd could continue, could
+go on where they liked, but would they not go down the Via Verrocchio,
+because it was being repaired, the roadway was all up, and there were
+piles of cobble stones. These might prove a temptation and lead to
+trouble. So would the demonstrators not take that road--they might take
+any other they liked.--Well, the very moment he had finished, there
+was a revolver shot, he made a noise, and fell forward over his horse's
+nose. One of the anarchists had shot him. Then there was hell let loose,
+the carabinieri fired back, and people were bolting and fighting like
+devils. I cleared out, myself. But my God--what do you think of it?”
+
+“Seems pretty mean,” said Aaron.
+
+“Mean!--He had just spoken them fair--they could go where they liked,
+only would they not go down the one road, because of the heap of stones.
+And they let him finish. And then shot him dead.”
+
+“Was he dead?” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes--killed outright, the Nazione says.”
+
+There was a silence. The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk
+vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
+
+“Well,” said Argyle, “if you let loose the dogs of war, you mustn't
+expect them to come to heel again in five minutes.”
+
+“But there's no fair play about it, not a bit,” said Levison.
+
+“Ah, my dear fellow, are you still so young and callow that you cherish
+the illusion of fair play?” said Argyle.
+
+“Yes, I am,” said Levison.
+
+“Live longer and grow wiser,” said Argyle, rather contemptuously.
+
+“Are you a socialist?” asked Levison.
+
+“Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella,” said Argyle, in
+his musical, indifferent voice. “Yes, Bella's her name. And if you
+can tell me a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure you,
+attentively.”
+
+“But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha,” said Aaron.
+
+“Haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if not
+more.”
+
+“They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?” said Levison.
+
+“Not the very least in the world--if it hadn't been that my elder Aunt
+Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella. I cut myself off from
+the family after that. Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not a family
+name on it. Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest.”
+
+“You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,”
+ said Lilly, laughing.
+
+“Assiduously! Assiduously! I can't stand these little vermin. Oh, I
+am quite indifferent about swallowing a camel or two--or even a whole
+string of dromedaries. How charmingly Eastern that sounds! But gnats!
+Not for anything in the world would I swallow one.”
+
+“You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?” persisted Levison, now
+turning to Lilly.
+
+“No,” said Lilly. “I was.”
+
+“And am no more,” said Argyle sarcastically. “My dear fellow, the only
+hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery.”
+
+“What kind of slavery?” asked Levison.
+
+“Slavery! SLAVERY! When I say SLAVERY I don't mean any of your damned
+modern reform cant. I mean solid sound slavery on which the Greek and
+the Roman world rested. FAR finer worlds than ours, my dear chap! Oh
+FAR finer! And can't be done without slavery. Simply can't be done.--Oh,
+they'll all come to realise it, when they've had a bit more of this
+democratic washer-women business.”
+
+Levison was laughing, with a slight sneer down his nose. “Anyhow,
+there's no immediate danger--or hope, if you prefer it--of the
+re-instituting of classic slavery,” he said.
+
+“Unfortunately no. We are all such fools,” said Argyle.
+
+“Besides,” said Levison, “who would you make slaves of?”
+
+“Everybody, my dear chap: beginning with the idealists and the
+theorising Jews, and after them your nicely-bred gentlemen, and then
+perhaps, your profiteers and Rothschilds, and ALL politicians, and
+ending up with the proletariat,” said Argyle.
+
+“Then who would be the masters?--the professional classes, doctors and
+lawyers and so on?”
+
+“What? Masters. They would be the sewerage slaves, as being those who
+had made most smells.” There was a moment's silence.
+
+“The only fault I have to find with your system,” said Levison, rather
+acidly, “is that there would be only one master, and everybody else
+slaves.”
+
+“Do you call that a fault? What do you want with more than one
+master? Are you asking for several?--Well, perhaps there's cunning in
+THAT.--Cunning devils, cunning devils, these theorising slaves--” And
+Argyle pushed his face with a devilish leer into Aaron's face. “Cunning
+devils!” he reiterated, with a slight tipsy slur. “That be-fouled
+Epictetus wasn't the last of 'em--nor the first. Oh, not by any means,
+not by any means.”
+
+Here Lilly could not avoid a slight spasm of amusement. “But returning
+to serious conversation,” said Levison, turning his rather sallow face
+to Lilly. “I think you'll agree with me that socialism is the inevitable
+next step--”
+
+Lilly waited for some time without answering. Then he said, with
+unwilling attention to the question: “I suppose it's the logically
+inevitable next step.”
+
+“Use logic as lavatory paper,” cried Argyle harshly. “Yes--logically
+inevitable--and humanly inevitable at the same time. Some form of
+socialism is bound to come, no matter how you postpone it or try
+variations,” said Levison.
+
+“All right, let it come,” said Lilly. “It's not my affair, neither to
+help it nor to keep it back, or even to try varying it.”
+
+“There I don't follow you,” said Levison. “Suppose you were in Russia
+now--”
+
+“I watch it I'm not.”
+
+“But you're in Italy, which isn't far off. Supposing a socialist
+revolution takes place all around you. Won't that force the problem on
+you?--It is every man's problem,” persisted Levison.
+
+“Not mine,” said Lilly.
+
+“How shall you escape it?” said Levison.
+
+“Because to me it is no problem. To Bolsh or not to Bolsh, as far as my
+mind goes, presents no problem. Not any more than to be or not to be. To
+be or not to be is simply no problem--”
+
+“No, I quite agree, that since you are already existing, and since death
+is ultimately inevitable, to be or not to be is no sound problem,”
+ said Levison. “But the parallel isn't true of socialism. That is not a
+problem of existence, but of a certain mode of existence which centuries
+of thought and action on the part of Europe have now made logically
+inevitable for Europe. And therefore there is a problem. There is more
+than a problem, there is a dilemma. Either we must go to the logical
+conclusion--or--”
+
+“Somewhere else,” said Lilly.
+
+“Yes--yes. Precisely! But where ELSE? That's the one half of the
+problem: supposing you do not agree to a logical progression in human
+social activity. Because after all, human society through the course
+of ages only enacts, spasmodically but still inevitably, the logical
+development of a given idea.”
+
+“Well, then, I tell you.--The idea and the ideal has for me gone
+dead--dead as carrion--”
+
+“Which idea, which ideal precisely?”
+
+“The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to receive,
+the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man, the ideal of
+the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call goodness, charity,
+benevolence, public spirited-ness, the ideal of sacrifice for a cause,
+the ideal of unity and unanimity--all the lot--all the whole beehive
+of ideals--has all got the modern bee-disease, and gone putrid,
+stinking.--And when the ideal is dead and putrid, the logical sequence
+is only stink.--Which, for me, is the truth concerning the ideal of
+good, peaceful, loving humanity and its logical sequence in socialism
+and equality, equal opportunity or whatever you like.--But this time he
+stinketh--and I'm sorry for any Christus who brings him to life again,
+to stink livingly for another thirty years: the beastly Lazarus of our
+idealism.”
+
+“That may be true for you--”
+
+“But it's true for nobody else,” said Lilly. “All the worse for them.
+Let them die of the bee-disease.”
+
+“Not only that,” persisted Levison, “but what is your alternative? Is it
+merely nihilism?”
+
+“My alternative,” said Lilly, “is an alternative for no one but myself,
+so I'll keep my mouth shut about it.”
+
+“That isn't fair.”
+
+“I tell you, the ideal of fairness stinks with the rest.--I have no
+obligation to say what I think.”
+
+“Yes, if you enter into conversation, you have--”
+
+“Bah, then I didn't enter into conversation.--The only thing is, I agree
+in the rough with Argyle. You've got to have a sort of slavery again.
+People are not MEN: they are insects and instruments, and their
+destiny is slavery. They are too many for me, and so what I think
+is ineffectual. But ultimately they will be brought to agree--after
+sufficient extermination--and then they will elect for themselves a
+proper and healthy and energetic slavery.”
+
+“I should like to know what you mean by slavery. Because to me it is
+impossible that slavery should be healthy and energetic. You seem to
+have some other idea in your mind, and you merely use the word slavery
+out of exasperation--”
+
+“I mean it none the less. I mean a real committal of the life-issue of
+inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being.”
+
+“It'll take a bit of knowing, who are the inferior and which is the
+superior,” said Levison sarcastically.
+
+“Not a bit. It is written between a man's brows, which he is.”
+
+“I'm afraid we shall all read differently.”
+
+“So long as we're liars.”
+
+“And putting that question aside: I presume that you mean that this
+committal of the life-issue of inferior beings to someone higher shall
+be made voluntarily--a sort of voluntary self-gift of the inferiors--”
+
+“Yes--more or less--and a voluntary acceptance. For it's no pretty gift,
+after all.--But once made it must be held fast by genuine power.
+Oh yes--no playing and fooling about with it. Permanent and very
+efficacious power.”
+
+“You mean military power?”
+
+“I do, of course.”
+
+Here Levison smiled a long, slow, subtle smile of ridicule. It all
+seemed to him the preposterous pretentiousness of a megalomaniac--one
+whom, after a while, humanity would probably have the satisfaction of
+putting into prison, or into a lunatic asylum. And Levison felt
+strong, overwhelmingly strong, in the huge social power with which
+he, insignificant as he was, was armed against such criminal-imbecile
+pretensions as those above set forth. Prison or the lunatic asylum.
+The face of the fellow gloated in these two inevitable engines of his
+disapproval.
+
+“It will take you some time before you'll get your doctrines accepted,”
+ he said.
+
+“Accepted! I'd be sorry. I don't want a lot of swine snouting and
+sniffing at me with their acceptance.--Bah, Levison--one can easily make
+a fool of you. Do you take this as my gospel?”
+
+“I take it you are speaking seriously.”
+
+Here Lilly broke into that peculiar, gay, whimsical smile.
+
+“But I should say the blank opposite with just as much fervour,” he
+declared.
+
+“Do you mean to say you don't MEAN what you've been saying?” said
+Levison, now really looking angry.
+
+“Why, I'll tell you the real truth,” said Lilly. “I think every man is a
+sacred and holy individual, NEVER to be violated; I think there is only
+one thing I hate to the verge of madness, and that is BULLYING. To see
+any living creature BULLIED, in any way, almost makes a murderer of me.
+That is true. Do you believe it--?”
+
+“Yes,” said Levison unwillingly. “That may be true as well. You have no
+doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which--”
+
+C R A S H!
+
+There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in
+darkness.
+
+Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible
+sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the
+hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful
+gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
+
+He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos. Then as he began to
+recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some
+distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where tables and
+chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris of glass and
+breakage: he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody gone: he saw
+the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of debris: he
+saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious.
+And still he had no idea of what had happened. He thought perhaps
+something had broken down. He could not understand.
+
+Lilly began to look round. He caught Aaron's eye. And then Aaron began
+to approach his friend.
+
+“What is it?” he asked.
+
+“A bomb,” said Lilly.
+
+The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now
+advanced to the place of debris. And now Aaron saw that a man was lying
+there--and horror, blood was running across the floor of the cafe. Men
+began now hastily to return to the place. Some seized their hats and
+departed again at once. But many began to crowd in--a black eager crowd
+of men pressing to where the bomb had burst--where the man was lying. It
+was rather dark, some of the lamps were broken--but enough still shone.
+Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has
+been an accident. Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat
+and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.
+
+“Let us go,” said Lilly.
+
+And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung. But Aaron looked in
+vain for his own hat. The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had
+hung it and his overcoat.
+
+“My hat and coat?” he said to Lilly.
+
+Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe. Then he climbed on a chair and
+looked round. Then he squeezed past the crowd.
+
+Aaron followed. On the other side of the crowd excited angry men
+were wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble
+table-top. Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the wall.
+He waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward to where
+the coats were. Someone had dragged out his, and it lay on the floor
+under many feet. He managed, with a struggle, to get it from under the
+feet of the crowd. He felt at once for his flute. But his trampled, torn
+coat had no flute in its pocket. He pushed and struggled, caught sight
+of a section, and picked it up. But it was split right down, two silver
+stops were torn out, and a long thin spelch of wood was curiously torn
+off. He looked at it, and his heart stood still. No need to look for the
+rest.
+
+He felt utterly, utterly overcome--as if he didn't care what became
+of him any further. He didn't care whether he were hit by a bomb, or
+whether he himself threw the next bomb, and hit somebody. He just didn't
+care any more about anything in life or death. It was as if the reins of
+his life slipped from his hands. And he would let everything run where
+it would, so long as it did run.
+
+Then he became aware of Lilly's eyes on him--and automatically he joined
+the little man.
+
+“Let us go,” said Lilly.
+
+And they pushed their way through the door. The police were just
+marching across the square. Aaron and Lilly walked in the opposite
+direction. Groups of people were watching. Suddenly Lilly swerved--in
+the middle of the road was a large black glisten of blood, trickling
+horribly. A wounded man had run from the blow and fallen here.
+
+Aaron did not know where he was going. But in the Via Tournabuoni Lilly
+turned towards the Arno, and soon they were on the Ponte Santa Trinita.
+
+“Who threw the bomb?” said Aaron.
+
+“I suppose an anarchist.”
+
+“It's all the same,” said Aaron.
+
+The two men, as if unable to walk any further, leaned on the broad
+parapet of the bridge and looked at the water in the darkness of the
+still, deserted night. Aaron still had his flute section in his hand,
+his overcoat over his arm.
+
+“Is that your flute?” asked Lilly.
+
+“Bit of it. Smashed.”
+
+“Let me look.”
+
+He looked, and gave it back.
+
+“No good,” he said.
+
+“Oh, no,” said Aaron.
+
+“Throw it in the river, Aaron,” said Lilly.
+
+Aaron turned and looked at him.
+
+“Throw it in the river,” repeated Lilly. “It's an end.”
+
+Aaron nervelessly dropped the flute into the stream. The two men stood
+leaning on the bridge-parapet, as if unable to move.
+
+“We shall have to go home,” said Lilly. “Tanny may hear of it and be
+anxious.”
+
+Aaron was quite dumbfounded by the night's event: the loss of his
+flute. Here was a blow he had not expected. And the loss was for him
+symbolistic. It chimed with something in his soul: the bomb, the smashed
+flute, the end.
+
+“There goes Aaron's Rod, then,” he said to Lilly.
+
+“It'll grow again. It's a reed, a water-plant--you can't kill it,” said
+Lilly, unheeding.
+
+“And me?”
+
+“You'll have to live without a rod, meanwhile.”
+
+To which pleasant remark Aaron made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. WORDS
+
+
+He went home to bed: and dreamed a strange dream. He dreamed that he was
+in a country with which he was not acquainted. Night was coming on, and
+he had nowhere to sleep. So he passed the mouth of a sort of cave or
+house, in which a woman, an old woman, sat. Therefore he entered, and
+though he could not understand the language, still his second self
+understood. The cave was a house: and men came home from work. His
+second self assumed that they were tin-miners.
+
+He wandered uneasily to and fro, no one taking any particular notice of
+him. And he realized that there was a whole vast country spreading, a
+sort of underworld country, spreading away beyond him. He wandered from
+vast apartment to apartment, down narrow corridors like the roads in a
+mine. In one of the great square rooms, the men were going to eat. And
+it seemed to him that what they were going to eat was a man, naked man.
+But his second self knew that what appeared to his eyes as a man was
+really a man's skin stuffed tight with prepared meat, as the skin of a
+Bologna sausage. This did not prevent his seeing the naked man who was
+to be eaten walk slowly and stiffly across the gangway and down the
+corridor. He saw him from behind. It was a big handsome man in the prime
+of life, quite naked and perhaps stupid. But of course he was only a
+skin stuffed with meat, whom the grey tin-miners were going to eat.
+
+Aaron, the dream-Aaron, turned another way, and strayed along the vast
+square rooms, cavern apartments. He came into one room where there were
+many children, all in white gowns. And they were all busily putting
+themselves to bed, in the many beds scattered about the room at
+haphazard. And each child went to bed with a wreath of flowers on its
+head, white flowers and pink, so it seemed. So there they all lay, in
+their flower-crowns in the vast space of the rooms. And Aaron went away.
+
+He could not remember the following part. Only he seemed to have passed
+through many grey domestic apartments, where were all women, all
+greyish in their clothes and appearance, being wives of the underground
+tin-miners. The men were away and the dream-Aaron remembered with fear
+the food they were to eat.
+
+The next thing he could recall was, that he was in a boat. And now he
+was most definitely two people. His invisible, _conscious_ self, what we
+have called his second self, hovered as it were before the prow of
+the boat, seeing and knowing, but unseen. His other self, the palpable
+Aaron, sat as a passenger in the boat, which was being rowed by the
+unknown people of this underworld. They stood up as they thrust the boat
+along. Other passengers were in the boat too, women as well, but all of
+them unknown people, and not noticeable.
+
+The boat was upon a great lake in the underworld country, a lake of dark
+blue water, but crystal clear and very beautiful in colour. The second
+or invisible Aaron sat in the prow and watched the fishes swimming
+suspended in the clear, beautiful dark-blue water. Some were pale fish,
+some frightening-looking, like centipedes swimming, and some were dark
+fish, of definite form, and delightful to watch.
+
+The palpable or visible Aaron sat at the side of the boat, on the end of
+the middle seat, with his naked right elbow leaning out over the side.
+And now the boat entered upon shallows. The impalpable Aaron in the bows
+saw the whitish clay of the bottom swirl up in clouds at each thrust of
+the oars, whitish-clayey clouds which would envelope the strange fishes
+in a sudden mist. And on the right hand of the course stakes stood up in
+the water, at intervals, to mark the course.
+
+The boat must pass very near these stakes, almost touching. And Aaron's
+naked elbow was leaning right over the side. As they approached the
+first stake, the boatmen all uttered a strange cry of warning, in a
+foreign language. The flesh-and-blood Aaron seemed not even to hear. The
+invisible Aaron heard, but did not comprehend the words of the cry.
+
+So the naked elbow struck smartly against the stake as the boat passed.
+
+The rowers rowed on. And still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat with his
+arm over the side. Another stake was nearing. “Will he heed, will he
+heed?” thought the anxious second self. The rowers gave the strange
+warning cry. He did not heed, and again the elbow struck against the
+stake as the boat passed. And yet the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on and
+made no sign. There were stakes all along this shallow part of the lake.
+Beyond was deep water again. The invisible Aaron was becoming anxious.
+“Will he never hear? Will he never heed? Will he never understand?”
+ he thought. And he watched in pain for the next stake. But still the
+flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on, and though the rowers cried so acutely
+that the invisible Aaron almost understood their very language, still
+the Aaron seated at the side heard nothing, and his elbow struck against
+the third stake.
+
+This was almost too much. But after a few moments, as the boat rowed on,
+the palpable Aaron changed his position as he sat, and drew in his arm:
+though even now he was not aware of any need to do so. The invisible
+Aaron breathed with relief in the bows, the boat swung steadily on, into
+the deep, unfathomable water again.
+
+They were drawing near a city. A lake-city, like Mexico. They must have
+reached a city, because when Aaron woke up and tried to piece together
+the dream of which these are mere fragments, he could remember having
+just seen an idol. An Astarte he knew it as, seated by the road, and in
+her open lap, were some eggs: smallish hen's eggs, and one or two bigger
+eggs, like swan's, and one single little roll of bread. These lay in the
+lap of the roadside Astarte.... And then he could remember no more.
+
+He woke, and for a minute tried to remember what he had been dreaming,
+and what it all meant. But he quickly relinquished the effort. So he
+looked at his watch: it was only half-past three. He had one of those
+American watches with luminous, phosphorescent figures and fingers. And
+tonight he felt afraid of its eerily shining face.
+
+He was awake a long time in the dark--for two hours, thinking and
+not thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full
+wakefulness, and which is a painful strain. At length he went to sleep
+again, and did not wake till past eight o'clock. He did not ring for his
+coffee till nine.
+
+Outside was a bright day--but he hardly heeded it. He lay profitlessly
+thinking. With the breaking of the flute, that which was slowly breaking
+had finally shattered at last. And there was nothing ahead: no plan, no
+prospect. He knew quite well that people would help him: Francis Dekker
+or Angus Guest or the Marchese or Lilly. They would get him a new flute,
+and find him engagements. But what was the good? His flute was broken,
+and broken finally. The bomb had settled it. The bomb had settled it and
+everything. It was an end, no matter how he tried to patch things up.
+The only thing he felt was a thread of destiny attaching him to Lilly.
+The rest had all gone as bare and bald as the dead orb of the moon. So
+he made up his mind, if he could, to make some plan that would bring his
+life together with that of his evanescent friend.
+
+Lilly was a peculiar bird. Clever and attractive as he undoubtedly was,
+he was perhaps the most objectionable person to know. It was stamped on
+his peculiar face. Aaron thought of Lilly's dark, ugly face, which had
+something that lurked in it as a creature under leaves. Then he thought
+of the wide-apart eyes, with their curious candour and surety. The
+peculiar, half-veiled surety, as if nothing, nothing could overcome
+him. It made people angry, this look of silent, indifferent assurance.
+“Nothing can touch him on the quick, nothing can really GET at him,”
+ they felt at last. And they felt it with resentment, almost with hate.
+They wanted to be able to get at him. For he was so open-seeming, so
+very outspoken. He gave himself away so much. And he had no money to
+fall back on. Yet he gave himself away so easily, paid such attention,
+almost deference to any chance friend. So they all thought: Here is
+a wise person who finds me the wonder which I really am.--And lo and
+behold, after he had given them the trial, and found their inevitable
+limitations, he departed and ceased to heed their wonderful existence.
+Which, to say the least of it, was fraudulent and damnable. It was then,
+after his departure, that they realised his basic indifference to them,
+and his silent arrogance. A silent arrogance that knew all their wisdom,
+and left them to it.
+
+Aaron had been through it all. He had started by thinking Lilly a
+peculiar little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a
+bit pathetic: progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing: then
+cruel and intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own: then
+terribly arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove which is
+in holes at the finger-ends. And all the time, which was most beastly,
+seeing through one. All the time, freak and outsider as he was, Lilly
+_knew_. He knew, and his soul was against the whole world.
+
+Driven to bay, and forced to choose. Forced to choose, not between life
+and death, but between the world and the uncertain, assertive Lilly.
+Forced to choose, and yet, in the world, having nothing left to choose.
+For in the world there was nothing left to choose, unless he would give
+in and try for success. Aaron knew well enough that if he liked to do
+a bit of buttering, people would gladly make a success of him, and give
+him money and success. He could become quite a favourite.
+
+But no! If he had to give in to something: if he really had to give in,
+and it seemed he had: then he would rather give in to the little Lilly
+than to the beastly people of the world. If he had to give in, then
+it should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no social
+institution. No!--if he had to yield his wilful independence, and give
+himself, then he would rather give himself to the little, individual man
+than to any of the rest. For to tell the truth, in the man was something
+incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he chose to allow it.
+
+As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the _cul de sac_ in which
+he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:
+yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man's nature rather than to the
+quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society: yielding, since
+yield he must, in some direction or other: yielding in a new direction
+now, to one strange and incalculable little individual: as Aaron lay so
+relaxing, finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul to his mind's
+hero, the self-same hero tapped and entered.
+
+“I wondered,” he said, “if you'd like to walk into the country with me:
+it is such a nice day. I thought you might have gone out already. But
+here you are in bed like a woman who's had a baby.--You're all right,
+are you?”
+
+“Yes,” said Aaron. “I'm all right.”
+
+“Miserable about your flute?--Ah, well, there are more flutes. Get up
+then.” And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.
+
+“We're going away on Thursday,” he said.
+
+“Where to?” said Aaron.
+
+“Naples. We've got a little house there for the winter--in the country,
+not far from Sorrento--I must get a bit of work done, now the winter is
+coming. And forget all about everything and just live with life. What's
+the good of running after life, when we've got it in us, if nobody
+prevents us and obstructs us?”
+
+Aaron felt very queer.
+
+“But for how long will you settle down--?” he asked.
+
+“Oh, only the winter. I am a vagrant really: or a migrant. I must
+migrate. Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one
+AND the same bird? Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and
+south, so oscillate I do. It's just my nature. All people don't have the
+same needs.”
+
+“Perhaps not,” said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side of
+the bed.
+
+“I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another
+race. I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me. Europe may be all right
+in herself. But I find myself chafing. Another year I shall get out. I
+shall leave Europe. I begin to feel caged.”
+
+“I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you,” said Aaron.
+
+“I guess there are.”
+
+“And maybe they haven't a chance to get out.”
+
+Lilly was silent a moment. Then he said:
+
+“Well, I didn't make life and society. I can only go my own way.”
+
+Aaron too was silent. A deep disappointment was settling over his
+spirit.
+
+“Will you be alone all winter?”
+
+“Just myself and Tanny,” he answered. “But people always turn up.”
+
+“And then next year, what will you do?”
+
+“Who knows? I may sail far off. I should like to. I should like to try
+quite a new life-mode. This is finished in me--and yet perhaps it is
+absurd to go further. I'm rather sick of seekers. I hate a seeker.”
+
+“What,” said Aaron rather sarcastically--“those who are looking for a
+new religion?”
+
+“Religion--and love--and all that. It's a disease now.”
+
+“Oh, I don't know,” said Aaron. “Perhaps the lack of love and religion
+is the disease.”
+
+“Ah--bah! The grinding the old millstones of love and God is what ails
+us, when there's no more grist between the stones. We've ground love
+very small. Time to forget it. Forget the very words religion, and God,
+and love--then have a shot at a new mode. But the very words rivet us
+down and don't let us move. Rivets, and we can't get them out.”
+
+“And where should we be if we could?” said Aaron.
+
+“We might begin to be ourselves, anyhow.”
+
+“And what does that mean?” said Aaron. “Being yourself--what does it
+mean?”
+
+“To me, everything.”
+
+“And to most folks, nothing. They've got to have a goal.”
+
+“There is no goal. I loathe goals more than any other impertinence.
+Gaols, they are. Bah--jails and jailers, gaols and gaolers---”
+
+“Wherever you go, you'll find people with their noses tied to some
+goal,” said Aaron.
+
+“Their wagon hitched to a star--which goes round and round like an ass
+in a gin,” laughed Lilly. “Be damned to it.”
+
+Aaron got himself dressed, and the two men went out, took a tram and
+went into the country. Aaron could not help it--Lilly put his back up.
+They came to a little inn near a bridge, where a broad stream rustled
+bright and shallow. It was a sunny warm day, and Aaron and Lilly had
+a table outside under the thin trees at the top of the bank above the
+river. The yellow leaves were falling--the Tuscan sky was turquoise
+blue. In the stream below three naked boys still adventurously bathed,
+and lay flat on the shingle in the sun. A wagon with two pale, loving,
+velvety oxen drew slowly down the hill, looking at each step as if they
+were going to come to rest, to move no more. But still they stepped
+forward. Till they came to the inn, and there they stood at rest. Two
+old women were picking the last acorns under three scrubby oak-trees,
+whilst a girl with bare feet drove her two goats and a sheep up from the
+water-side towards the women. The girl wore a dress that had been blue,
+perhaps indigo, but which had faded to the beautiful lavender-purple
+colour which is so common, and which always reminded Lilly of purple
+anemones in the south.
+
+The two friends sat in the sun and drank red wine. It was midday. From
+the thin, square belfry on the opposite hill the bells had rung. The
+old women and the girl squatted under the trees, eating their bread
+and figs. The boys were dressing, fluttering into their shirts on the
+stream's shingle. A big girl went past, with somebody's dinner tied in
+a red kerchief and perched on her head. It was one of the most precious
+hours: the hour of pause, noon, and the sun, and the quiet acceptance
+of the world. At such a time everything seems to fall into a true
+relationship, after the strain of work and of urge.
+
+Aaron looked at Lilly, and saw the same odd, distant look on his face as
+on the face of some animal when it lies awake and alert, yet perfectly
+at one with its surroundings. It was something quite different from
+happiness: an alert enjoyment of rest, an intense and satisfying sense
+of centrality. As a dog when it basks in the sun with one eye open and
+winking: or a rabbit quite still and wide-eyed, with a faintly-twitching
+nose. Not passivity, but alert enjoyment of being central, life-central
+in one's own little circumambient world.
+
+They sat thus still--or lay under the trees--for an hour and a half.
+Then Lilly paid the bill, and went on.
+
+“What am I going to do this winter, do you think?” Aaron asked.
+
+“What do you want to do?”
+
+“Nay, that's what I want to know.”
+
+“Do you want anything? I mean, does something drive you from inside?”
+
+“I can't just rest,” said Aaron.
+
+“Can't you settle down to something?--to a job, for instance?”
+
+“I've not found the job I could settle down to, yet,” said Aaron.
+
+“Why not?”
+
+“It's just my nature.”
+
+“Are you a seeker? Have you got a divine urge, or need?”
+
+“How do I know?” laughed Aaron. “Perhaps I've got a DAMNED urge, at the
+bottom of me. I'm sure it's nothing divine.”
+
+“Very well then. Now, in life, there are only two great dynamic
+urges--do you believe me--?”
+
+“How do I know?” laughed Aaron. “Do you want to be believed?”
+
+“No, I don't care a straw. Only for your own sake, you'd better believe
+me.”
+
+“All right then--what about it?”
+
+“Well, then, there are only two great dynamic urges in LIFE: love and
+power.”
+
+“Love and power?” said Aaron. “I don't see power as so very important.”
+
+“You don't see because you don't look. But that's not the point. What
+sort of urge is your urge? Is it the love urge?”
+
+“I don't know,” said Aaron.
+
+“Yes, you do. You know that you have got an urge, don't you?”
+
+“Yes--” rather unwillingly Aaron admitted it.
+
+“Well then, what is it? Is it that you want to love, or to be obeyed?”
+
+“A bit of both.”
+
+“All right--a bit of both. And what are you looking for in love?--A
+woman whom you can love, and who will love you, out and out and all in
+all and happy ever after sort of thing?”
+
+“That's what I started out for, perhaps,” laughed Aaron.
+
+“And now you know it's all my eye!” Aaron looked at Lilly, unwilling to
+admit it. Lilly began to laugh.
+
+“You know it well enough,” he said. “It's one of your lost illusions, my
+boy. Well, then, what next? Is it a God you're after? Do you want a God
+you can strive to and attain, through love, and live happy ever after,
+countless millions of eternities, immortality and all that? Is this your
+little dodge?”
+
+Again Aaron looked at Lilly with that odd double look of mockery and
+unwillingness to give himself away.
+
+“All right then. You've got a love-urge that urges you to God; have
+you? Then go and join the Buddhists in Burmah, or the newest fangled
+Christians in Europe. Go and stick your head in a bush of Nirvana or
+spiritual perfection. Trot off.”
+
+“I won't,” said Aaron.
+
+“You must. If you've got a love-urge, then give it its fulfilment.”
+
+“I haven't got a love-urge.”
+
+“You have. You want to get excited in love. You want to be carried away
+in love. You want to whoosh off in a nice little love whoosh and love
+yourself. Don't deny it. I know you do. You want passion to sweep you
+off on wings of fire till you surpass yourself, and like the swooping
+eagle swoop right into the sun. I know you, my love-boy.”
+
+“Not any more--not any more. I've been had too often,” laughed Aaron.
+
+“Bah, it's a lesson men never learn. No matter how sick they make
+themselves with love, they always rush for more, like a dog to his
+vomit.”
+
+“Well, what am I to do then, if I'm not to love?” cried Aaron.
+
+“You want to go on, from passion to passion, from ecstasy to ecstasy,
+from triumph to triumph, till you can whoosh away into glory, beyond
+yourself, all bonds loosened and happy ever after. Either that or
+Nirvana, opposite side of the medal.”
+
+“There's probably more hate than love in me,” said Aaron.
+
+“That's the recoil of the same urge. The anarchist, the criminal, the
+murderer, he is only the extreme lover acting on the recoil. But it
+is love: only in recoil. It flies back, the love-urge, and becomes a
+horror.”
+
+“All right then. I'm a criminal and a murderer,” said Aaron.
+
+“No, you're not. But you've a love-urge. And perhaps on the recoil just
+now. But listen to me. It's no good thinking the love-urge is the one
+and only. _Niente_! You can whoosh if you like, and get excited and
+carried away loving a woman, or humanity, or God. Swoop away in the love
+direction till you lose yourself. But that's where you're had. You can't
+lose yourself. You can try. But you might just as well try to swallow
+yourself. You'll only bite your fingers off in the attempt. You can't
+lose yourself, neither in woman nor humanity nor in God. You've always
+got yourself on your hands in the end: and a very raw and jaded and
+humiliated and nervous-neurasthenic self it is, too, in the end. A
+very nasty thing to wake up to is one's own raw self after an excessive
+love-whoosh. Look even at President Wilson: he love-whooshed for
+humanity, and found in the end he'd only got a very sorry self on his
+hands.
+
+“So leave off. Leave off, my boy. Leave off love-whooshing. You can't
+lose yourself, so stop trying. The responsibility is on your own
+shoulders all the time, and no God which man has ever struck can take it
+off. You ARE yourself and so BE yourself. Stick to it and abide by it.
+Passion or no passion, ecstasy or no ecstasy, urge or no urge, there's
+no goal outside you, where you can consummate like an eagle flying
+into the sun, or a moth into a candle. There's no goal outside you--and
+there's no God outside you. No God, whom you can get to and rest in.
+None. It's a case of:
+
+
+          'Trot, trot to market, to buy a penny bun,
+           And trot, trot back again, as fast as you can run.'
+
+
+But there's no God outside you, whom you can rise to or sink to or swoop
+away to. You can't even gum yourself to a divine Nirvana moon. Because
+all the time you've got to eat your dinner and digest it. There is no
+goal outside you. None.
+
+“There is only one thing, your own very self. So you'd better stick to
+it. You can't be any bigger than just yourself, so you needn't drag God
+in. You've got one job, and no more. There inside you lies your own very
+self, like a germinating egg, your precious Easter egg of your own soul.
+There it is, developing bit by bit, from one single egg-cell which you
+were at your conception in your mother's womb, on and on to the strange
+and peculiar complication in unity which never stops till you die--if
+then. You've got an innermost, integral unique self, and since it's the
+only thing you have got or ever will have, don't go trying to lose it.
+You've got to develop it, from the egg into the chicken, and from the
+chicken into the one-and-only phoenix, of which there can only be one
+at a time in the universe. There can only be one of you at a time in the
+universe--and one of me. So don't forget it. Your own single oneness is
+your destiny. Your destiny comes from within, from your own self-form.
+And you can't know it beforehand, neither your destiny nor your
+self-form. You can only develop it. You can only stick to your own very
+self, and NEVER betray it. And by so sticking, you develop the one and
+only phoenix of your own self, and you unfold your own destiny, as
+a dandelion unfolds itself into a dandelion, and not into a stick of
+celery.
+
+“Remember this, my boy: you've never got to deny the Holy Ghost which is
+inside you, your own soul's self. Never. Or you'll catch it. And you've
+never got to think you'll dodge the responsibility of your own soul's
+self, by loving or sacrificing or Nirvaning--or even anarchising and
+throwing bombs. You never will....”
+
+Aaron was silenced for a moment by this flood of words. Then he said
+smiling:
+
+“So I'd better sit tight on my soul, till it hatches, had I?”
+
+“Oh, yes. If your soul's urge urges you to love, then love. But always
+know that what you are doing is the fulfilling of your own soul's
+impulse. It's no good trying to act by prescription: not a bit. And
+it's no use getting into frenzies. If you've got to go in for love and
+passion, go in for them. But they aren't the goal. They're a mere means:
+a life-means, if you will. The only goal is the fulfilling of your own
+soul's active desire and suggestion. Be passionate as much as ever it is
+your nature to be passionate, and deeply sensual as far as you can
+be. Small souls have a small sensuality, deep souls a deep one. But
+remember, all the time, the responsibility is upon your own head, it
+all rests with your own lonely soul, the responsibility for your own
+action.”
+
+“I never said it didn't,” said Aaron.
+
+“You never said it did. You never accepted. You thought there was
+something outside, to justify you: God, or a creed, or a prescription.
+But remember, your soul inside you is your only Godhead. It develops
+your actions within you as a tree develops its own new cells. And the
+cells push on into buds and boughs and flowers. And these are your
+passion and your acts and your thoughts and expressions, your developing
+consciousness. You don't know beforehand, and you can't. You can only
+stick to your own soul through thick and thin.
+
+“You are your own Tree of Life, roots and limbs and trunk. Somewhere
+within the wholeness of the tree lies the very self, the quick: its own
+innate Holy Ghost. And this Holy Ghost puts forth new buds, and pushes
+past old limits, and shakes off a whole body of dying leaves. And the
+old limits hate being empassed, and the old leaves hate to fall. But
+they must, if the tree-soul says so....”
+
+They had sat again during this harangue, under a white wall. Aaron
+listened more to the voice than the words. It was more the sound value
+which entered his soul, the tone, the strange speech-music which sank
+into him. The sense he hardly heeded. And yet he understood, he knew.
+He understood, oh so much more deeply than if he had listened with his
+head. And he answered an objection from the bottom of his soul.
+
+“But you talk,” he said, “as if we were like trees, alone by ourselves
+in the world. We aren't. If we love, it needs another person than
+ourselves. And if we hate, and even if we talk.”
+
+“Quite,” said Lilly. “And that's just the point. We've got to love and
+hate moreover--and even talk. But we haven't got to fix on any one of
+these modes, and say that's the only mode. It is such imbecility to say
+that love and love alone must rule. It is so obviously not the case. Yet
+we try and make it so.”
+
+“I feel that,” said Aaron. “It's all a lie.”
+
+“It's worse. It's a half lie. But listen. I told you there were two
+urges--two great life-urges, didn't I? There may be more. But it comes
+on me so strongly, now, that there are two: love, and power. And
+we've been trying to work ourselves, at least as individuals, from the
+love-urge exclusively, hating the power-urge, and repressing it. And now
+I find we've got to accept the very thing we've hated.
+
+“We've exhausted our love-urge, for the moment. And yet we try to force
+it to continue working. So we get inevitably anarchy and murder. It's
+no good. We've got to accept the power motive, accept it in deep
+responsibility, do you understand me? It is a great life motive. It was
+that great dark power-urge which kept Egypt so intensely living for so
+many centuries. It is a vast dark source of life and strength in us now,
+waiting either to issue into true action, or to burst into cataclysm.
+Power--the power-urge. The will-to-power--but not in Nietzsche's sense.
+Not intellectual power. Not mental power. Not conscious will-power. Not
+even wisdom. But dark, living, fructifying power. Do you know what I
+mean?”
+
+“I don't know,” said Aaron.
+
+“Take what you call love, for example. In the real way of love, the
+positive aim is to make the other person--or persons--happy. It devotes
+itself to the other or to others. But change the mode. Let the urge be
+the urge of power. Then the great desire is not happiness, neither of
+the beloved nor of oneself. Happiness is only one of many states, and it
+is horrible to think of fixing us down to one state. The urge of power
+does not seek for happiness any more than for any other state. It urges
+from within, darkly, for the displacing of the old leaves, the inception
+of the new. It is powerful and self-central, not seeking its centre
+outside, in some God or some beloved, but acting indomitably from within
+itself.
+
+“And of course there must be one who urges, and one who is impelled.
+Just as in love there is a beloved and a lover: The man is supposed to
+be the lover, the woman the beloved. Now, in the urge of power, it is
+the reverse. The woman must submit, but deeply, deeply submit. Not to
+any foolish fixed authority, not to any foolish and arbitrary will. But
+to something deep, deeper. To the soul in its dark motion of power and
+pride. We must reverse the poles. The woman must now submit--but deeply,
+deeply, and richly! No subservience. None of that. No slavery. A deep,
+unfathomable free submission.”
+
+“You'll never get it,” said Aaron.
+
+“You will, if you abandon the love idea and the love motive, and if
+you stand apart, and never bully, never force from the conscious will.
+That's where Nietzsche was wrong. His was the conscious and benevolent
+will, in fact, the love-will. But the deep power-urge is not conscious
+of its aims: and it is certainly not consciously benevolent or
+love-directed.--Whatever else happens, somewhere, sometime, the deep
+power-urge in man will have to issue forth again, and woman will submit,
+livingly, not subjectedly.”
+
+“She never will,” persisted Aaron. “Anything else will happen, but not
+that.”
+
+“She will,” said Lilly, “once man disengages himself from the love-mode,
+and stands clear. Once he stands clear, and the other great urge begins
+to flow in him, then the woman won't be able to resist. Her own soul
+will wish to yield itself.”
+
+“Woman yield--?” Aaron re-echoed.
+
+“Woman--and man too. Yield to the deep power-soul in the individual man,
+and obey implicitly. I don't go back on what I said before. I do believe
+that every man must fulfil his own soul, every woman must be herself,
+herself only, not some man's instrument, or some embodied theory. But
+the mode of our being is such that we can only live and have our being
+whilst we are implicit in one of the great dynamic modes. We MUST either
+love, or rule. And once the love-mode changes, as change it must, for we
+are worn out and becoming evil in its persistence, then the other mode
+will take place in us. And there will be profound, profound obedience in
+place of this love-crying, obedience to the incalculable power-urge. And
+men must submit to the greater soul in a man, for their guidance: and
+women must submit to the positive power-soul in man, for their being.”
+
+“You'll never get it,” said Aaron.
+
+“You will, when all men want it. All men say, they want a leader. Then
+let them in their souls submit to some greater soul than theirs. At
+present, when they say they want a leader, they mean they want an
+instrument, like Lloyd George. A mere instrument for their use. But it's
+more than that. It's the reverse. It's the deep, fathomless submission
+to the heroic soul in a greater man. You, Aaron, you too have the need
+to submit. You, too, have the need livingly to yield to a more heroic
+soul, to give yourself. You know you have. And you know it isn't love.
+It is life-submission. And you know it. But you kick against the pricks.
+And perhaps you'd rather die than yield. And so, die you must. It is
+your affair.”
+
+There was a long pause. Then Aaron looked up into Lilly's face. It was
+dark and remote-seeming. It was like a Byzantine eikon at the moment.
+
+“And whom shall I submit to?” he said.
+
+“Your soul will tell you,” replied the other.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aaron's Rod
+
+Author: D. H. Lawrence
+
+Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext# 4520]
+Posting Date: December 3, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AARON'S ROD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy
+
+
+
+
+
+AARON'S ROD
+
+by D. H. Lawrence
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I.  THE BLUE BALL
+    II.  ROYAL OAK
+   III.  "THE LIGHTED TREE"
+    IV.  "THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+     V.  AT THE OPERA
+    VI.  TALK
+   VII.  THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+  VIII.  A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+    IX.  LOW-WATER MARK
+     X.  THE WAR AGAIN
+    XI.  MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+   XII.  NOVARA
+  XIII.  WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+   XIV.  XX SETTEMBRE
+    XV.  A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+   XVI.  FLORENCE
+  XVII.  HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+ XVIII.  THE MARCHESA
+   XIX.  CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+    XX.  THE BROKEN ROD
+   XXI.  WORDS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE BLUE BALL
+
+
+There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and
+underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War
+was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace.
+A man felt the violence of the nightmare released now into the general
+air. Also there had been another wrangle among the men on the pit-bank
+that evening.
+
+Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line climbing
+the hill home from work. He was late because he had attended a meeting
+of the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his
+colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him
+nettled.
+
+He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and
+was in the long road of colliers' dwellings. Just across was his own
+house: he had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past
+the side of the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down
+the dark, wintry garden.
+
+"My father--my father's come!" cried a child's excited voice, and two
+little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
+
+"Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?" they cried. "We've got one!"
+
+"Afore I have my dinner?" he answered amiably.
+
+"Set it now. Set it now.--We got it through Fred Alton."
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+The little girls were dragging a rough, dark object out of a corner of
+the passage into the light of the kitchen door.
+
+"It's a beauty!" exclaimed Millicent.
+
+"Yes, it is," said Marjory.
+
+"I should think so," he replied, striding over the dark bough. He went
+to the back kitchen to take off his coat.
+
+"Set it now, Father. Set it now," clamoured the girls.
+
+"You might as well. You've left your dinner so long, you might as well
+do it now before you have it," came a woman's plangent voice, out of the
+brilliant light of the middle room.
+
+Aaron Sisson had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his cap. He stood
+bare-headed in his shirt and braces, contemplating the tree.
+
+"What am I to put it in?" he queried. He picked up the tree, and held
+it erect by the topmost twig. He felt the cold as he stood in the yard
+coatless, and he twitched his shoulders.
+
+"Isn't it a beauty!" repeated Millicent.
+
+"Ay!--lop-sided though."
+
+"Put something on, you two!" came the woman's high imperative voice,
+from the kitchen.
+
+"We aren't cold," protested the girls from the yard.
+
+"Come and put something on," insisted the voice. The man started off
+down the path, the little girls ran grumbling indoors. The sky was
+clear, there was still a crystalline, non-luminous light in the under
+air.
+
+Aaron rummaged in his shed at the bottom of the garden, and found a
+spade and a box that was suitable. Then he came out to his neat, bare,
+wintry garden. The girls flew towards him, putting the elastic of their
+hats under their chins as they ran. The tree and the box lay on the
+frozen earth. The air breathed dark, frosty, electric.
+
+"Hold it up straight," he said to Millicent, as he arranged the tree in
+the box. She stood silent and held the top bough, he filled in round the
+roots.
+
+When it was done, and pressed in, he went for the wheelbarrow. The girls
+were hovering excited round the tree. He dropped the barrow and stooped
+to the box. The girls watched him hold back his face--the boughs pricked
+him.
+
+"Is it very heavy?" asked Millicent.
+
+"Ay!" he replied, with a little grunt. Then the procession set off--the
+trundling wheel-barrow, the swinging hissing tree, the two excited
+little girls. They arrived at the door. Down went the legs of the
+wheel-barrow on the yard. The man looked at the box.
+
+"Where are you going to have it?" he called.
+
+"Put it in the back kitchen," cried his wife.
+
+"You'd better have it where it's going to stop. I don't want to hawk it
+about."
+
+"Put it on the floor against the dresser, Father. Put it there," urged
+Millicent.
+
+"You come and put some paper down, then," called the mother hastily.
+
+The two children ran indoors, the man stood contemplative in the cold,
+shrugging his uncovered shoulders slightly. The open inner door showed a
+bright linoleum on the floor, and the end of a brown side-board on which
+stood an aspidistra.
+
+Again with a wrench Aaron Sisson lifted the box. The tree pricked and
+stung. His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his face
+averted.
+
+"Mind where you make a lot of dirt," she said.
+
+He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on
+the floor. Soil scattered.
+
+"Sweep it up," he said to Millicent.
+
+His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the
+tree-boughs.
+
+A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything
+sharp and hard. In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red. All was
+scrupulously clean and perfect. A baby was cooing in a rocker-less
+wicker cradle by the hearth. The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark
+hair, was sewing a child's frock. She put this aside, rose, and began to
+take her husband's dinner from the oven.
+
+"You stopped confabbing long enough tonight," she said.
+
+"Yes," he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
+
+In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner. The doors were shut
+close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines under
+the house made the doors not fit. Aaron moved his chair, to get out of
+the draught. But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
+
+He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years
+old. He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something. His wife
+resumed her sewing. She was acutely aware of her husband, but he seemed
+not very much aware of her.
+
+"What were they on about today, then?" she said.
+
+"About the throw-in."
+
+"And did they settle anything?"
+
+"They're going to try it--and they'll come out if it isn't
+satisfactory."
+
+"The butties won't have it, I know," she said. He gave a short laugh,
+and went on with his meal.
+
+The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree. They had a
+wooden box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets,
+which they were spreading out like wares.
+
+"Don't open any. We won't open any of them till we've taken them all
+out--and then we'll undo one in our turns. Then we s'll both undo
+equal," Millicent was saying.
+
+"Yes, we'll take them ALL out first," re-echoed Marjory.
+
+"And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer? Do they want
+him?" A faint smile came on her husband's face.
+
+"Nay, I don't know what they want.--Some of 'em want him--whether
+they're a majority, I don't know."
+
+She watched him closely.
+
+"Majority! I'd give 'em majority. They want to get rid of you, and make
+a fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it. Strikes me you
+need something to break your heart over."
+
+He laughed silently.
+
+"Nay," he said. "I s'll never break my heart."
+
+"You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just because
+a lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to do the
+Union work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you, and you eat
+your heart out about it. More fool you, that's all I say--more fool you.
+If you cared for your wife and children half what you care about your
+Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the end. But you care about
+nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who don't know what they want
+except it's more money just for themselves. Self, self, self--that's all
+it is with them--and ignorance."
+
+"You'd rather have self without ignorance?" he said, smiling finely.
+
+"I would, if I've got to have it. But what I should like to see is a man
+that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics."
+
+Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed. A blank
+look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed any
+more. He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with two
+fingers, and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
+
+They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
+saying:
+
+"Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second. I'll take this--"
+
+She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament
+for a Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
+indentations on each side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it LOVELY!" Her fingers cautiously held the
+long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with a curious,
+irritating possession. The man's eyes moved away from her. The lesser
+child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
+
+"Oh!"--a wail went up from Millicent. "You've taken one!--You didn't
+wait." Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she began to
+interfere. "This is the way to do it, look! Let me help you."
+
+But Marjory drew back with resentment.
+
+"Don't, Millicent!--Don't!" came the childish cry. But Millicent's
+fingers itched.
+
+At length Marjory had got out her treasure--a little silvery bell with
+a glass top hanging inside. The bell was made of frail glassy substance,
+light as air.
+
+"Oh, the bell!" rang out Millicent's clanging voice. "The bell! It's my
+bell. My bell! It's mine! Don't break it, Marjory. Don't break it, will
+you?"
+
+Marjory was shaking the bell against her ear. But it was dumb, it made
+no sound.
+
+"You'll break it, I know you will.--You'll break it. Give it ME--"
+cried Millicent, and she began to take away the bell. Marjory set up an
+expostulation.
+
+"LET HER ALONE," said the father.
+
+Millicent let go as if she had been stung, but still her brassy,
+impudent voice persisted:
+
+"She'll break it. She'll break it. It's mine--"
+
+"You undo another," said the mother, politic.
+
+Millicent began with hasty, itching fingers to unclose another package.
+
+"Aw--aw Mother, my peacock--aw, my peacock, my green peacock!" Lavishly
+she hovered over a sinuous greenish bird, with wings and tail of spun
+glass, pearly, and body of deep electric green.
+
+"It's mine--my green peacock! It's mine, because Marjory's had one wing
+off, and mine hadn't. My green peacock that I love! I love it!" She
+swung it softly from the little ring on its back. Then she went to her
+mother.
+
+"Look, Mother, isn't it a beauty?"
+
+"Mind the ring doesn't come out," said her mother. "Yes, it's lovely!"
+The girl passed on to her father.
+
+"Look, Father, don't you love it!"
+
+"Love it?" he re-echoed, ironical over the word love.
+
+She stood for some moments, trying to force his attention. Then she went
+back to her place.
+
+Marjory had brought forth a golden apple, red on one cheek, rather
+garish.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for
+what she had not got, indifferent to what she had. Her eye ran quickly
+over the packages. She took one.
+
+"Now!" she exclaimed loudly, to attract attention. "Now! What's
+this?--What's this? What will this beauty be?"
+
+With finicky fingers she removed the newspaper. Marjory watched her
+wide-eyed. Millicent was self-important.
+
+"The blue ball!" she cried in a climax of rapture. "I've got THE BLUE
+BALL."
+
+She held it gloating in the cup of her hands. It was a little globe of
+hardened glass, of a magnificent full dark blue color. She rose and went
+to her father.
+
+"It was your blue ball, wasn't it, father?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I have it when I'm a
+little girl."
+
+"Ay," he replied drily.
+
+"And it's never been broken all those years."
+
+"No, not yet."
+
+"And perhaps it never will be broken." To this she received no answer.
+
+"Won't it break?" she persisted. "Can't you break it?"
+
+"Yes, if you hit it with a hammer," he said.
+
+"Aw!" she cried. "I don't mean that. I mean if you just drop it. It
+won't break if you drop it, will it?"
+
+"I dare say it won't."
+
+"But WILL it?"
+
+"I sh'd think not."
+
+"Should I try?"
+
+She proceeded gingerly to let the blue ball drop, it bounced dully on
+the floor-covering.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" she cried, catching it up. "I love it."
+
+"Let ME drop it," cried Marjory, and there was a performance of
+admonition and demonstration from the elder sister.
+
+But Millicent must go further. She became excited.
+
+"It won't break," she said, "even if you toss it up in the air."
+
+She flung it up, it fell safely. But her father's brow knitted slightly.
+She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing explosion: it had
+smashed. It had fallen on the sharp edge of the tiles that protruded
+under the fender.
+
+"NOW what have you done!" cried the mother.
+
+The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure
+misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
+
+"She wanted to break it," said the father.
+
+"No, she didn't! What do you say that for!" said the mother. And
+Millicent burst into a flood of tears.
+
+He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
+
+"You must mind the bits," he said, "and pick 'em all up."
+
+He took one of the pieces to examine it. It was fine and thin and hard,
+lined with pure silver, brilliant. He looked at it closely. So--this
+was what it was. And this was the end of it. He felt the curious soft
+explosion of its breaking still in his ears. He threw his piece in the
+fire.
+
+"Pick all the bits up," he said. "Give over! give over! Don't cry any
+more." The good-natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as he
+intended it should.
+
+He went away into the back kitchen to wash himself. As he was bending
+his head over the sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave,
+there came from outside the dissonant voices of boys, pouring out the
+dregs of carol-singing.
+
+"While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched--"
+
+He held his soapy brush suspended for a minute. They called this
+singing! His mind flitted back to early carol music. Then again he heard
+the vocal violence outside.
+
+"Aren't you off there!" he called out, in masculine menace. The noise
+stopped, there was a scuffle. But the feet returned and the voices
+resumed. Almost immediately the door opened, boys were heard muttering
+among themselves. Millicent had given them a penny. Feet scraped on the
+yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the street.
+
+To Aaron Sisson, this was home, this was Christmas: the unspeakably
+familiar. The war over, nothing was changed. Yet everything changed. The
+scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very clean,
+the floor was red tiles. The wash-copper of red bricks was very red, the
+mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American oil-cloth
+on the table had a gay pattern, there was a warm fire, the water in the
+boiler hissed faintly. And in front of him, beneath him as he leaned
+forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange, incalculable rhythm
+from the bright brass tap into the white enamelled bowl, which was now
+half full of pure, quivering water. The war was over, and everything
+just the same. The acute familiarity of this house, which he had built
+for his marriage twelve years ago, the changeless pleasantness of it all
+seemed unthinkable. It prevented his thinking.
+
+When he went into the middle room to comb his hair he found the
+Christmas tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at the table, the
+baby was sitting up propped in cushions.
+
+"Father," said Millicent, approaching him with a flat blue-and-white
+angel of cotton-wool, and two ends of cotton--"tie the angel at the
+top."
+
+"Tie it at the top?" he said, looking down.
+
+"Yes. At the very top--because it's just come down from the sky."
+
+"Ay my word!" he laughed. And he tied the angel.
+
+Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour, and
+took his music and a small handbag. With this he retreated again to the
+back kitchen. He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers: but now
+it was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and new pink
+and white braces. He sat under the gas-jet of the back kitchen, looking
+through his music. Then he opened the bag, in which were sections of a
+flute and a piccolo. He took out the flute, and adjusted it. As he sat
+he was physically aware of the sounds of the night: the bubbling of
+water in the boiler, the faint sound of the gas, the sudden crying of
+the baby in the next room, then noises outside, distant boys shouting,
+distant rags of carols, fragments of voices of men. The whole country
+was roused and excited.
+
+The little room was hot. Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator over
+the copper, letting in a stream of cold air, which was grateful to him.
+Then he cocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table
+before him. He tried his flute. And then at last, with the odd gesture
+of a diver taking a plunge, he swung his head and began to play. A
+stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. He
+played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with
+slight, intense movements, as the delicate music poured out. It was
+sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate.
+
+The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity of the music delighted
+him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperated
+to the point of intolerable anger, in his good-humored breast, as he
+played the finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the
+more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the
+more intense was the maddened exasperation within him.
+
+Millicent appeared in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was
+a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her
+own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various
+books and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity.
+
+"Are you going out, Father?" she said.
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Are you going out?" She twisted nervously.
+
+"What do you want to know for?"
+
+He made no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went
+down a sheet--then over it again--then more closely over it again.
+
+"Are you?" persisted the child, balancing on one foot.
+
+He looked at her, and his eyes were angry under knitted brows.
+
+"What are you bothering about?" he said.
+
+"I'm not bothering--I only wanted to know if you were going out," she
+pouted, quivering to cry.
+
+"I expect I am," he said quietly.
+
+She recovered at once, but still with timidity asked:
+
+"We haven't got any candles for the Christmas tree--shall you buy some,
+because mother isn't going out?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, settling his music and taking up the piccolo.
+
+"Yes--shall you buy us some, Father? Shall you?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a
+few piercing, preparatory notes.
+
+"Yes, little Christmas-tree candles--blue ones and red ones, in
+boxes--Shall you, Father?"
+
+"We'll see--if I see any--"
+
+"But SHALL you?" she insisted desperately. She wisely mistrusted his
+vagueness.
+
+But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo
+broke forth, wild, shrill, brilliant. He was playing Mozart. The child's
+face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went out,
+closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise.
+
+The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the
+air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man went on playing
+to himself, measured and insistent. In the frosty evening the sound
+carried. People passing down the street hesitated, listening. The
+neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a
+good player: was in request at concerts and dances, also at swell balls.
+So the vivid piping sound tickled the darkness.
+
+He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too
+soon, in spite of the early closing of the public houses. He never went
+with the stream, but made a side current of his own. His wife said he
+was contrary. When he went into the middle room to put on his collar and
+tie, the two little girls were having their hair brushed, the baby was
+in bed, there was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in the oven.
+
+"You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?" asked Millicent, with
+assurance now.
+
+"I'll see," he answered.
+
+His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat. He was
+well-dressed, handsome-looking. She felt there was a curious glamour
+about him. It made her feel bitter. He had an unfair advantage--he was
+free to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.
+
+"There's no knowing what time you'll be home," she said.
+
+"I shan't be late," he answered.
+
+"It's easy to say so," she retorted, with some contempt. He took his
+stick, and turned towards the door.
+
+"Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so
+selfish," she said.
+
+"All right," he said, going out.
+
+"Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it," she cried, with sudden
+anger, following him to the door.
+
+His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.
+
+"How many do you want?" he said.
+
+"A dozen," she said. "And holders too, if you can get them," she added,
+with barren bitterness.
+
+"Yes--all right," he turned and melted into the darkness. She went
+indoors, worn with a strange and bitter flame.
+
+He crossed the fields towards the little town, which once more fumed its
+lights under the night. The country ran away, rising on his right hand.
+It was no longer a great bank of darkness. Lights twinkled freely here
+and there, though forlornly, now that the war-time restrictions were
+removed. It was no glitter of pre-war nights, pit-heads glittering
+far-off with electricity. Neither was it the black gulf of the war
+darkness: instead, this forlorn sporadic twinkling.
+
+Everybody seemed to be out of doors. The hollow dark countryside
+re-echoed like a shell with shouts and calls and excited voices.
+Restlessness and nervous excitement, nervous hilarity were in the
+air. There was a sense of electric surcharge everywhere, frictional, a
+neurasthenic haste for excitement.
+
+Every moment Aaron Sisson was greeted with Good-night--Good-night,
+Aaron--Good-night, Mr. Sisson. People carrying parcels, children,
+women, thronged home on the dark paths. They were all talking loudly,
+declaiming loudly about what they could and could not get, and what this
+or the other had lost.
+
+When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
+crowded. There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest, a
+subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people struggling
+to buy things, to get things. Money was spent like water, there was
+a frenzy of money-spending. Though the necessities of life were in
+abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese, sweets,
+raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which were
+scarce, and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out. There was a
+wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the struggle. The
+same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was witnessed whenever
+a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into sight. Then the
+struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage, but stimulating.
+Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet for their
+feelings.
+
+As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
+Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And yet,
+when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw it bare
+as a board, the very fact that he probably _could not_ buy the things
+made him hesitate, and try.
+
+"Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?" he asked as he entered the
+shop.
+
+"How many do you want?"
+
+"A dozen."
+
+"Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a
+box--eight. Six-pence a box."
+
+"Got any holders?"
+
+"Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year."
+
+"Got any toffee--?"
+
+"Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left."
+
+"Give me four ounces."
+
+He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
+
+"You've not got much of a Christmas show," he said.
+
+"Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought
+to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
+didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We
+mean to, anyhow."
+
+"Ay," he said.
+
+"Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made
+things more plentiful."
+
+"Yes," he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK
+
+
+The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
+market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
+miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
+sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
+public-houses.
+
+But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
+street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
+under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of
+the "Royal Oak." This was a low white house sunk three steps below the
+highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.
+
+Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
+carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on
+into the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of
+little window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this
+window-opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband.
+Behind the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
+
+"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
+entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
+
+"Come in," said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
+complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
+irritably.
+
+He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight
+or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
+between--and two little round tables.
+
+"I began to think you weren't coming," said the landlady, bringing him a
+whiskey.
+
+She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile,
+probably Jewish. She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent. Her
+movements were large and slow, her voice laconic.
+
+"I'm not so late, am I?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you are late, I should think." She Looked up at the little clock.
+"Close on nine."
+
+"I did some shopping," said Aaron, with a quick smile.
+
+"Did you indeed? That's news, I'm sure. May we ask what you bought?"
+
+This he did not like. But he had to answer.
+
+"Christmas-tree candles, and toffee."
+
+"For the little children? Well you've done well for once! I must say I
+recommend you. I didn't think you had so much in you."
+
+She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up
+her knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass, and
+drank.
+
+"It's warm in here," he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
+
+"Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,"
+replied the landlady.
+
+"No," he said, "I think I'll take it off."
+
+She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as
+usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
+shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
+burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
+to arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as
+he returned. She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless
+self-sufficiency.
+
+There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly. They were
+the superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved intellectual
+discussion. Opposite, by the fire, sat a little, greenish man--evidently
+an oriental.
+
+"You're very quiet all at once, Doctor," said the landlady in her slow,
+laconic voice.
+
+"Yes.--May I have another whiskey, please?" She rose at once, powerfully
+energetic.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. And she went to the bar.
+
+"Well," said the little Hindu doctor, "and how are things going now,
+with the men?"
+
+"The same as ever," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes," said the stately voice of the landlady. "And I'm afraid they will
+always be the same as ever. When will they learn wisdom?"
+
+"But what do you call wisdom?" asked Sherardy, the Hindu. He spoke with
+a little, childish lisp.
+
+"What do I call wisdom?" repeated the landlady. "Why all acting together
+for the common good. That is wisdom in my idea."
+
+"Yes, very well, that is so. But what do you call the common good?"
+replied the little doctor, with childish pertinence.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, with a laugh, "that's it." The miners were all
+stirring now, to take part in the discussion.
+
+"What do I call the common good?" repeated the landlady. "That all
+people should study the welfare of other people, and not only their
+own."
+
+"They are not to study their own welfare?" said the doctor.
+
+"Ah, that I did not say," replied the landlady. "Let them study their
+own welfare, and that of others also."
+
+"Well then," said the doctor, "what is the welfare of a collier?"
+
+"The welfare of a collier," said the landlady, "is that he shall earn
+sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to educate
+his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he wants,
+education."
+
+"Ay, happen so," put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier.
+"Happen so, Mrs. Houseley. But what if you haven't got much education,
+to speak of?"
+
+"You can always get it," she said patronizing.
+
+"Nay--I'm blest if you can. It's no use tryin' to educate a man over
+forty--not by book-learning. That isn't saying he's a fool, neither."
+
+"And what better is them that's got education?" put in another
+man. "What better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we
+are?--Pender's yaller enough i' th' face."
+
+"He is that," assented the men in chorus.
+
+"But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk," said the
+landlady largely, "that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than
+what you have got."
+
+"Ay," said Kirk. "He can ma'e more money than I can--that's about a' as
+it comes to."
+
+"He can make more money," said the landlady. "And when he's made it, he
+knows better how to use it."
+
+"'Appen so, an' a'!--What does he do, more than eat and drink and
+work?--an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th' looks
+of him.--What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a bit more--"
+
+"No," reiterated the landlady. "He not only eats and drinks. He can
+read, and he can converse."
+
+"Me an' a'," said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh. "I can
+read--an' I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this house,
+Mrs. Houseley--am havin' one at this minute, seemingly."
+
+"SEEMINGLY, you are," said the landlady ironically. "But do you
+think there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr.
+Pender's, if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?"
+
+"An' what difference would there be?" asked Tom Kirk. "He'd go home to
+his bed just the same."
+
+"There, you are mistaken. He would be the better, and so should I, a
+great deal better, for a little genuine conversation."
+
+"If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop--" said Tom Kirk. "An'
+puts th' bile in his face--" said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
+
+"I can see it's no use talking about it any further," said the landlady,
+lifting her head dangerously.
+
+"But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much
+difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or not?"
+asked the doctor.
+
+"I do indeed, all the difference in the world--To me, there is no
+greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated man."
+
+"And where does it come in?" asked Kirk.
+
+"But wait a bit, now," said Aaron Sisson. "You take an educated
+man--take Pender. What's his education for? What does he scheme
+for?--What does he contrive for? What does he talk for?--"
+
+"For all the purposes of his life," replied the landlady.
+
+"Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?" insisted Aaron Sisson.
+
+"The purpose of his life," repeated the landlady, at a loss. "I should
+think he knows that best himself."
+
+"No better than I know it--and you know it," said Aaron.
+
+"Well," said the landlady, "if you know, then speak out. What is it?"
+
+"To make more money for the firm--and so make his own chance of a rise
+better."
+
+The landlady was baffled for some moments. Then she said:
+
+"Yes, and suppose that he does. Is there any harm in it? Isn't it his
+duty to do what he can for himself? Don't you try to earn all you can?"
+
+"Ay," said Aaron. "But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.--It's
+like this. When you work it out, everything comes to money. Reckon it as
+you like, it's money on both sides. It's money we live for, and money is
+what our lives is worth--nothing else. Money we live for, and money we
+are when we're dead: that or nothing. An' it's money as is between the
+masters and us. There's a few educated ones got hold of one end of the
+rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other end, an' we s'll go
+on pulling our guts out, time in, time out--"
+
+"But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has," said
+Brewitt.
+
+"For as long as one holds, the other will pull," concluded Aaron Sisson
+philosophically.
+
+"An' I'm almighty sure o' that," said Kirk. There was a little pause.
+
+"Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men," said the landlady.
+"But what can be done with the money, that you never think of--the
+education of the children, the improvement of conditions--"
+
+"Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the
+rope, instead of the short end," said the doctor, with a little giggle.
+
+"Ay, that's it," said Brewitt. "I've pulled at th' short end, an' my
+lads may do th' same."
+
+"A selfish policy," put in the landlady.
+
+"Selfish or not, they may do it."
+
+"Till the crack o' doom," said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
+
+"Or the crack o' th' rope," said Brewitt.
+
+"Yes, and THEN WHAT?" cried the landlady.
+
+"Then we all drop on our backsides," said Kirk. There was a general
+laugh, and an uneasy silence.
+
+"All I can say of you men," said the landlady, "is that you have a
+narrow, selfish policy.--Instead of thinking of the children, instead of
+thinking of improving the world you live in--"
+
+"We hang on, British bulldog breed," said Brewitt. There was a general
+laugh.
+
+"Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone," said the
+landlady.
+
+"Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit on
+our stunts an' yowl for it?" asked Brewitt.
+
+"No indeed. There can be wisdom in everything.--It's what you DO with
+the money, when you've got it," said the landlady, "that's where the
+importance lies."
+
+"It's Missis as gets it," said Kirk. "It doesn't stop wi' us." "Ay, it's
+the wife as gets it, ninety per cent," they all concurred.
+
+"And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives? They have
+everything to do with the money. What idea have you, but to waste it!"
+
+"Women waste nothing--they couldn't if they tried," said Aaron Sisson.
+
+There was a lull for some minutes. The men were all stimulated by drink.
+The landlady kept them going. She herself sipped a glass of brandy--but
+slowly. She sat near to Sisson--and the great fierce warmth of her
+presence enveloped him particularly. He loved so to luxuriate, like a
+cat, in the presence of a violent woman. He knew that tonight she was
+feeling very nice to him--a female glow that came out of her to him.
+Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or took it up again from
+the bench beside him, her fingers just touched his thigh, and the fine
+electricity ran over his body, as if he were a cat tingling at a caress.
+
+And yet he was not happy--nor comfortable. There was a hard, opposing
+core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
+soothe, tonight. It remained hard, nay, became harder and more deeply
+antagonistic to his surroundings, every moment. He recognised it as a
+secret malady he suffered from: this strained, unacknowledged opposition
+to his surroundings, a hard core of irrational, exhausting withholding
+of himself. Irritating, because he still WANTED to give himself. A woman
+and whiskey, these were usually a remedy--and music. But lately these
+had begun to fail him. No, there was something in him that would not
+give in--neither to the whiskey, nor the woman, nor even the music.
+Even in the midst of his best music, it sat in the middle of him, this
+invisible black dog, and growled and waited, never to be cajoled. He
+knew of its presence--and was a little uneasy. For of course he _wanted_
+to let himself go, to feel rosy and loving and all that. But at the very
+thought, the black dog showed its teeth.
+
+Still he kept the beast at bay--with all his will he kept himself as it
+were genial. He wanted to melt and be rosy, happy.
+
+He sipped his whiskey with gratification, he luxuriated in the presence
+of the landlady, very confident of the strength of her liking for him.
+He glanced at her profile--that fine throw-back of her hostile head,
+wicked in the midst of her benevolence; that subtle, really very
+beautiful delicate curve of her nose, that moved him exactly like a
+piece of pure sound. But tonight it did not overcome him. There was a
+devilish little cold eye in his brain that was not taken in by what he
+saw.
+
+A terrible obstinacy located itself in him. He saw the fine,
+rich-coloured, secretive face of the Hebrew woman, so loudly
+self-righteous, and so dangerous, so destructive, so lustful--and he
+waited for his blood to melt with passion for her. But not tonight.
+Tonight his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice. The very danger
+and lustfulness of her, which had so pricked his senses, now made him
+colder. He disliked her at her tricks. He saw her once too often. Her
+and all women. Bah, the love game! And the whiskey that was to help in
+the game! He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey and in love.
+Now he floated like a corpse in both, with a cold, hostile eye.
+
+And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no
+longer drown. Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel his
+senses melting and swimming into oneness with the dark. But impossible!
+Cold, with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed and apart as
+a corpse. He thought of the gentle love of his first married years, and
+became only whiter and colder, set in more intense obstinacy. A wave of
+revulsion lifted him.
+
+He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the landlady, that
+he disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness
+detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.
+
+"Is it pretty much the same out there in India?" he asked of the doctor,
+suddenly.
+
+The doctor started, and attended to him on his own level.
+
+"Probably," he answered. "It is worse."
+
+"Worse!" exclaimed Aaron Sisson. "How's that?"
+
+"Why, because, in a way the people of India have an easier time even
+than the people of England. Because they have no responsibility. The
+British Government takes the responsibility. And the people have nothing
+to do, except their bit of work--and talk perhaps about national rule,
+just for a pastime."
+
+"They have to earn their living?" said Sisson.
+
+"Yes," said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the
+colliers, and become quite familiar with them. "Yes, they have to earn
+their living--and then no more. That's why the British Government is the
+worst thing possible for them. It is the worst thing possible. And not
+because it is a bad government. Really, it is not a bad government. It
+is a good one--and they know it--much better than they would make for
+themselves, probably. But for that reason it is so very bad."
+
+The little oriental laughed a queer, sniggering laugh. His eyes
+were very bright, dilated, completely black. He was looking into the
+ice-blue, pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson. They were both intoxicated--but
+grimly so. They looked at each other in elemental difference.
+
+The whole room was now attending to this new conversation: which they
+all accepted as serious. For Aaron was considered a special man, a man
+of peculiar understanding, even though as a rule he said little.
+
+"If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the
+people?" said the landlady.
+
+The doctor's eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, as he watched
+the other man. He did not look at the landlady.
+
+"It would not matter what kind of mess they made--and they would make
+a mess, if they governed themselves, the people of India. They would
+probably make the greatest muddle possible--and start killing
+one another. But it wouldn't matter if they exterminated half the
+population, so long as they did it themselves, and were responsible for
+it."
+
+Again his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man, and
+an arch little smile flickered on his face.
+
+"I think it would matter very much indeed," said the landlady. "They had
+far better NOT govern themselves."
+
+She was, for some reason, becoming angry. The little greenish doctor
+emptied his glass, and smiled again.
+
+"But what difference does it make," said Aaron Sisson, "whether they
+govern themselves or not? They only live till they die, either way." And
+he smiled faintly. He had not really listened to the doctor. The terms
+"British Government," and "bad for the people--good for the people,"
+made him malevolently angry.
+
+The doctor was nonplussed for a moment. Then he gathered himself
+together.
+
+"It matters," he said; "it matters.--People should always be responsible
+for themselves. How can any people be responsible for another race
+of people, and for a race much older than they are, and not at all
+children."
+
+Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed
+eyes. He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance. He
+saw in the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the same
+danger, the same menace that he saw in the landlady. Fair, wise, even
+benevolent words: always the human good speaking, and always underneath,
+something hateful, something detestable and murderous. Wise speech
+and good intentions--they were invariably maggoty with these secret
+inclinations to destroy the man in the man. Whenever he heard anyone
+holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman on the pit
+bank: or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul curdled with
+revulsion as from something foul. Even the infernal love and good-will
+of his wife. To hell with good-will! It was more hateful than ill-will.
+Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!
+
+The landlady looked at the clock.
+
+"Ten minutes to, gentlemen," she said coldly. For she too knew that
+Aaron was spoiled for her for that night.
+
+The men began to take their leave, shakily. The little doctor seemed
+to evaporate. The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat. She saw the
+curious whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish
+look on his face.
+
+"You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?" she said to
+him, detaining him till last.
+
+But he turned laughing to her.
+
+"Nay," he said, "I must be getting home."
+
+He turned and went straight out of the house. Watching him, the
+landlady's face became yellow with passion and rage.
+
+"That little poisonous Indian viper," she said aloud, attributing
+Aaron's mood to the doctor. Her husband was noisily bolting the door.
+
+Outside it was dark and frosty. A gang of men lingered in the road near
+the closed door. Aaron found himself among them, his heart bitterer than
+steel.
+
+The men were dispersing. He should take the road home. But the devil was
+in it, if he could take a stride in the homeward direction. There seemed
+a wall in front of him. He veered. But neither could he take a stride in
+the opposite direction. So he was destined to veer round, like some sort
+of weather-cock, there in the middle of the dark road outside the "Royal
+Oak."
+
+But as he turned, he caught sight of a third exit. Almost opposite was
+the mouth of Shottle Lane, which led off under trees, at right angles
+to the highroad, up to New Brunswick Colliery. He veered towards the
+off-chance of this opening, in a delirium of icy fury, and plunged away
+into the dark lane, walking slowly, on firm legs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. "THE LIGHTED TREE"
+
+
+It is remarkable how many odd or extraordinary people there are in
+England. We hear continual complaints of the stodgy dullness of the
+English. It would be quite as just to complain of their freakish,
+unusual characters. Only _en masse_ the metal is all Britannia.
+
+In an ugly little mining town we find the odd ones just as distinct as
+anywhere else. Only it happens that dull people invariably meet dull
+people, and odd individuals always come across odd individuals, no
+matter where they may be. So that to each kind society seems all of a
+piece.
+
+At one end of the dark tree-covered Shottle Lane stood the "Royal Oak"
+public house; and Mrs. Houseley was certainly an odd woman. At the
+other end of the lane was Shottle House, where the Bricknells lived; the
+Bricknells were odd, also. Alfred Bricknell, the old man, was one of the
+partners in the Colliery firm. His English was incorrect, his accent,
+broad Derbyshire, and he was not a gentleman in the snobbish sense of
+the word. Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up. His wife was dead.
+
+Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery.
+The colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-hill
+glowed, fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the Bricknells.
+Even war-time efforts had not put out this refuse fire. Apart from this,
+Shottle House was a pleasant square house, rather old, with shrubberies
+and lawns. It ended the lane in a dead end. Only a field-path trekked
+away to the left.
+
+On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his
+children at home. Of the others, one daughter was unhappily married, and
+away in India weeping herself thinner; another was nursing her babies in
+Streatham. Jim, the hope of the house, and Julia, now married to Robert
+Cunningham, had come home for Christmas.
+
+The party was seated in the drawing-room, that the grown-up daughters
+had made very fine during their periods of courtship. Its walls were
+hung with fine grey canvas, it had a large, silvery grey, silky carpet,
+and the furniture was covered with dark green silky material. Into this
+reticence pieces of futurism, Omega cushions and Van-Gogh-like pictures
+exploded their colours. Such _chic_ would certainly not have been looked
+for up Shottle Lane.
+
+The old man sat in his high grey arm-chair very near an enormous coal
+fire. In this house there was no coal-rationing. The finest coal was
+arranged to obtain a gigantic glow such as a coal-owner may well enjoy,
+a great, intense mass of pure red fire. At this fire Alfred Bricknell
+toasted his tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers.
+
+He was a large man, wearing a loose grey suit, and sprawling in the
+large grey arm-chair. The soft lamp-light fell on his clean, bald,
+Michael-Angelo head, across which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin
+was sunk on his breast, so that his sparse but strong-haired white
+beard, in which every strand stood distinct, like spun glass lithe and
+elastic, curved now upwards and inwards, in a curious curve returning
+upon him. He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation. As a
+matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.
+
+Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of the fire, was a
+cameo-like girl with neat black hair done tight and bright in the French
+mode. She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and her colour was brilliant.
+She was hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the
+mantel-piece, to escape the fire. She wore a simple dress of apple-green
+satin, with full sleeves and ample skirt and a tiny bodice of green
+cloth. This was Josephine Ford, the girl Jim was engaged to.
+
+Jim Bricknell himself was a tall big fellow of thirty-eight. He sat in
+a chair in front of the fire, some distance back, and stretched his long
+legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his breast, his young
+forehead was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles, he had a silent half-grin
+on his face, a little tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache
+was reddish.
+
+Behind him a round table was covered with cigarettes, sweets, and
+bottles. It was evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for choice. He wanted
+to get fat--that was his idea. But he couldn't bring it off: he was
+thin, though not too thin, except to his own thinking.
+
+His sister Julia was bunched up in a low chair between him and his
+father. She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up like
+a witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out of
+the sleeves, and she had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy
+strands. Yet she had real beauty. She was talking to the young man who
+was not her husband: a fair, pale, fattish young fellow in pince-nez and
+dark clothes. This was Cyril Scott, a friend.
+
+The only other person stood at the round table pouring out red wine. He
+was a fresh, stoutish young Englishman in khaki, Julia's husband, Robert
+Cunningham, a lieutenant about to be demobilised, when he would become a
+sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes
+grew a little moist. The room was hot and subdued, everyone was silent.
+
+"I say," said Robert suddenly, from the rear--"anybody have a drink?
+Don't you find it rather hot?"
+
+"Is there another bottle of beer there?" said Jim, without moving, too
+settled even to stir an eye-lid.
+
+"Yes--I think there is," said Robert.
+
+"Thanks--don't open it yet," murmured Jim.
+
+"Have a drink, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"No thank you," said Josephine, bowing slightly.
+
+Finding the drinks did not go, Robert went round with the cigarettes.
+Josephine Ford looked at the white rolls.
+
+"Thank you," she said, and taking one, suddenly licked her rather full,
+dry red lips with the rapid tip of her tongue. It was an odd movement,
+suggesting a snake's flicker. She put her cigarette between her lips,
+and waited. Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but perhaps too
+quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian, Parisian or
+American rather than English.
+
+"Cigarette, Julia?" said Robert to his wife.
+
+She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed. Then she looked up at her
+husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes. He looked
+at the cigarettes, not at her. His face had the blunt voluptuous gravity
+of a young lion, a great cat. She kept him standing for some moments
+impassively. Then suddenly she hung her long, delicate fingers over
+the box, in doubt, and spasmodically jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily
+raking one out at last.
+
+"Thank you, dear--thank you," she cried, rather high, looking up and
+smiling once more. He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes to
+Scott, who refused.
+
+"Oh!" said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette. "Robert is so happy
+with all the good things--aren't you dear?" she sang, breaking into a
+hurried laugh. "We aren't used to such luxurious living, we aren't--ARE
+WE DEAR--No, we're not such swells as this, we're not. Oh, ROBBIE, isn't
+it all right, isn't it just all right?" She tailed off into her hurried,
+wild, repeated laugh. "We're so happy in a land of plenty, AREN'T WE
+DEAR?"
+
+"Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?" said Robert.
+
+"Greedy!--Oh, greedy!--he asks if he's greedy?--no you're not greedy,
+Robbie, you're not greedy. I want you to be happy."
+
+"I'm quite happy," he returned.
+
+"Oh, he's happy!--Really!--he's happy! Oh, what an accomplishment! Oh,
+my word!" Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself into a nervous
+twitching silence.
+
+Robert went round with the matches. Julia sucked her cigarette.
+
+"Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!" she cried.
+
+"It's coming," he answered.
+
+Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs. Julia sucked wildly at her
+light. Robert returned to his red wine. Jim Bricknell suddenly roused
+up, looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and showing
+his odd, pointed teeth.
+
+"Where's the beer?" he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into
+Josephine's face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight of
+hand. Then he wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring beer down
+his throat as down a pipe. Then he dropped supine again. Cyril Scott was
+silently absorbing gin and water.
+
+"I say," said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling. "Isn't there
+something we could do to while the time away?"
+
+Everybody suddenly laughed--it sounded so remote and absurd.
+
+"What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?"
+said Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were a
+child.
+
+"Oh, damn bridge," said Jim in his sleep-voice. Then he began pulling
+his powerful length together. He sat on the edge of his chair-seat,
+leaning forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.
+
+"Don't look at me like that--so long--" said Josephine, in her
+self-contained voice. "You make me uncomfortable." She gave an odd
+little grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as
+she glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.
+
+"I like looking at you," said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.
+
+"But you shouldn't, when I tell you not," she returned.
+
+Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles. The father also
+came awake. He sat up.
+
+"Isn't it time," he said, "that you all put away your glasses and
+cigarettes and thought of bed?"
+
+Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long chair.
+
+"Ah, Dad," he said, "tonight's the night! Tonight's some night,
+Dad.--You can sleep any time--" his grin widened--"but there aren't many
+nights to sit here--like this--Eh?"
+
+He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
+nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling fixedly.
+The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion from the
+young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he gazed on the
+face of his boy. He rose stiffly.
+
+"You want to stay?" he said. "You want to stay!--Well then--well then,
+I'll leave you. But don't be long." The old man rose to his full height,
+rather majestic. The four younger people also rose respectfully--only
+Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting up his face towards his
+father.
+
+"You won't stay long," said the old man, looking round a little
+bewildered. He was seeking a responsible eye. Josephine was the only one
+who had any feeling for him.
+
+"No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell," she said gravely.
+
+"Good night, Dad," said Jim, as his father left the room.
+
+Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, _poupee_ walk.
+
+"How is the night?" she said, as if to change the whole feeling in
+the room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. "Why?" she
+exclaimed. "What is that light burning? A red light?"
+
+"Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire," said Robert, who had followed
+her.
+
+"How strange!--Why is it burning now?"
+
+"It always burns, unfortunately--it is most consistent at it. It is the
+refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all
+efforts to the contrary."
+
+"How very curious! May we look at it?" Josephine now turned the handle
+of the French windows, and stepped out.
+
+"Beautiful!" they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
+
+In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
+Cyril Scott.
+
+"Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!" she said,
+smiling with subtle tenderness to him.
+
+"Naturally! Young people always do these romantic things," replied Cyril
+Scott. He was twenty-two years old, so he could afford to be cynical.
+
+"Do they?--Don't you think it's nice of them?" she said, gently removing
+her hand from his. His eyes were shining with pleasure.
+
+"I do. I envy them enormously. One only needs to be sufficiently naive,"
+he said.
+
+"One does, doesn't one!" cooed Julia.
+
+"I say, do you hear the bells?" said Robert, poking his head into the
+room.
+
+"No, dear! Do you?" replied Julia.
+
+"Bells! Hear the bells! Bells!" exclaimed the half-tipsy and
+self-conscious Jim. And he rolled in his chair in an explosion of
+sudden, silent laughter, showing his mouthful of pointed teeth, like
+a dog. Then he gradually gathered himself together, found his feet,
+smiling fixedly.
+
+"Pretty cool night!" he said aloud, when he felt the air on his almost
+bald head. The darkness smelt of sulphur.
+
+Josephine and Robert had moved out of sight. Julia was abstracted,
+following them with her eyes. With almost supernatural keenness she
+seemed to catch their voices from the distance.
+
+"Yes, Josephine, WOULDN'T that be AWFULLY ROMANTIC!"--she suddenly
+called shrilly.
+
+The pair in the distance started.
+
+"What--!" they heard Josephine's sharp exclamation.
+
+"What's that?--What would be romantic?" said Jim as he lurched up and
+caught hold of Cyril Scott's arm.
+
+"Josephine wants to make a great illumination of the grounds of the
+estate," said Julia, magniloquent.
+
+"No--no--I didn't say it," remonstrated Josephine.
+
+"What Josephine said," explained Robert, "was simply that it would be
+pretty to put candles on one of the growing trees, instead of having a
+Christmas-tree indoors."
+
+"Oh, Josephine, how sweet of you!" cried Julia.
+
+Cyril Scott giggled.
+
+"Good egg! Champion idea, Josey, my lass. Eh? What--!" cried Jim. "Why
+not carry it out--eh? Why not? Most attractive." He leaned forward over
+Josephine, and grinned.
+
+"Oh, no!" expostulated Josephine. "It all sounds so silly now. No. Let
+us go indoors and go to bed."
+
+"NO, Josephine dear--No! It's a LOVELY IDEA!" cried Julia. "Let's get
+candles and lanterns and things--"
+
+"Let's!" grinned Jim. "Let's, everybody--let's."
+
+"Shall we really?" asked Robert. "Shall we illuminate one of the
+fir-trees by the lawn?"
+
+"Yes! How lovely!" cried Julia. "I'll fetch the candles."
+
+"The women must put on warm cloaks," said Robert.
+
+They trooped indoors for coats and wraps and candles and lanterns. Then,
+lighted by a bicycle lamp, they trooped off to the shed to twist wire
+round the candles for holders. They clustered round the bench.
+
+"I say," said Julia, "doesn't Cyril look like a pilot on a stormy night!
+Oh, I say--!" and she went into one of her hurried laughs.
+
+They all looked at Cyril Scott, who was standing sheepishly in the
+background, in a very large overcoat, smoking a large pipe. The
+young man was uncomfortable, but assumed a stoic air of philosophic
+indifference.
+
+Soon they were busy round a prickly fir-tree at the end of the lawn. Jim
+stood in the background vaguely staring. The bicycle lamp sent a beam
+of strong white light deep into the uncanny foliage, heads clustered and
+hands worked. The night above was silent, dim. There was no wind. In
+the near distance they could hear the panting of some engine at the
+colliery.
+
+"Shall we light them as we fix them," asked Robert, "or save them for
+one grand rocket at the end?"
+
+"Oh, as we do them," said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers and
+wanted to see some reward.
+
+A match spluttered. One naked little flame sprang alight among the dark
+foliage. The candle burned tremulously, naked. They all were silent.
+
+"We ought to do a ritual dance! We ought to worship the tree," sang
+Julia, in her high voice.
+
+"Hold on a minute. We'll have a little more illumination," said Robert.
+
+"Why yes. We want more than one candle," said Josephine.
+
+But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with arms
+slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a _pas seul_ before the
+tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
+
+Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short,
+harsh, cackling laugh.
+
+"Aren't we fools!" he cried. "What? Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!"
+
+"No--why?" cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
+
+But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian
+gripping his pipe.
+
+The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces
+of the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees.
+Several little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the naked
+air, sending a faint glow over the needle foliage. They gave a strange,
+perpendicular aspiration in the night. Julia waved slowly in her tree
+dance. Jim stood apart, with his legs straddled, a motionless figure.
+
+The party round the tree became absorbed and excited as more ruddy
+tongues of flame pricked upward from the dark tree. Pale candles became
+evident, the air was luminous. The illumination was becoming complete,
+harmonious.
+
+Josephine suddenly looked round.
+
+"Why-y-y!" came her long note of alarm.
+
+A man in a bowler hat and a black overcoat stood on the edge of the
+twilight.
+
+"What is it?" cried Julia.
+
+"_Homo sapiens_!" said Robert, the lieutenant. "Hand the light, Cyril."
+He played the beam of light full on the intruder; a man in a bowler hat,
+with a black overcoat buttoned to his throat, a pale, dazed, blinking
+face. The hat was tilted at a slightly jaunty angle over the left eye,
+the man was well-featured. He did not speak.
+
+"Did you want anything?" asked Robert, from behind the light.
+
+Aaron Sisson blinked, trying to see who addressed him. To him, they were
+all illusory. He did not answer.
+
+"Anything you wanted?" repeated Robert, military, rather peremptory.
+
+Jim suddenly doubled himself up and burst into a loud harsh cackle of
+laughter. Whoop! he went, and doubled himself up with laughter. Whoop!
+Whoop! he went, and fell on the ground and writhed with laughter. He
+was in that state of intoxication when he could find no release from
+maddening self-consciousness. He knew what he was doing, he did
+it deliberately. And yet he was also beside himself, in a sort of
+hysterics. He could not help himself in exasperated self-consciousness.
+
+The others all began to laugh, unavoidably. It was a contagion. They
+laughed helplessly and foolishly. Only Robert was anxious.
+
+"I'm afraid he'll wake the house," he said, looking at the doubled up
+figure of Jim writhing on the grass and whooping loudly.
+
+"Or not enough," put in Cyril Scott. He twigged Jim's condition.
+
+"No--no!" cried Josephine, weak with laughing in spite of herself.
+"No--it's too long--I'm like to die laughing--"
+
+Jim embraced the earth in his convulsions. Even Robert shook quite
+weakly with laughter. His face was red, his eyes full of dancing water.
+Yet he managed to articulate.
+
+"I say, you know, you'll bring the old man down." Then he went off again
+into spasms.
+
+"Hu! Hu!" whooped Jim, subsiding. "Hu!"
+
+He rolled over on to his back, and lay silent. The others also became
+weakly silent.
+
+"What's amiss?" said Aaron Sisson, breaking this spell.
+
+They all began to laugh again, except Jim, who lay on his back looking
+up at the strange sky.
+
+"What're you laughing at?" repeated Aaron.
+
+"We're laughing at the man on the ground," replied Josephine. "I think
+he's drunk a little too much."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, standing mute and obstinate.
+
+"Did you want anything?" Robert enquired once more.
+
+"Eh?" Aaron looked up. "Me? No, not me." A sort of inertia kept him
+rooted. The young people looked at one another and began to laugh,
+rather embarrassed.
+
+"Another!" said Cyril Scott cynically.
+
+They wished he would go away. There was a pause.
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" asked the sepulchral voice of Jim. He
+still lay flat on his back on the grass.
+
+Josephine went to him and pulled at his coat.
+
+"Get up," she said. "You'll take cold. Get up now, we're going indoors."
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" he persisted.
+
+Aaron Sisson stood on the edge of the light, smilingly staring at the
+scene, like a boy out of his place, but stubbornly keeping his ground.
+
+"Get up now," said Josephine. "We've had enough." But Jim would not
+move.
+
+Robert went with the bicycle lamp and stood at Aaron's side.
+
+"Shall I show you a light to the road--you're off your track," he said.
+"You're in the grounds of Shottle House."
+
+"I can find my road," said Aaron. "Thank you."
+
+Jim suddenly got up and went to peer at the stranger, poking his face
+close to Aaron's face.
+
+"Right-o," he replied. "You're not half a bad sort of chap--Cheery-o!
+What's your drink?"
+
+"Mine--whiskey," said Aaron.
+
+"Come in and have one. We're the only sober couple in the bunch--what?"
+cried Jim.
+
+Aaron stood unmoving, static in everything. Jim took him by the arm
+affectionately. The stranger looked at the flickering tree, with its
+tiers of lights.
+
+"A Christmas tree," he said, jerking his head and smiling.
+
+"That's right, old man," said Jim, seeming thoroughly sober now. "Come
+indoors and have a drink."
+
+Aaron Sisson negatively allowed himself to be led off. The others
+followed in silence, leaving the tree to flicker the night through. The
+stranger stumbled at the open window-door.
+
+"Mind the step," said Jim affectionately.
+
+They crowded to the fire, which was still hot. The newcomer looked round
+vaguely. Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair. He sat without
+looking round, a remote, abstract look on his face. He was very pale,
+and seemed-inwardly absorbed.
+
+The party threw off their wraps and sat around. Josephine turned to
+Aaron Sisson, who sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand, rather slack
+in his chair, in his thickish overcoat. He did not want to drink. His
+hair was blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome but a little
+obstinate, his eyes inscrutable. His pallor was not natural to him.
+Though he kept the appearance of a smile, underneath he was hard and
+opposed. He did not wish to be with these people, and yet, mechanically,
+he stayed.
+
+"Do you feel quite well?" Josephine asked him.
+
+He looked at her quickly.
+
+"Me?" he said. He smiled faintly. "Yes, I'm all right." Then he dropped
+his head again and seemed oblivious.
+
+"Tell us your name," said Jim affectionately.
+
+The stranger looked up.
+
+"My name's Aaron Sisson, if it's anything to you," he said.
+
+Jim began to grin.
+
+"It's a name I don't know," he said. Then he named all the party
+present. But the stranger hardly heeded, though his eyes looked
+curiously from one to the other, slow, shrewd, clairvoyant.
+
+"Were you on your way home?" asked Robert, huffy.
+
+The stranger lifted his head and looked at him.
+
+"Home!" he repeated. "No. The other road--" He indicated the direction
+with his head, and smiled faintly.
+
+"Beldover?" inquired Robert.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He had dropped his head again, as if he did not want to look at them.
+
+To Josephine, the pale, impassive, blank-seeming face, the blue eyes
+with the smile which wasn't a smile, and the continual dropping of the
+well-shaped head was curiously affecting. She wanted to cry.
+
+"Are you a miner?" Robert asked, _de haute en bas_.
+
+"No," cried Josephine. She had looked at his hands.
+
+"Men's checkweighman," replied Aaron. He had emptied his glass. He put
+it on the table.
+
+"Have another?" said Jim, who was attending fixedly, with curious
+absorption, to the stranger.
+
+"No," cried Josephine, "no more."
+
+Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled slowly, with remote
+bitterness. Then he lowered his head again. His hands were loosely
+clasped between his knees.
+
+"What about the wife?" said Robert--the young lieutenant.
+
+"What about the wife and kiddies? You're a married man, aren't you?"
+
+The sardonic look of the stranger rested on the subaltern.
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+"Won't they be expecting you?" said Robert, trying to keep his temper
+and his tone of authority.
+
+"I expect they will--"
+
+"Then you'd better be getting along, hadn't you?"
+
+The eyes of the intruder rested all the time on the flushed subaltern.
+The look on Aaron's face became slowly satirical.
+
+"Oh, dry up the army touch," said Jim contemptuously, to Robert. "We're
+all civvies here. We're all right, aren't we?" he said loudly, turning
+to the stranger with a grin that showed his pointed teeth.
+
+Aaron gave a brief laugh of acknowledgement.
+
+"How many children have you?" sang Julia from her distance.
+
+"Three."
+
+"Girls or boys?"
+
+"Girls."
+
+"All girls? Dear little things! How old?"
+
+"Oldest eight--youngest nine months--"
+
+"So small!" sang Julia, with real tenderness now--Aaron dropped his
+head. "But you're going home to them, aren't you?" said Josephine, in
+whose eyes the tears had already risen. He looked up at her, at her
+tears. His face had the same pale perverse smile.
+
+"Not tonight," he said.
+
+"But why? You're wrong!" cried Josephine.
+
+He dropped his head and became oblivious.
+
+"Well!" said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation. "I
+think I'll retire."
+
+"Will you?" said Julia, also rising. "You'll find your candle outside."
+
+She went out. Scott bade good night, and followed her. The four people
+remained in the room, quite silent. Then Robert rose and began to walk
+about, agitated.
+
+"Don't you go back to 'em. Have a night out. You stop here tonight," Jim
+said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
+
+The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
+
+"Yes?" he said. He seemed to be smiling coldly.
+
+"Oh, but!" cried Josephine. "Your wife and your children! Won't they be
+awfully bothered? Isn't it awfully unkind to them?"
+
+She rose in her eagerness. He sat turning up his face to her. She could
+not understand his expression.
+
+"Won't you go home to them?" she said, hysterical.
+
+"Not tonight," he replied quietly, again smiling.
+
+"You're wrong!" she cried. "You're wrong!" And so she hurried out of the
+room in tears.
+
+"Er--what bed do you propose to put him in?" asked Robert rather
+officer-like.
+
+"Don't propose at all, my lad," replied Jim, ironically--he did not like
+Robert. Then to the stranger he said:
+
+"You'll be all right on the couch in my room?--it's a good couch, big
+enough, plenty of rugs--" His voice was easy and intimate.
+
+Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
+
+They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather
+stumbling, upstairs. Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
+
+Robert remained pacing in the drawing-room for some time. Then he went
+out, to return in a little while. He extinguished the lamps and saw that
+the fire was safe. Then he went to fasten the window-doors securely.
+Outside he saw the uncanny glimmer of candles across the lawn. He had
+half a mind to go out and extinguish them--but he did not. So he went
+upstairs and the house was quiet. Faint crumbs of snow were falling
+outside.
+
+When Jim woke in the morning Aaron had gone. Only on the floor were two
+packets of Christmas-tree candles, fallen from the stranger's pockets.
+He had gone through the drawing-room door, as he had come. The housemaid
+said that while she was cleaning the grate in the dining-room she heard
+someone go into the drawing-room: a parlour-maid had even seen someone
+come out of Jim's bedroom. But they had both thought it was Jim himself,
+for he was an unsettled house mate.
+
+There was a thin film of snow, a lovely Christmas morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. "THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+
+
+Our story will not yet see daylight. A few days after Christmas, Aaron
+sat in the open shed at the bottom of his own garden, looking out on the
+rainy darkness. No one knew he was there. It was some time after six in
+the evening.
+
+From where he sat, he looked straight up the garden to the house. The
+blind was not drawn in the middle kitchen, he could see the figures of
+his wife and one child. There was a light also in the upstairs window.
+His wife was gone upstairs again. He wondered if she had the baby ill.
+He could see her figure vaguely behind the lace curtains of the bedroom.
+It was like looking at his home through the wrong end of a telescope.
+Now the little girls had gone from the middle room: only to return in a
+moment.
+
+His attention strayed. He watched the light falling from the window
+of the next-door house. Uneasily, he looked along the whole range of
+houses. The street sloped down-hill, and the backs were open to the
+fields. So he saw a curious succession of lighted windows, between which
+jutted the intermediary back premises, scullery and outhouse, in dark
+little blocks. It was something like the keyboard of a piano: more
+still, like a succession of musical notes. For the rectangular planes
+of light were of different intensities, some bright and keen, some soft,
+warm, like candle-light, and there was one surface of pure red light,
+one or two were almost invisible, dark green. So the long scale of
+lights seemed to trill across the darkness, now bright, now dim,
+swelling and sinking. The effect was strange.
+
+And thus the whole private life of the street was threaded in lights.
+There was a sense of indecent exposure, from so many backs. He felt
+himself almost in physical contact with this contiguous stretch of back
+premises. He heard the familiar sound of water gushing from the sink in
+to the grate, the dropping of a pail outside the door, the clink of a
+coal shovel, the banging of a door, the sound of voices. So many houses
+cheek by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many back yards, back doors
+giving on to the night. It was revolting.
+
+Away in the street itself, a boy was calling the newspaper: "--'NING
+POST! --'NING PO-O-ST!" It was a long, melancholy howl, and seemed
+to epitomise the whole of the dark, wet, secretive, thickly-inhabited
+night. A figure passed the window of Aaron's own house, entered, and
+stood inside the room talking to Mrs. Sisson. It was a young woman in
+a brown mackintosh and a black hat. She stood under the incandescent
+light, and her hat nearly knocked the globe. Next door a man had run out
+in his shirt sleeves: this time a young, dark-headed collier running to
+the gate for a newspaper, running bare-headed, coatless, slippered in
+the rain. He had got his news-sheet, and was returning. And just at that
+moment the young man's wife came out, shading her candle with a lading
+tin. She was going to the coal-house for some coal. Her husband passed
+her on the threshold. She could be heard breaking the bits of coal and
+placing them on the dustpan. The light from her candle fell faintly
+behind her. Then she went back, blown by a swirl of wind. But again she
+was at the door, hastily standing her iron shovel against the wall. Then
+she shut the back door with a bang. These noises seemed to scrape and
+strike the night.
+
+In Aaron's own house, the young person was still talking to Mrs. Sisson.
+Millicent came out, sheltering a candle with her hand. The candle blew
+out. She ran indoors, and emerged again, her white pinafore fluttering.
+This time she performed her little journey safely. He could see the
+faint glimmer of her candle emerging secretly from the closet.
+
+The young person was taking her leave. He could hear her
+sympathetic--"Well--good night! I hope she'll be no worse. Good night
+Mrs. Sisson!" She was gone--he heard the windy bang of the street-gate.
+Presently Millicent emerged again, flitting indoors.
+
+So he rose to his feet, balancing, swaying a little before he started
+into motion, as so many colliers do. Then he moved along the path
+towards the house, in the rain and darkness, very slowly edging
+forwards.
+
+Suddenly the door opened. His wife emerged with a pail. He stepped
+quietly aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs. He could
+smell rosemary and sage and hyssop. A low wall divided his garden from
+his neighbour's. He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready to drop
+over should his wife come forward. But she only threw the contents of
+her pail on the garden and retired again. She might have seen him had
+she looked. He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle
+of rain in the water-butt. The hollow countryside lay beyond him.
+Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn of New
+Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at Bestwood
+Colliery. Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the electric
+power-station disturbed the night. So again the wind swirled the rain
+across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to him as his
+own breast.
+
+A motor-car was labouring up the hill. His trained ear attended to it
+unconsciously. It stopped with a jar. There was a bang of the yard-gate.
+A shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window. Millicent was
+drawing down the blind. It was the doctor. The blind was drawn, he could
+see no more.
+
+Stealthily he began to approach the house. He stood by the climbing rose
+of the porch, listening. He heard voices upstairs. Perhaps the children
+would be downstairs. He listened intently. Voices were upstairs only. He
+quietly opened the door. The room was empty, save for the baby, who was
+cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs
+he could hear the voice of the Indian doctor: "Now little girl, you
+must just keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon." He said
+"_de_ moon," just as ever.--Marjory must be ill.
+
+So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. It was a cold, clammy room, dark.
+He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below
+the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. He began feeling
+for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He
+touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned
+and looked out of the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall
+he could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in
+front of it, up the street.
+
+He sat down on the sofa by the window. The energy had suddenly left all
+his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listening. The familiar room, the
+familiar voice of his wife and his children--he felt weak as if he were
+dying. He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in the waters.
+His strength was gone, he was sinking back. He would sink back to it
+all, float henceforth like a drowned man.
+
+So he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, feet moving. They were
+coming down.
+
+"No, Mrs. Sisson, you needn't worry," he heard the voice of the doctor
+on the stairs. "If she goes on as she is, she'll be all right. Only she
+must be kept warm and quiet--warm and quiet--that's the chief thing."
+
+"Oh, when she has those bouts I can't bear it," Aaron heard his wife's
+voice.
+
+They were downstairs. Their feet click-clicked on the tiled passage.
+They had gone into the middle room. Aaron sat and listened.
+
+"She won't have any more bouts. If she does, give her a few drops from
+the little bottle, and raise her up. But she won't have any more," the
+doctor said.
+
+"If she does, I s'll go off my head, I know I shall."
+
+"No, you won't. No, you won't do anything of the sort. You won't go off
+your head. You'll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought to
+be," protested the doctor.
+
+"But it nearly drives me mad."
+
+"Then don't let it. The child won't die, I tell you. She will be all
+right, with care. Who have you got sitting up with her? You're not to
+sit up with her tonight, I tell you. Do you hear me?"
+
+"Miss Smitham's coming in. But it's no good--I shall have to sit up. I
+shall HAVE to."
+
+"I tell you you won't. You obey ME. I know what's good for you as well
+as for her. I am thinking of you as much as of her."
+
+"But I can't bear it--all alone." This was the beginning of tears. There
+was a dead silence--then a sound of Millicent weeping with her mother.
+As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was an emotional
+sympathetic soul, over forty.
+
+"Never mind--never mind--you aren't alone," came the doctor's
+matter-of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing. "I am here to help you.
+I will do whatever I can--whatever I can."
+
+"I can't bear it. I can't bear it," wept the woman.
+
+Another silence, another nose-blowing, and again the doctor:
+
+"You'll HAVE to bear it--I tell you there's nothing else for it. You'll
+have to bear it--but we'll do our best for you. I will do my best
+for you--always--ALWAYS--in sickness or out of sickness--There!" He
+pronounced _there_ oddly, not quite _dhere_.
+
+"You haven't heard from your husband?" he added.
+
+"I had a letter--"--sobs--"from the bank this morning."
+
+"FROM DE BANK?"
+
+"Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an
+allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling."
+
+"Well then, why not let him travel? You can live."
+
+"But to leave me alone," there was burning indignation in her voice. "To
+go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with all the
+burden."
+
+"Well I wouldn't trouble about him. Aren't you better off without him?"
+
+"I am. I am," she cried fiercely. "When I got that letter this morning,
+I said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON. And I hope it may."
+
+
+"Well-well, well-well, don't fret. Don't be angry, it won't make it any
+better, I tell you."
+
+"Angry! I AM angry. I'm worse than angry. A week ago I hadn't a grey
+hair in my head. Now look here--" There was a pause.
+
+"Well-well, well-well, never mind. You will be all right, don't you
+bother. Your hair is beautiful anyhow."
+
+"What makes me so mad is that he should go off like that--never a
+word--coolly takes his hook. I could kill him for it."
+
+"Were you ever happy together?"
+
+"We were all right at first. I know I was fond of him. But he'd kill
+anything.--He kept himself back, always kept himself back, couldn't give
+himself--"
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Ah well," sighed the doctor. "Marriage is a mystery. I'm glad I'm not
+entangled in it."
+
+"Yes, to make some woman's life a misery.--I'm sure it was death to live
+with him, he seemed to kill everything off inside you. He was a man you
+couldn't quarrel with, and get it over. Quiet--quiet in his tempers, and
+selfish through and through. I've lived with him twelve years--I know
+what it is. Killing! You don't know what he was--"
+
+"I think I knew him. A fair man? Yes?" said the doctor.
+
+"Fair to look at.--There's a photograph of him in the parlour--taken
+when he was married--and one of me.--Yes, he's fairhaired."
+
+Aaron guessed that she was getting a candle to come into the parlour. He
+was tempted to wait and meet them--and accept it all again. Devilishly
+tempted, he was. Then he thought of her voice, and his heart went cold.
+Quick as thought, he obeyed his first impulse. He felt behind the couch,
+on the floor where the curtains fell. Yes--the bag was there. He took it
+at once. In the next breath he stepped out of the room and tip-toed
+into the passage. He retreated to the far end, near the street door, and
+stood behind the coats that hung on the hall-stand.
+
+At that moment his wife came into the passage, holding a candle. She was
+red-eyed with weeping, and looked frail.
+
+"Did YOU leave the parlour door open?" she asked of Millicent,
+suspiciously.
+
+"No," said Millicent from the kitchen.
+
+The doctor, with his soft, Oriental tread followed Mrs. Sisson into the
+parlour. Aaron saw his wife hold up the candle before his portrait and
+begin to weep. But he knew her. The doctor laid his hand softly on
+her arm, and left it there, sympathetically. Nor did he remove it when
+Millicent stole into the room, looking very woe-begone and important.
+The wife wept silently, and the child joined in.
+
+"Yes, I know him," said the doctor. "If he thinks he will be happier
+when he's gone away, you must be happier too, Mrs. Sisson. That's
+all. Don't let him triumph over you by making you miserable. You enjoy
+yourself as well. You're only a girl---"
+
+But a tear came from his eye, and he blew his nose vigorously on a large
+white silk handkerchief, and began to polish his _pince nez_. Then he
+turned, and they all bundled out of the room.
+
+The doctor took his departure. Mrs. Sisson went almost immediately
+upstairs, and Millicent shortly crept after her. Then Aaron, who had
+stood motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down
+the passage and into the living room. His face was very pale,
+ghastly-looking. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the
+mantel, as he passed, and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal.
+But his heart did not relax, nevertheless. So he hurried into the night,
+down the garden, climbed the fence into the field, and went away across
+the field in the rain, towards the highroad.
+
+He felt sick in every fibre. He almost hated the little handbag he
+carried, which held his flute and piccolo. It seemed a burden just
+then--a millstone round his neck. He hated the scene he had left--and
+he hated the hard, inviolable heart that stuck unchanging in his own
+breast.
+
+Coming to the high-road, he saw a tall, luminous tram-car roving along
+through the rain. The trams ran across country from town to town. He
+dared not board, because people knew him. So he took a side road, and
+walked in a detour for two miles. Then he came out on the high-road
+again and waited for a tram-car. The rain blew on his face. He waited a
+long time for the last car.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. AT THE OPERA
+
+
+A friend had given Josephine Ford a box at the opera for one evening;
+our story continues by night. The box was large and important, near the
+stage. Josephine and Julia were there, with Robert and Jim--also two
+more men. The women sat in the front of the box, conspicuously. They
+were both poor, they were rather excited. But they belonged to a set
+which looked on social triumphs as a downfall that one allows oneself.
+The two men, Lilly and Struthers, were artists, the former literary, the
+latter a painter. Lilly sat by Josephine in the front of the box: he was
+her little lion of the evening.
+
+Few women can sit in the front of a big box, on a crowded and full-swing
+opera night, without thrilling and dilating. There is an intoxication in
+being thus thrust forward, conspicuous and enhanced, right in the eye of
+the vast crowd that lines the hollow shell of the auditorium. Thus even
+Josephine and Julia leaned their elbows and poised their heads regally,
+looking condescendingly down upon the watchful world. They were two poor
+women, having nothing to do with society. Half bohemians.
+
+Josephine was an artist. In Paris she was a friend of a very fashionable
+dressmaker and decorator, master of modern elegance. Sometimes she
+designed dresses for him, and sometimes she accepted from him a
+commission to decorate a room. Usually at her last sou, it gave her
+pleasure to dispose of costly and exquisite things for other people, and
+then be rid of them.
+
+This evening her dress was a simple, but a marvellously poised thing of
+black and silver: in the words of the correct journal. With her tight,
+black, bright hair, her arched brows, her dusky-ruddy face and her bare
+shoulders; her strange equanimity, her long, slow, slanting looks; she
+looked foreign and frightening, clear as a cameo, but dark, far off.
+Julia was the English beauty, in a lovely blue dress. Her hair was
+becomingly untidy on her low brow, her dark blue eyes wandered and got
+excited, her nervous mouth twitched. Her high-pitched, sing-song voice
+and her hurried laugh could be heard in the theatre. She twisted a
+beautiful little fan that a dead artist had given her.
+
+Not being fashionable, they were in the box when the overture began. The
+opera was Verdi--_Aida_. If it is impossible to be in an important box
+at the opera without experiencing the strange intoxication of social
+pre-eminence, it is just as impossible to be there without some feeling
+of horror at the sight the stage presents.
+
+Josephine leaned her elbow and looked down: she knew how arresting
+that proud, rather stiff bend of her head was. She had some aboriginal
+American in her blood. But as she looked, she pursed her mouth. The
+artist in her forgot everything, she was filled with disgust. The sham
+Egypt of _Aida_ hid from her nothing of its shame. The singers were all
+colour-washed, deliberately colour-washed to a bright orange tint. The
+men had oblong dabs of black wool under their lower lip; the beard of
+the mighty Pharaohs. This oblong dab shook and wagged to the singing.
+
+The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable. They all looked
+such good meat. Why were their haunches so prominent? It was a question
+Josephine could not solve. She scanned their really expensive, brilliant
+clothing. It was _nearly_ right--nearly splendid. It only lacked that
+last subtlety which the world always lacks, the last final clinching
+which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet is the opposite pole to
+machine fixity.
+
+But the leading tenor was the chief pain. He was large, stout, swathed
+in a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch. This fattish, emasculated
+look seems common in stage heroes--even the extremely popular. The tenor
+sang bravely, his mouth made a large, coffin-shaped, yawning gap in his
+orange face, his little beard fluttered oddly, like a tail. He turned
+up his eyes to Josephine's box as he sang--that being the regulation
+direction. Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his breath, the
+flesh of his fat, naked arms swayed.
+
+Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian, immovable,
+inscrutable. It was not till the scene was ended that she lifted her
+head as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue rapidly over
+her dried lips, and looked round into the box. Her brown eyes expressed
+shame, fear, and disgust. A curious grimace went over her face--a
+grimace only to be expressed by the exclamation _Merde!_ But she was
+mortally afraid of society, and its fixed institutions. Rapidly she
+scanned the eyes of her friends in the box. She rested on the eyes of
+Lilly, a dark, ugly man.
+
+"Isn't it nasty?" she said.
+
+"You shouldn't look so closely," he said. But he took it calmly, easily,
+whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to destroy it all.
+
+"Oh-ho-ho!" laughed Julia. "It's so fu-nny--so funny!"
+
+"Of course we are too near," said Robert.
+
+"Say you admire that pink fondant over there," said Struthers,
+indicating with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with
+pink edging, who sat in a box opposite, on the upper tier.
+
+"Oh, the fondant--exactly--the fondant! Yes, I admire her immensely!
+Isn't she exactly IT!" sang Julia.
+
+Josephine was scanning the auditorium. So many myriads of faces--like
+beads on a bead-work pattern--all bead-work, in different layers. She
+bowed to various acquaintances--mostly Americans in uniform, whom she
+had known in Paris. She smiled to Lady Cochrane, two boxes off--Lady
+Cochrane had given her the box. But she felt rather coldly towards her.
+
+The curtain rose, the opera wound its slow length along. The audience
+loved it. They cheered with mad enthusiasm. Josephine looked down on the
+choppy sea of applause, white gloves clapping, heads shaking. The
+noise was strange and rattling. What a curious multiple object a
+theatre-audience was! It seemed to have a million heads, a million
+hands, and one monstrous, unnatural consciousness. The singers appeared
+before the curtain--the applause rose up like clouds of dust.
+
+"Oh, isn't it too wonderful!" cried Julia. "I am wild with excitement.
+Are you all of you?"
+
+"Absolutely wild," said Lilly laconically.
+
+"Where is Scott to-night?" asked Struthers.
+
+Julia turned to him and gave him a long, queer look from her dark blue
+eyes.
+
+"He's in the country," she said, rather enigmatic.
+
+"Don't you know, he's got a house down in Dorset," said Robert, verbally
+rushing in. "He wants Julia to go down and stay."
+
+"Is she going?" said Lilly.
+
+"She hasn't decided," replied Robert.
+
+"Oh! What's the objection?" asked Struthers.
+
+"Well, none whatsoever, as far as can be seen, except that she can't
+make up her mind," replied Robert.
+
+"Julia's got no mind," said Jim rudely.
+
+"Oh! Hear the brotherly verdict!" laughed Julia hurriedly.
+
+"You mean to go down to Dorset alone!" said Struthers.
+
+"Why not?" replied Robert, answering for her.
+
+"And stay how long?"
+
+"Oh--as long as it lasts," said Robert again.
+
+"Starting with eternity," said Lilly, "and working back to a fortnight."
+
+"And what's the matter?--looks bad in the eyes of the world?"
+
+"Yes--about that. Afraid of compromising herself--"
+
+Lilly looked at them.
+
+"Depends what you take the world to mean. Do you mean us in this box, or
+the crew outside there?" he jerked his head towards the auditorium.
+
+"Do you think, Lilly, that we're the world?" said Robert ironically.
+
+"Oh, yes, I guess we're shipwrecked in this box, like Robinson Crusoes.
+And what we do on our own little island matters to us alone. As for the
+infinite crowds of howling savages outside there in the unspeakable, all
+you've got to do is mind they don't scrap you."
+
+"But WON'T they?" said Struthers.
+
+"Not unless you put your head in their hands," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know--" said Jim.
+
+But the curtain had risen, they hushed him into silence.
+
+All through the next scene, Julia puzzled herself, as to whether she
+should go down to the country and live with Scott. She had carried on a
+nervous kind of _amour_ with him, based on soul sympathy and emotional
+excitement. But whether to go and live with him? She didn't know if she
+wanted to or not: and she couldn't for her life find out. She was in
+that nervous state when desire seems to evaporate the moment fulfilment
+is offered.
+
+When the curtain dropped she turned.
+
+"You see," she said, screwing up her eyes, "I have to think of
+Robert." She cut the word in two, with an odd little hitch in her
+voice--"ROB-ert."
+
+"My dear Julia, can't you believe that I'm tired of being thought of,"
+cried Robert, flushing.
+
+Julia screwed up her eyes in a slow smile, oddly cogitating.
+
+"Well, who AM I to think of?" she asked.
+
+"Yourself," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, yes! Why, yes! I never thought of that!" She gave a hurried little
+laugh. "But then it's no FUN to think about oneself," she cried flatly.
+"I think about ROB-ert, and SCOTT." She screwed up her eyes and peered
+oddly at the company.
+
+"Which of them will find you the greatest treat," said Lilly
+sarcastically.
+
+"Anyhow," interjected Robert nervously, "it will be something new for
+Scott."
+
+"Stale buns for you, old boy," said Jim drily.
+
+"I don't say so. But--" exclaimed the flushed, full-blooded Robert, who
+was nothing if not courteous to women.
+
+"How long ha' you been married? Eh?" asked Jim.
+
+"Six years!" sang Julia sweetly.
+
+"Good God!"
+
+"You see," said Robert, "Julia can't decide anything for herself. She
+waits for someone else to decide, then she puts her spoke in."
+
+"Put it plainly--" began Struthers.
+
+"But don't you know, it's no USE putting it plainly," cried Julia.
+
+"But DO you want to be with Scott, out and out, or DON'T you?" said
+Lilly.
+
+"Exactly!" chimed Robert. "That's the question for you to answer Julia."
+
+"I WON'T answer it," she cried. "Why should I?" And she looked away into
+the restless hive of the theatre. She spoke so wildly that she attracted
+attention. But it half pleased her. She stared abstractedly down at the
+pit.
+
+The men looked at one another in some comic consternation.
+
+"Oh, damn it all!" said the long Jim, rising and stretching himself.
+"She's dead nuts on Scott. She's all over him. She'd have eloped with
+him weeks ago if it hadn't been so easy. She can't stand it that Robert
+offers to hand her into the taxi."
+
+He gave his malevolent grin round the company, then went out. He did not
+reappear for the next scene.
+
+"Of course, if she loves Scott--" began Struthers.
+
+Julia suddenly turned with wild desperation, and cried:
+
+"I like him tremendously--tre-men-dous-ly! He DOES understand."
+
+"Which we don't," said Robert.
+
+Julia smiled her long, odd smile in their faces: one might almost say
+she smiled in their teeth.
+
+"What do YOU think, Josephine?" asked Lilly.
+
+Josephine was leaning froward. She started. Her tongue went rapidly over
+her lips. "Who--? I--?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I think Julia should go with Scott," said Josephine. "She'll bother
+with the idea till she's done it. She loves him, really."
+
+"Of course she does," cried Robert.
+
+Julia, with her chin resting on her arms, in a position which irritated
+the neighbouring Lady Cochrane sincerely, was gazing with unseeing eyes
+down upon the stalls.
+
+"Well then--" began Struthers. But the music struck up softly. They
+were all rather bored. Struthers kept on making small, half audible
+remarks--which was bad form, and displeased Josephine, the hostess of
+the evening.
+
+When the curtain came down for the end of the act, the men got up.
+Lilly's wife, Tanny, suddenly appeared. She had come on after a dinner
+engagement.
+
+"Would you like tea or anything?" Lilly asked.
+
+The women refused. The men filtered out on to the crimson and white,
+curving corridor. Julia, Josephine and Tanny remained in the box. Tanny
+was soon hitched on to the conversation in hand.
+
+"Of course," she replied, "one can't decide such a thing like drinking a
+cup of tea."
+
+"Of course, one can't, dear Tanny," said Julia.
+
+"After all, one doesn't leave one's husband every day, to go and live
+with another man. Even if one looks on it as an experiment--."
+
+"It's difficult!" cried Julia. "It's difficult! I feel they all want to
+FORCE me to decide. It's cruel."
+
+"Oh, men with their beastly logic, their either-this-or-that stunt, they
+are an awful bore.--But of course, Robert can't love you REALLY, or he'd
+want to keep you. I can see Lilly discussing such a thing for ME. But
+then you don't love Robert either," said Tanny.
+
+"I do! Oh, I do, Tanny! I DO love him, I love him dearly. I think he's
+beautiful. Robert's beautiful. And he NEEDS me. And I need him too. I
+need his support. Yes, I do love him."
+
+"But you like Scott better," said Tanny.
+
+"Only because he--he's different," sang Julia, in long tones. "You see
+Scott has his art. His art matters. And ROB-ert--Robert is a dilettante,
+don't you think--he's dilettante--" She screwed up her eyes at Tanny.
+Tanny cogitated.
+
+"Of course I don't think that matters," she replied.
+
+"But it does, it matters tremendously, dear Tanny, tremendously."
+
+"Of course," Tanny sheered off. "I can see Scott has great
+attractions--a great warmth somewhere--"
+
+"Exactly!" cried Julia. "He UNDERSTANDS!"
+
+"And I believe he's a real artist. You might even work together. You
+might write his librettos."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--" Julia spoke with a long, pondering hiss.
+
+"It might be AWFULLY nice," said Tanny rapturously.
+
+"Yes!--It might!--It might--!" pondered Julia. Suddenly she gave herself
+a shake. Then she laughed hurriedly, as if breaking from her line of
+thought.
+
+"And wouldn't Robert be an AWFULLY nice lover for Josephine! Oh,
+wouldn't that be splendid!" she cried, with her high laugh.
+
+Josephine, who had been gazing down into the orchestra, turned now,
+flushing darkly.
+
+"But I don't want a lover, Julia," she said, hurt.
+
+"Josephine dear! Dear old Josephine! Don't you really! Oh, yes,
+you do.--I want one so BADLY," cried Julia, with her shaking laugh.
+"Robert's awfully good to me. But we've been married six years. And it
+does make a difference, doesn't it, Tanny dear?"
+
+"A great difference," said Tanny.
+
+"Yes, it makes a difference, it makes a difference," mused Julia. "Dear
+old Rob-ert--I wouldn't hurt him for worlds. I wouldn't. Do you think it
+would hurt Robert?"
+
+She screwed up her eyes, looking at Tanny.
+
+"Perhaps it would do Robert good to be hurt a little," said Tanny. "He's
+so well-nourished."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--I see what you mean, Tanny!--Poor old ROB-ert! Oh, poor old
+Rob-ert, he's so young!"
+
+"He DOES seem young," said Tanny. "One doesn't forgive it."
+
+"He is young," said Julia. "I'm five years older than he. He's only
+twenty-seven. Poor Old Robert."
+
+"Robert is young, and inexperienced," said Josephine, suddenly turning
+with anger. "But I don't know why you talk about him."
+
+"Is he inexperienced, Josephine dear? IS he?" sang Julia. Josephine
+flushed darkly, and turned away.
+
+"Ah, he's not so innocent as all that," said Tanny roughly. "Those young
+young men, who seem so fresh, they're deep enough, really. They're far
+less innocent really than men who are experienced."
+
+"They are, aren't they, Tanny," repeated Julia softly. "They're
+old--older than the Old Man of the Seas, sometimes, aren't they?
+Incredibly old, like little boys who know too much--aren't they? Yes!"
+She spoke quietly, seriously, as if it had struck her.
+
+Below, the orchestra was coming in. Josephine was watching closely.
+Julia became aware of this.
+
+"Do you see anybody we know, Josephine?" she asked.
+
+Josephine started.
+
+"No," she said, looking at her friends quickly and furtively.
+
+"Dear old Josephine, she knows all sorts of people," sang Julia.
+
+At that moment the men returned.
+
+"Have you actually come back!" exclaimed Tanny to them. They sat down
+without answering. Jim spread himself as far as he could, in the narrow
+space. He stared upwards, wrinkling his ugly, queer face. It was evident
+he was in one of his moods.
+
+"If only somebody loved me!" he complained. "If only somebody loved me I
+should be all right. I'm going to pieces." He sat up and peered into the
+faces of the women.
+
+"But we ALL love you," said Josephine, laughing uneasily. "Why aren't
+you satisfied?"
+
+"I'm not satisfied. I'm not satisfied," murmured Jim.
+
+"Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the
+breast?" asked Lilly, disagreeably.
+
+Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at his
+questioner.
+
+"Yes," he said. Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body
+across the box again.
+
+"You should try loving somebody, for a change," said Tanny. "You've been
+loved too often. Why not try and love somebody?"
+
+Jim eyed her narrowly.
+
+"I couldn't love YOU," he said, in vicious tones.
+
+"_A la bonne heure_!" said Tanny.
+
+But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
+
+"I want to be loved."
+
+"How many times have you been loved?" Robert asked him. "It would be
+rather interesting to know."
+
+Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
+
+"Did you ever keep count?" Tanny persisted.
+
+Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
+
+"I believe I did," he replied.
+
+"Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up," said Lilly.
+
+Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
+
+"I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail," he said.
+
+He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead. Josephine
+glanced round. She had become a dusky white colour. She was afraid of
+him, and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
+
+"Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?" she asked.
+
+The party in the box had become dead silent. They looked down. The
+conductor was at his stand. The music began. They all remained silent
+and motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts.
+Jim was uncomfortable. He wanted to make good. He sat with his elbows
+on his knees, grinning slightly, looking down. At the next interval he
+stood up suddenly.
+
+"It IS the chap--What?" he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his
+friends.
+
+"Who?" said Tanny.
+
+"It IS he?" said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
+
+"Sure!" he barked.
+
+He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his hand,
+as if trying to attract attention. Then he made signals.
+
+"There you are!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "That's the chap."
+
+"Who? Who?" they cried.
+
+But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
+
+The next was the long interval. Jim and Josephine gazed down at the
+orchestra. The musicians were laying aside their instruments and rising.
+The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend. Jim suddenly bolted out.
+
+"Is it that man Aaron Sisson?" asked Robert.
+
+"Where? Where?" cried Julia. "It can't be."
+
+But Josephine's face was closed and silent. She did not answer.
+
+The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway. Groups of
+people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to pay
+visits or to find drinks. Josephine's party stared around, talking
+desultorily. And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading
+Aaron Sisson by the arm. Jim was grinning, the flautist looked
+unwilling. He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt--a certain
+comely blondness and repose. And as much a gentleman as anybody.
+
+"Well!" cried Josephine to him. "How do you come here?"
+
+"I play the flute," he answered, as he shook hands.
+
+The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
+
+"How wonderful of you to be here!" cried Julia.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Do you think so?" he answered.
+
+"Yes, I do.--It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.--Oh,
+wasn't it exciting!" cried Julia.
+
+Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
+
+"We've heard all about you," said Tanny playfully.
+
+"Oh, yes," he replied.
+
+"Come!" said Josephine, rather irritated. "We crowd up the gangway." And
+she led the way inside the box.
+
+Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
+
+"You get all the view," he said.
+
+"We do, don't we!" cried Julia.
+
+"More than's good for us," said Lilly.
+
+"Tell us what you are doing. You've got a permanent job?" asked
+Josephine.
+
+"Yes--at present."
+
+"Ah! It's more interesting for you than at Beldover."
+
+She had taken her seat. He looked down at her dusky young face. Her
+voice was always clear and measured.
+
+"It's a change," he said, smiling.
+
+"Oh, it must be more than that," she said. "Why, you must feel a whole
+difference. It's a whole new life."
+
+He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently. She flushed.
+
+"But isn't it?" she persisted.
+
+"Yes. It can be," he replied.
+
+He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated. None of the
+people in the box were quite real to him. He was not really amused.
+Julia found him dull, stupid. Tanny also was offended that he could not
+_perceive her_. The men remained practically silent.
+
+"You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again," said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes!" replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
+
+"But perhaps he doesn't like us! Perhaps he's not glad that we turned
+up," said Julia, leaving her sting.
+
+The flautist turned and looked at her.
+
+"You can't REMEMBER us, can you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I can remember you."
+
+"Oh," she laughed. "You are unflattering."
+
+He was annoyed. He did not know what she was getting at.
+
+"How are your wife and children?" she asked spitefully.
+
+"All right, I think."
+
+"But you've been back to them?" cried Josephine in dismay.
+
+He looked at her, a slow, half smiling look, but did not speak.
+
+"Come and have a drink. Damn the women," said Jim uncouthly, seizing
+Aaron by the arm and dragging him off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. TALK
+
+
+The party stayed to the end of the interminable opera. They had agreed
+to wait for Aaron. He was to come around to the vestibule for them,
+after the show. They trooped slowly down-stairs into the crush of the
+entrance hall. Chattering, swirling people, red carpet, palms green
+against cream-and-gilt walls, small whirlpools of life at the open, dark
+doorways, men in opera hats steering decisively about-it was the old
+scene. But there were no taxis--absolutely no taxis. And it was raining.
+Fortunately the women had brought shoes. They slipped these on. Jim
+rocked through the crowd, in his tall hat, looking for the flautist.
+
+At last Aaron was found--wearing a bowler hat. Julia groaned in spirit.
+Josephine's brow knitted. Not that anybody cared, really. But as one
+must frown at something, why not at the bowler hat? Acquaintances and
+elegant young men in uniforms insisted on rushing up and bowing and
+exchanging a few words, either with Josephine, or Jim, or Julia, or
+Lilly. They were coldly received. The party veered out into the night.
+
+The women hugged their wraps about them, and set off sharply, feeling
+some repugnance for the wet pavements and the crowd. They had not far to
+go--only to Jim's rooms in Adelphi. Jim was leading Aaron, holding
+him by the arm and slightly pinching his muscles. It gave him
+great satisfaction to have between his fingers the arm-muscles of a
+working-man, one of the common people, the _fons et origo_ of modern
+life. Jim was talking rather vaguely about Labour and Robert Smillie,
+and Bolshevism. He was all for revolution and the triumph of labour.
+
+So they arrived, mounted a dark stair, and entered a large, handsome
+room, one of the Adams rooms. Jim had furnished it from Heale's with
+striped hangings, green and white and yellow and dark purple, and with
+a green-and-black checked carpet, and great stripe-covered chairs
+and Chesterfield. A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old
+fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy.
+
+While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was
+making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano--the pianola, rather. The
+chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire. The party threw
+off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of modern
+bohemia. They needed the Bach to take away the bad taste that _Aida_ had
+left in their mouths. They needed the whiskey and curacao to rouse their
+spirits. They needed the profound comfort in which to sink away from the
+world. All the men, except Aaron, had been through the war in some
+way or other. But here they were, in the old setting exactly, the old
+bohemian routine.
+
+The bell rang, Jim went downstairs. He returned shortly with a frail,
+elegant woman--fashionable rather than bohemian. She was cream and
+auburn, Irish, with a slightly-lifted upper lip that gave her a pathetic
+look. She dropped her wrap and sat down by Julia, taking her hand
+delicately.
+
+"How are you, darling?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--I'm happy," said Julia, giving her odd, screwed-up smile.
+
+The pianola stopped, they all chatted indiscriminately. Jim was watching
+the new-comer--Mrs. Browning--with a concentrated wolfish grin.
+
+"I like her," he said at last. "I've seen her before, haven't I?--I like
+her awfully."
+
+"Yes," said Josephine, with a slight grunt of a laugh. "He wants to be
+loved."
+
+"Oh," cried Clariss. "So do I!"
+
+"Then there you are!" cried Tanny.
+
+"Alas, no, there we aren't," cried Clariss. She was beautiful too, with
+her lifted upper-lip. "We both want to be loved, and so we miss each
+other entirely. We run on in two parallel lines, that can never meet."
+She laughed low and half sad.
+
+"Doesn't SHE love you?" said Aaron to Jim amused, indicating Josephine.
+"I thought you were engaged."
+
+"HER!" leered Jim vindictively, glancing at Josephine. "She doesn't love
+me."
+
+"Is that true?" asked Robert hastily, of Josephine.
+
+"Why," she said, "yes. Why should he make me say out here that I don't
+love him!"
+
+"Got you my girl," said Jim.
+
+"Then it's no engagement?" said Robert.
+
+"Listen to the row fools make, rushing in," said Jim maliciously.
+
+"No, the engagement is broken," said Josephine.
+
+"World coming to pieces bit by bit," said Lilly. Jim was twisting in
+his chair, and looking like a Chinese dragon, diabolical. The room was
+uneasy.
+
+"What gives you such a belly-ache for love, Jim?" said Lilly, "or for
+being loved? Why do you want so badly to be loved?"
+
+"Because I like it, damn you," barked Jim. "Because I'm in need of it."
+
+None of them quite knew whether they ought to take it as a joke. It was
+just a bit too real to be quite pleasant.
+
+"Why are you such a baby?" said Lilly. "There you are, six foot in
+length, have been a cavalry officer and fought in two wars, and you
+spend your time crying for somebody to love you. You're a comic."
+
+"Am I though?" said Jim. "I'm losing life. I'm getting thin."
+
+"You don't look as if you were losing life," said Lilly.
+
+"Don't I? I am, though. I'm dying."
+
+"What of? Lack of life?"
+
+"That's about it, my young cock. Life's leaving me."
+
+"Better sing Tosti's Farewell to it."
+
+Jim who had been sprawling full length in his arm-chair, the centre
+of interest of all the company, suddenly sprang forward and pushed his
+face, grinning, in the face of Lilly.
+
+"You're a funny customer, you are," he said.
+
+Then he turned round in his chair, and saw Clariss sitting at the feet
+of Julia, with one white arm over her friend's knee. Jim immediately
+stuck forward his muzzle and gazed at her. Clariss had loosened her
+masses of thick, auburn hair, so that it hung half free. Her face was
+creamy pale, her upper lip lifted with odd pathos! She had rose-rubies
+in her ears.
+
+"I like HER," said Jim. "What's her name?"
+
+"Mrs. Browning. Don't be so rude," said Josephine.
+
+"Browning for gravies. Any relation of Robert?"
+
+"Oh, yes! You ask my husband," came the slow, plangent voice of Clariss.
+
+"You've got a husband, have you?"
+
+"Rather! Haven't I, Juley?"
+
+"Yes," said Julia, vaguely and wispily. "Yes, dear, you have."
+
+"And two fine children," put in Robert.
+
+"No! You don't mean it!" said Jim. "Who's your husband? Anybody?"
+
+"Rather!" came the deep voice of Clariss. "He sees to that."
+
+Jim stared, grinning, showing his pointed teeth, reaching nearer and
+nearer to Clariss who, in her frail scrap of an evening dress, amethyst
+and silver, was sitting still in the deep black hearth-rug, her arm over
+Julia's knee, taking very little notice of Jim, although he amused her.
+
+"I like you awfully, I say," he repeated.
+
+"Thanks, I'm sure," she said.
+
+The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping curacao
+and taking a sandwich or a cigarette. Aaron Sisson alone sat upright,
+smiling flickeringly. Josephine watched him, and her pointed tongue went
+from time to time over her lips.
+
+"But I'm sure," she broke in, "this isn't very interesting for the
+others. Awfully boring! Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we must go
+home."
+
+Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. He hated her voice. She let her
+eye rest on his for a moment. Then she put her cigarette to her lips.
+Robert was watching them both.
+
+Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.
+
+"Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson," she said. "How do you like being
+in London?"
+
+"I like London," said Aaron.
+
+Where did he live? Bloomsbury. Did he know many people? No--nobody
+except a man in the orchestra. How had he got his job? Through an agent.
+Etc. Etc.
+
+"What do you make of the miners?" said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.
+
+"Me?" said Sisson. "I don't make anything of them."
+
+"Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Nationalisation."
+
+"They might, one day."
+
+"Think they'd fight?"
+
+"Fight?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron sat laughing.
+
+"What have they to fight for?"
+
+"Why, everything! What haven't they to fight for?" cried Josephine
+fiercely. "Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system. Won't
+they fight for that?"
+
+Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.
+
+"Nay," he said, "you mustn't ask me what they'll do--I've only just left
+them, for good. They'll do a lot of cavilling."
+
+"But won't they ACT?" cried Josephine.
+
+"Act?" said Aaron. "How, act?"
+
+"Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands," said
+Josephine.
+
+"They might, some time," said Aaron, rather indifferent.
+
+"I wish they would!" cried Josephine. "My, wouldn't I love it if they'd
+make a bloody revolution!"
+
+They were all looking now at her. Her black brows were twitching, in her
+black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.
+
+"Must it be bloody, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"Why, yes. I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody," said
+Josephine. "Wouldn't I love it! I'd go in front with a red flag."
+
+"It would be rather fun," said Tanny.
+
+"Wouldn't it!" cried Josephine.
+
+"Oh, Josey, dear!" cried Julia hysterically. "Isn't she a red-hot
+Bolsher! _I_ should be frightened."
+
+"No!" cried Josephine. "I should love it."
+
+"So should I," said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice. "What price
+machine-guns at the end of the Strand! That's a day to live for, what?"
+
+"Ha! Ha!" laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh. "We'd all Bolsh
+together. I'd give the cheers."
+
+"I wouldn't mind getting killed. I'd love it, in a real fight," said
+Josephine.
+
+"But, Josephine," said Robert, "don't you think we've had enough of that
+sort of thing in the war? Don't you think it all works out rather stupid
+and unsatisfying?"
+
+"Ah, but a civil war would be different. I've no interest in fighting
+Germans. But a civil war would be different."
+
+"That's a fact, it would," said Jim.
+
+"Only rather worse," said Robert.
+
+"No, I don't agree," cried Josephine. "You'd feel you were doing
+something, in a civil war."
+
+"Pulling the house down," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes," she cried. "Don't you hate it, the house we live
+in--London--England--America! Don't you hate them?"
+
+"I don't like them. But I can't get much fire in my hatred. They pall on
+me rather," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.
+
+Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.
+
+"Still," said Tanny, "there's got to be a clearance some day or other."
+
+"Oh," drawled Clariss. "I'm all for a clearance. I'm all for pulling the
+house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good
+cook."
+
+"May I come to dinner?" said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes. You'd find it rather domestic."
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"Rather far out now--Amersham."
+
+"Amersham? Where's that--?"
+
+"Oh, it's on the map."
+
+There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the
+sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with
+its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat
+watching him, unconsciously.
+
+"Hello you!" said Jim. "Have one?"
+
+Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.
+
+"You believe in love, don't you?" said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and
+grinning at him.
+
+"Love!" said Aaron.
+
+"LOVE! he says," mocked Jim, grinning at the company.
+
+"What about it, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"It's life! Love is life," said Jim fiercely.
+
+"It's a vice, like drink," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh? A vice!" said Jim. "May be for you, old bird."
+
+"More so still for you," said Lilly.
+
+"It's life. It's life!" reiterated Jim. "Don't you agree?" He turned
+wolfishly to Clariss.
+
+"Oh, yes--every time--" she drawled, nonchalant.
+
+"Here, let's write it down," said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and
+printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece
+panel:--LOVE IS LIFE.
+
+Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
+
+"Oh, I hate love. I hate it," she protested.
+
+Jim watched her sardonically.
+
+"Look at her!" he said. "Look at Lesbia who hates love."
+
+"No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't
+love properly," put in Josephine.
+
+"Have another try," said Jim,--"I know what love is. I've thought about
+it. Love is the soul's respiration."
+
+"Let's have that down," said Lilly.
+
+LOVE IS THE SOUL'S RESPIRATION. He printed it on the old mantel-piece.
+
+Jim eyed the letters.
+
+"It's right," he said. "Quite right. When you love, your soul breathes
+in. If you don't breathe in, you suffocate."
+
+"What about breathing out?" said Robert. "If you don't breathe out, you
+asphyxiate."
+
+"Right you are, Mock Turtle--" said Jim maliciously.
+
+"Breathing out is a bloody revolution," said Lilly.
+
+"You've hit the nail on the head," said Jim solemnly.
+
+"Let's record it then," said Lilly. And with the blue pencil he printed:
+
+WHEN YOU LOVE, YOUR SOUL BREATHES IN--
+
+WHEN YOUR SOUL BREATHES OUT, IT'S A BLOODY REVOLUTION.
+
+"I say Jim," he said. "You must be busting yourself, trying to breathe
+in."
+
+"Don't you be too clever. I've thought about it," said Jim. "When I'm in
+love, I get a great inrush of energy. I actually feel it rush in--here!"
+He poked his finger on the pit of his stomach. "It's the soul's
+expansion. And if I can't get these rushes of energy, I'M DYING, AND I
+KNOW I AM."
+
+He spoke the last words with sudden ferocity and desperation.
+
+"All _I_ know is," said Tanny, "you don't look it."
+
+"I AM. I am." Jim protested. "I'm dying. Life's leaving me."
+
+"Maybe you're choking with love," said Robert. "Perhaps you have
+breathed in so much, you don't know how to let it go again. Perhaps your
+soul's got a crick in it, with expanding so much."
+
+"You're a bloody young sucking pig, you are," said Jim.
+
+"Even at that age, I've learned my manners," replied Robert.
+
+Jim looked round the party. Then he turned to Aaron Sisson.
+
+"What do you make of 'em, eh?" he said.
+
+Aaron shook his head, and laughed.
+
+"Me?" he said.
+
+But Jim did not wait for an answer.
+
+"I've had enough," said Tanny suddenly rising. "I think you're all
+silly. Besides, it's getting late."
+
+"She!" said Jim, rising and pointing luridly to Clariss. "She's Love.
+And HE's the Working People. The hope is these two--" He jerked a thumb
+at Aaron Sisson, after having indicated Mrs. Browning.
+
+"Oh, how awfully interesting. It's quite a long time since I've been a
+personification.--I suppose you've never been one before?" said Clariss,
+turning to Aaron in conclusion.
+
+"No, I don't think I have," he answered.
+
+"I hope personification is right.--Ought to be _allegory_ or something
+else?" This from Clariss to Robert.
+
+"Or a parable, Clariss," laughed the young lieutenant.
+
+"Goodbye," said Tanny. "I've been awfully bored."
+
+"Have you?" grinned Jim. "Goodbye! Better luck next time."
+
+"We'd better look sharp," said Robert, "if we want to get the tube."
+
+The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the
+Embankment station. Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west, Lilly
+and his wife were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron Sisson were
+going both to Bloomsbury.
+
+"I suppose," said Robert, on the stairs--"Mr. Sisson will see you to
+your door, Josephine. He lives your way."
+
+"There's no need at all," said Josephine.
+
+The four who were going north went down to the low tube level. It
+was nearly the last train. The station was half deserted, half rowdy,
+several fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing. Down there in the
+bowels of London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and
+unnatural.
+
+"How I hate this London," said Tanny. She was half Norwegian, and had
+spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly.
+
+"Yes, so do I," said Josephine. "But if one must earn one's living one
+must stay here. I wish I could get back to Paris. But there's nothing
+doing for me in France.--When do you go back into the country, both of
+you?"
+
+"Friday," said Lilly.
+
+"How lovely for you!--And when will you go to Norway, Tanny?"
+
+"In about a month," said Tanny.
+
+"You must be awfully pleased."
+
+"Oh--thankful--THANKFUL to get out of England--"
+
+"I know. That's how I feel. Everything is so awful--so dismal and
+dreary, I find it--"
+
+They crowded into the train. Men were still yelling like wild
+beasts--others were asleep--soldiers were singing.
+
+"Have you really broken your engagement with Jim?" shrilled Tanny in a
+high voice, as the train roared.
+
+"Yes, he's impossible," said Josephine. "Perfectly hysterical and
+impossible."
+
+"And SELFISH--" cried Tanny.
+
+"Oh terribly--" cried Josephine.
+
+"Come up to Hampstead to lunch with us," said Lilly to Aaron.
+
+"Ay--thank you," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly scribbled directions on a card. The hot, jaded midnight
+underground rattled on. Aaron and Josephine got down to change trains.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+
+
+Josephine had invited Aaron Sisson to dinner at a restaurant in Soho,
+one Sunday evening. They had a corner to themselves, and with a bottle
+of Burgundy she was getting his history from him.
+
+His father had been a shaft-sinker, earning good money, but had been
+killed by a fall down the shaft when Aaron was only four years old. The
+widow had opened a shop: Aaron was her only child. She had done well
+in her shop. She had wanted Aaron to be a schoolteacher. He had served
+three years apprenticeship, then suddenly thrown it up and gone to the
+pit.
+
+"But why?" said Josephine.
+
+"I couldn't tell you. I felt more like it."
+
+He had a curious quality of an intelligent, almost sophisticated mind,
+which had repudiated education. On purpose he kept the midland accent in
+his speech. He understood perfectly what a personification was--and an
+allegory. But he preferred to be illiterate.
+
+Josephine found out what a miner's checkweighman was. She tried to find
+out what sort of wife Aaron had--but, except that she was the daughter
+of a publican and was delicate in health, she could learn nothing.
+
+"And do you send her money?" she asked.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron. "The house is mine. And I allow her so much a week out
+of the money in the bank. My mother left me a bit over a thousand when
+she died."
+
+"You don't mind what I say, do you?" said Josephine.
+
+"No I don't mind," he laughed.
+
+He had this pleasant-seeming courteous manner. But he really kept her
+at a distance. In some things he reminded her of Robert: blond, erect,
+nicely built, fresh and English-seeming. But there was a curious cold
+distance to him, which she could not get across. An inward indifference
+to her--perhaps to everything. Yet his laugh was so handsome.
+
+"Will you tell me why you left your wife and children?--Didn't you love
+them?"
+
+Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl. She had had her
+hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her ears.
+
+"Why I left her?" he said. "For no particular reason. They're all right
+without me."
+
+Josephine watched his face. She saw a pallor of suffering under its
+freshness, and a strange tension in his eyes.
+
+"But you couldn't leave your little girls for no reason at all--"
+
+"Yes, I did. For no reason--except I wanted to have some free room round
+me--to loose myself--"
+
+"You mean you wanted love?" flashed Josephine, thinking he said _lose_.
+
+"No, I wanted fresh air. I don't know what I wanted. Why should I know?"
+
+"But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt," said she.
+
+"Ah, well! A breath of fresh air, by myself. I felt forced to feel--I
+feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED--forced to love--or
+care--or something."
+
+"Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you," she said.
+
+"Perhaps less. She's made up her mind she loves me, and she's not going
+to let me off."
+
+"Did you never love her?" said Josephine.
+
+"Oh, yes. I shall never love anybody else. But I'm damned if I want to
+be a lover any more. To her or to anybody. That's the top and bottom of
+it. I don't want to CARE, when care isn't in me. And I'm not going to be
+forced to it."
+
+The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near. Josephine let him
+remove the plates and the empty bottle.
+
+"Have more wine," she said to Aaron.
+
+But he refused. She liked him because of his dead-level indifference to
+his surroundings. French waiters and foreign food--he noticed them in
+his quick, amiable-looking fashion--but he was indifferent. Josephine
+was piqued. She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness of his.
+
+She ordered coffee and brandies.
+
+"But you don't want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you? I myself feel
+so LOST sometimes--so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental
+fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don't you know. But
+my LIFE seems alone, for some reason--"
+
+"Haven't you got relations?" he said.
+
+"No one, now mother is dead. Nothing nearer than aunts and cousins in
+America. I suppose I shall see them all again one day. But they hardly
+count over here."
+
+"Why don't you get married?" he said. "How old are you?"
+
+"I'm twenty-five. How old are you?"
+
+"Thirty-three."
+
+"You might almost be any age.--I don't know why I don't get married. In
+a way, I hate earning my own living--yet I go on--and I like my work--"
+
+"What are you doing now?"
+
+"I'm painting scenery for a new play--rather fun--I enjoy it. But I
+often wonder what will become of me."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+She was almost affronted.
+
+"What becomes of me? Oh, I don't know. And it doesn't matter, not to
+anybody but myself."
+
+"What becomes of anybody, anyhow? We live till we die. What do you
+want?"
+
+"Why, I keep saying I want to get married and feel sure of something.
+But I don't know--I feel dreadful sometimes--as if every minute would
+be the last. I keep going on and on--I don't know what for--and IT keeps
+going on and on--goodness knows what it's all for."
+
+"You shouldn't bother yourself," he said. "You should just let it go on
+and on--"
+
+"But I MUST bother," she said. "I must think and feel--"
+
+"You've no occasion," he said.
+
+"How--?" she said, with a sudden grunting, unhappy laugh. Then she lit a
+cigarette.
+
+"No," she said. "What I should really like more than anything would be
+an end of the world. I wish the world would come to an end."
+
+He laughed, and poured his drops of brandy down his throat.
+
+"It won't, for wishing," he said.
+
+"No, that's the awful part of it. It'll just go on and on-- Doesn't it
+make you feel you'd go mad?"
+
+He looked at her and shook his head.
+
+"You see it doesn't concern me," he said. "So long as I can float by
+myself."
+
+"But ARE you SATISFIED!" she cried.
+
+"I like being by myself--I hate feeling and caring, and being forced
+into it. I want to be left alone--"
+
+"You aren't very polite to your hostess of the evening," she said,
+laughing a bit miserably.
+
+"Oh, we're all right," he said. "You know what I mean--"
+
+"You like your own company? Do you?--Sometimes I think I'm nothing when
+I'm alone. Sometimes I think I surely must be nothing--nothingness."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No," he said. "No. I only want to be left alone."
+
+"Not to have anything to do with anybody?" she queried ironically.
+
+"Not to any extent."
+
+She watched him--and then she bubbled with a laugh.
+
+"I think you're funny," she said. "You don't mind?"
+
+"No--why--It's just as you see it.--Jim Bricknell's a rare comic, to my
+eye."
+
+"Oh, him!--no, not actually. He's self-conscious and selfish and
+hysterical. It isn't a bit funny after a while."
+
+"I only know what I've seen," said Aaron. "You'd both of you like a
+bloody revolution, though."
+
+"Yes. Only when it came he wouldn't be there."
+
+"Would you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I would. I would give everything to be in it. I'd give
+heaven and earth for a great big upheaval--and then darkness."
+
+"Perhaps you'll get it, when you die," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but I don't want to die and leave all this standing. I hate it so."
+
+"Why do you?"
+
+"But don't you?"
+
+"No, it doesn't really bother me."
+
+"It makes me feel I can't live."
+
+"I can't see that."
+
+"But you always disagree with one!" said Josephine. "How do you like
+Lilly? What do you think of him?"
+
+"He seems sharp," said Aaron.
+
+"But he's more than sharp."
+
+"Oh, yes! He's got his finger in most pies."
+
+"And doesn't like the plums in any of them," said Josephine tartly.
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+"Writes--stories and plays."
+
+"And makes it pay?"
+
+"Hardly at all.--They want us to go. Shall we?" She rose from the table.
+The waiter handed her her cloak, and they went out into the blowy dark
+night. She folded her wrap round her, and hurried forward with short,
+sharp steps. There was a certain Parisian _chic_ and mincingness about
+her, even in her walk: but underneath, a striding, savage suggestion as
+if she could leg it in great strides, like some savage squaw.
+
+Aaron pressed his bowler hat down on his brow.
+
+"Would you rather take a bus?" she said in a high voice, because of the
+wind.
+
+"I'd rather walk."
+
+"So would I."
+
+They hurried across the Charing Cross Road, where great buses rolled and
+rocked, crammed with people. Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement,
+as they walked east. They crossed Holborn, and passed the Museum. And
+neither of them said anything.
+
+When they came to the corner, she held out her hand.
+
+"Look!" she said. "Don't come any further: don't trouble."
+
+"I'll walk round with you: unless you'd rather not."
+
+"No--But do you want to bother?"
+
+"It's no bother."
+
+So they pursued their way through the high wind, and turned at last
+into the old, beautiful square. It seemed dark and deserted, dark like
+a savage wilderness in the heart of London. The wind was roaring in the
+great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark grove deep
+in a forgotten land.
+
+Josephine opened the gate of the square garden with her key, and let it
+slam to behind him.
+
+"How wonderful the wind is!" she shrilled. "Shall we listen to it for a
+minute?"
+
+She led him across the grass past the shrubs to the big tree in the
+centre. There she climbed up to a seat. He sat beside her. They sat in
+silence, looking at the darkness. Rain was blowing in the wind. They
+huddled against the big tree-trunk, for shelter, and watched the scene.
+
+Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street
+gleamed silently. The houses of the Square rose like a cliff on this
+inner dark sea, dimly lighted at occasional windows. Boughs swayed and
+sang. A taxi-cab swirled round a corner like a cat, and purred to a
+standstill. There was a light of an open hall door. But all far away,
+it seemed, unthinkably far away. Aaron sat still and watched. He was
+frightened, it all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling heart of
+London. Wind boomed and tore like waves ripping a shingle beach. The two
+white lights of the taxi stared round and departed, leaving the coast
+at the foot of the cliffs deserted, faintly spilled with light from the
+high lamp. Beyond there, on the outer rim, a policeman passed solidly.
+
+Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly. Occasionally
+she blew her nose and wiped her face. But he had not realized. She
+hardly realized herself. She sat near the strange man. He seemed so
+still and remote--so fascinating.
+
+"Give me your hand," she said to him, subduedly.
+
+He took her cold hand in his warm, living grasp. She wept more bitterly.
+He noticed at last.
+
+"Why are you crying?" he said.
+
+"I don't know," she replied, rather matter-of-fact, through her tears.
+
+So he let her cry, and said no more, but sat with her cold hand in his
+warm, easy clasp.
+
+"You'll think me a fool," she said. "I don't know why I cry."
+
+"You can cry for nothing, can't you?" he said.
+
+"Why, yes, but it's not very sensible."
+
+He laughed shortly.
+
+"Sensible!" he said.
+
+"You are a strange man," she said.
+
+But he took no notice.
+
+"Did you ever intend to marry Jim Bricknell?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"I can't imagine it," he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Both were watching blankly the roaring night of mid-London, the
+phantasmagoric old Bloomsbury Square. They were still hand in hand.
+
+"Such as you shouldn't marry," he said.
+
+"But why not? I want to."
+
+"You think you do."
+
+"Yes indeed I do."
+
+He did not say any more.
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" she persisted. "I don't know--"
+
+And again he was silent.
+
+"You've known some life, haven't you?" he asked.
+
+"Me? Why?"
+
+"You seem to."
+
+"Do I? I'm sorry. Do I seem vicious?--No, I'm not vicious.--I've seen
+some life, perhaps--in Paris mostly. But not much. Why do you ask?"
+
+"I wasn't thinking."
+
+"But what do you mean? What are you thinking?"
+
+"Nothing. Nothing."
+
+"Don't be so irritating," said she.
+
+But he did not answer, and she became silent also. They sat hand in
+hand.
+
+"Won't you kiss me?" came her voice out of the darkness.
+
+He waited some moments, then his voice sounded gently, half mocking,
+half reproachful.
+
+"Nay!" he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I don't want to."
+
+"Why not?" she asked.
+
+He laughed, but did not reply.
+
+She sat perfectly still for some time. She had ceased to cry. In the
+darkness her face was set and sullen. Sometimes a spray of rain blew
+across it. She drew her hand from his, and rose to her feet.
+
+"Ill go in now," she said.
+
+"You're not offended, are you?" he asked.
+
+"No. Why?"
+
+They stepped down in the darkness from their perch.
+
+"I wondered."
+
+She strode off for some little way. Then she turned and said:
+
+"Yes, I think it is rather insulting."
+
+"Nay," he said. "Not it! Not it!"
+
+And he followed her to the gate.
+
+She opened with her key, and they crossed the road to her door.
+
+"Good-night," she said, turning and giving him her hand.
+
+"You'll come and have dinner with me--or lunch--will you? When shall we
+make it?" he asked.
+
+"Well, I can't say for certain--I'm very busy just now. I'll let you
+know."
+
+A policeman shed his light on the pair of them as they stood on the
+step.
+
+"All right," said Aaron, dropping back, and she hastily opened the big
+door, and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+
+
+The Lillys had a labourer's cottage in Hampshire--pleasant enough. They
+were poor. Lilly was a little, dark, thin, quick fellow, his wife was
+strong and fair. They had known Robert and Julia for some years, but
+Josephine and Jim were new acquaintances,--fairly new.
+
+One day in early spring Lilly had a telegram, "Coming to see you arrive
+4:30--Bricknell." He was surprised, but he and his wife got the spare
+room ready. And at four o'clock Lilly went off to the station. He was
+a few minutes late, and saw Jim's tall, rather elegant figure stalking
+down the station path. Jim had been an officer in the regular army, and
+still spent hours with his tailor. But instead of being a soldier he was
+a sort of socialist, and a red-hot revolutionary of a very ineffectual
+sort.
+
+"Good lad!" he exclaimed, as Lilly came up. "Thought you wouldn't mind."
+
+"Not at all. Let me carry your bag." Jim had a bag and a knapsack.
+
+"I had an inspiration this morning," said Jim. "I suddenly saw that if
+there was a man in England who could save me, it was you."
+
+"Save you from what?" asked Lilly, rather abashed.
+
+"Eh--?" and Jim stooped, grinning at the smaller man.
+
+Lilly was somewhat puzzled, but he had a certain belief in himself as a
+saviour. The two men tramped rather incongruously through the lanes to
+the cottage.
+
+Tanny was in the doorway as they came up the garden path.
+
+"So nice to see you! Are you all right?" she said.
+
+"A-one!" said Jim, grinning. "Nice of you to have me."
+
+"Oh, we're awfully pleased."
+
+Jim dropped his knapsack on the broad sofa.
+
+"I've brought some food," he said.
+
+"Have you! That's sensible of you. We can't get a great deal here,
+except just at week-ends," said Tanny.
+
+Jim fished out a pound of sausages and a pot of fish paste.
+
+"How lovely the sausages," said Tanny. "We'll have them for dinner
+tonight--and we'll have the other for tea now. You'd like a wash?"
+
+But Jim had already opened his bag, taken off his coat, and put on an
+old one.
+
+"Thanks," he said.
+
+Lilly made the tea, and at length all sat down.
+
+"Well how unexpected this is--and how nice," said Tanny.
+
+"Jolly--eh?" said Jim.
+
+He ate rapidly, stuffing his mouth too full.
+
+"How is everybody?" asked Tanny.
+
+"All right. Julia's gone with Cyril Scott. Can't stand that fellow, can
+you? What?"
+
+"Yes, I think he's rather nice," said Tanny. "What will Robert do?"
+
+"Have a shot at Josephine, apparently."
+
+"Really? Is he in love with her? I thought so. And she likes him too,
+doesn't she?" said Tanny.
+
+"Very likely," said Jim.
+
+"I suppose you're jealous," laughed Tanny.
+
+"Me!" Jim shook his head. "Not a bit. Like to see the ball kept
+rolling."
+
+"What have you been doing lately?"
+
+"Been staying a few days with my wife."
+
+"No, really! I can't believe it."
+
+Jim had a French wife, who had divorced him, and two children. Now he
+was paying visits to this wife again: purely friendly. Tanny did most
+of the talking. Jim excited her, with his way of looking in her face and
+grinning wolfishly, and at the same time asking to be saved.
+
+After tea, he wanted to send telegrams, so Lilly took him round to the
+village post-office. Telegrams were a necessary part of his life. He had
+to be suddenly starting off to keep sudden appointments, or he felt he
+was a void in the atmosphere. He talked to Lilly about social reform,
+and so on. Jim's work in town was merely nominal. He spent his time
+wavering about and going to various meetings, philandering and weeping.
+
+Lilly kept in the back of his mind the Saving which James had come to
+look for. He intended to do his best. After dinner the three sat cosily
+round the kitchen fire.
+
+"But what do you really think will happen to the world?" Lilly asked
+Jim, amid much talk.
+
+"What? There's something big coming," said Jim.
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"Watch Ireland, and watch Japan--they're the two poles of the world,"
+said Jim.
+
+"I thought Russia and America," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh? What? Russia and America! They'll depend on Ireland and Japan. I
+know it. I've had a vision of it. Ireland on this side and Japan on the
+other--they'll settle it."
+
+"I don't see how," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't see HOW--But I had a vision of it."
+
+"What sort of vision?"
+
+"Couldn't describe it."
+
+"But you don't think much of the Japanese, do you?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Don't I! Don't I!" said Jim. "What, don't you think they're wonderful?"
+
+"No. I think they're rather unpleasant."
+
+"I think the salvation of the world lies with them."
+
+"Funny salvation," said Lilly. "I think they're anything but angels."
+
+"Do you though? Now that's funny. Why?"
+
+"Looking at them even. I knew a Russian doctor who'd been through the
+Russo-Japanese war, and who had gone a bit cracked. He said he saw the
+Japs rush a trench. They threw everything away and flung themselves
+through the Russian fire and simply dropped in masses. But those that
+reached the trenches jumped in with bare hands on the Russians and tore
+their faces apart and bit their throats out--fairly ripped the faces
+off the bone.--It had sent the doctor a bit cracked. He said the wounded
+were awful,--their faces torn off and their throats mangled--and dead
+Japs with flesh between the teeth--God knows if it's true. But that's
+the impression the Japanese had made on this man. It had affected his
+mind really."
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and smiled as if he were pleased.
+
+"No--really--!" he said.
+
+"Anyhow they're more demon than angel, I believe," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, no, Rawdon, but you always exaggerate," said Tanny.
+
+"Maybe," said Lilly.
+
+"I think Japanese are fascinating--fascinating--so quick, and such FORCE
+in them--"
+
+"Rather!--eh?" said Jim, looking with a quick smile at Tanny.
+
+"I think a Japanese lover would be marvellous," she laughed riskily.
+
+"I s'd think he would," said Jim, screwing up his eyes.
+
+"Do you hate the normal British as much as I do?" she asked him.
+
+"Hate them! Hate them!" he said, with an intimate grin.
+
+"Their beastly virtue," said she. "And I believe there's nobody more
+vicious underneath."
+
+"Nobody!" said Jim.
+
+"But you're British yourself," said Lilly to Jim.
+
+"No, I'm Irish. Family's Irish--my mother was a Fitz-patrick."
+
+"Anyhow you live in England."
+
+"Because they won't let me go to Ireland."
+
+The talk drifted. Jim finished up all the beer, and they prepared to go
+to bed. Jim was a bit tipsy, grinning. He asked for bread and cheese to
+take upstairs.
+
+"Will you have supper?" said Lilly. He was surprised, because Jim had
+eaten strangely much at dinner.
+
+"No--where's the loaf?" And he cut himself about half of it. There was
+no cheese.
+
+"Bread'll do," said Jim.
+
+"Sit down and eat it. Have cocoa with it," said Tanny.
+
+"No, I like to have it in my bedroom."
+
+"You don't eat bread in the night?" said Lilly.
+
+"I do."
+
+"What a funny thing to do."
+
+The cottage was in darkness. The Lillys slept soundly. Jim woke up and
+chewed bread and slept again. In the morning at dawn he rose and went
+downstairs. Lilly heard him roaming about--heard the woman come in
+to clean--heard them talking. So he got up to look after his visitor,
+though it was not seven o'clock, and the woman was busy.--But before he
+went down, he heard Jim come upstairs again.
+
+Mrs. Short was busy in the kitchen when Lilly went down.
+
+"The other gentleman have been down, Sir," said Mrs. Short. "He asked me
+where the bread and butter were, so I said should I cut him a piece. But
+he wouldn't let me do it. I gave him a knife and he took it for himself,
+in the pantry."
+
+"I say, Bricknell," said Lilly at breakfast time, "why do you eat so
+much bread?"
+
+"I've got to feed up. I've been starved during this damned war."
+
+"But hunks of bread won't feed you up."
+
+"Gives the stomach something to work at, and prevents it grinding on the
+nerves," said Jim.
+
+"But surely you don't want to keep your stomach always full and heavy."
+
+"I do, my boy. I do. It needs keeping solid. I'm losing life, if I
+don't. I tell you I'm losing life. Let me put something inside me."
+
+"I don't believe bread's any use."
+
+During breakfast Jim talked about the future of the world.
+
+"I reckon Christ's the finest thing time has ever produced," said he;
+"and will remain it."
+
+"But you don't want crucifixions _ad infinitum_," said Lilly.
+
+"What? Why not?"
+
+"Once is enough--and have done."
+
+"Don't you think love and sacrifice are the finest things in life?" said
+Jim, over his bacon.
+
+"Depends WHAT love, and what sacrifice," said Lilly. "If I really
+believe in an Almighty God, I am willing to sacrifice for Him. That is,
+I'm willing to yield my own personal interest to the bigger creative
+interest.--But it's obvious Almighty God isn't mere Love."
+
+"I think it is. Love and only love," said Jim. "I think the greatest joy
+is sacrificing oneself to love."
+
+"To SOMEONE you love, you mean," said Tanny.
+
+"No I don't. I don't mean someone at all. I mean love--love--love. I
+sacrifice myself to love. I reckon that's the highest man is capable
+of."
+
+"But you can't sacrifice yourself to an abstract principle," said Tanny.
+
+"That's just what you can do. And that's the beauty of it. Who
+represents the principle doesn't matter. Christ is the principle of
+love," said Jim.
+
+"But no!" said Tanny. "It MUST be more individual. It must be SOMEBODY
+you love, not abstract love in itself. How can you sacrifice yourself to
+an abstraction."
+
+"Ha, I think Love and your Christ detestable," said Lilly--"a sheer
+ignominy."
+
+"Finest thing the world has produced," said Jim.
+
+"No. A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed! No, it's foul. Don't
+you see it's the Judas principle you really worship. Judas is the real
+hero. But for Judas the whole show would have been _manque_."
+
+"Oh yes," said Jim. "Judas was inevitable. I'm not sure that Judas
+wasn't the greatest of the disciples--and Jesus knew it. I'm not sure
+Judas wasn't the disciple Jesus loved."
+
+"Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks," said Tanny.
+
+Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.
+
+"Then it was a nasty combination. And anything which turns on a Judas
+climax is a dirty show, to my thinking. I think your Judas is a rotten,
+dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental twister. And
+out of all Christianity he is the hero today. When people say Christ
+they mean Judas. They find him luscious on the palate. And Jesus
+fostered him--" said Lilly.
+
+"He's a profound figure, is Judas. It's taken two thousand years to
+begin to understand him," said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade into
+his mouth.
+
+"A traitor is a traitor--no need to understand any further. And a system
+which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that treachery
+not only inevitable but sacred. That's why I'm sick of Christianity.--At
+any rate this modern Christ-mongery."
+
+"The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce--Christ
+and Judas--" said Jim.
+
+"Not to me," said Lilly. "Foul combination."
+
+It was a lovely morning in early March. Violets were out, and the first
+wild anemones. The sun was quite warm. The three were about to take out
+a picnic lunch. Lilly however was suffering from Jim's presence.
+
+"Jolly nice here," said Jim. "Mind if I stay till Saturday?"
+
+There was a pause. Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely
+bullied. Was he going to agree? Suddenly he looked up at Jim.
+
+"I'd rather you went tomorrow," he said.
+
+Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.
+
+"What's tomorrow?" said Jim.
+
+"Thursday," said Lilly.
+
+"Thursday," repeated Jim. And he looked up and got Lilly's eye. He
+wanted to say "Friday then?"
+
+"Yes, I'd rather you went Thursday," repeated Lilly.
+
+"But Rawdon--!" broke in Tanny, who was suffering. She stopped, however.
+
+"We can walk across country with you some way if you like," said Lilly
+to Jim. It was a sort of compromise.
+
+"Fine!" said Jim. "We'll do that, then."
+
+It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods. Between Jim
+and Tanny was a sort of growing _rapprochement_, which got on Lilly's
+nerves.
+
+"What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?" cried Lilly
+at Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.
+
+"But I'm not personal at all, am I, Mr. Bricknell?" said Tanny.
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and grinned pleasedly.
+
+"Why shouldn't you be, anyhow?" he said.
+
+"Yes!" she retorted. "Why not!"
+
+"Not while I'm here. I loathe the slimy creepy personal
+intimacy.--'Don't you think, Mr. Bricknell, that it's lovely to be able
+to talk quite simply to somebody? Oh, it's such a relief, after most
+people---'" Lilly mimicked his wife's last speech savagely.
+
+"But I MEAN it," cried Tanny. "It is lovely."
+
+"Dirty messing," said Lilly angrily.
+
+Jim watched the dark, irascible little man with amusement. They rose,
+and went to look for an inn, and beer. Tanny still clung rather stickily
+to Jim's side.
+
+But it was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with
+crocuses and wall-flowers in the cottage gardens, and white cocks
+crowing in the quiet hamlet.
+
+When they got back in the afternoon to the cottage, they found a
+telegram for Jim. He let the Lillys see it--"Meet you for a walk on your
+return journey Lois." At once Tanny wanted to know all about Lois. Lois
+was a nice girl, well-to-do middle-class, but also an actress, and she
+would do anything Jim wanted.
+
+"I must get a wire to her to meet me tomorrow," he said. "Where shall I
+say?"
+
+Lilly produced the map, and they decided on time and station at which
+Lois coming out of London, should meet Jim. Then the happy pair could
+walk along the Thames valley, spending a night perhaps at Marlowe, or
+some such place.
+
+Off went Jim and Lilly once more to the postoffice. They were quite
+good friends. Having so inhospitably fixed the hour of departure,
+Lilly wanted to be nice. Arrived at the postoffice, they found it shut:
+half-day closing for the little shop.
+
+"Well," said Lilly. "We'll go to the station."
+
+They proceeded to the station--found the station-master--were conducted
+down to the signal-box. Lilly naturally hung back from people, but
+Jim was hob-nob with the station-master and the signal man, quite
+officer-and-my-men kind of thing. Lilly sat out on the steps of the
+signal-box, rather ashamed, while the long telegram was shouted over the
+telephone to the junction town--first the young lady and her address,
+then the message "Meet me X. station 3:40 tomorrow walk back great
+pleasure Jim."
+
+Anyhow that was done. They went home to tea. After tea, as the evening
+fell, Lilly suggested a little stroll in the woods, while Tanny prepared
+the dinner. Jim agreed, and they set out. The two men wandered through
+the trees in the dusk, till they came to a bank on the farther edge of
+the wood. There they sat down.
+
+And there Lilly said what he had to say. "As a matter of fact," he said,
+"it's nothing but love and self-sacrifice which makes you feel yourself
+losing life."
+
+"You're wrong. Only love brings it back--and wine. If I drink a bottle
+of Burgundy I feel myself restored at the middle--right here! I feel
+the energy back again. And if I can fall in love--But it's becoming so
+damned hard--"
+
+"What, to fall in love?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why not leave off trying! What do you want to poke yourself and
+prod yourself into love, for?"
+
+"Because I'm DEAD without it. I'm dead. I'm dying."
+
+"Only because you force yourself. If you drop working yourself up--"
+
+"I shall die. I only live when I can fall in love. Otherwise I'm dying
+by inches. Why, man, you don't know what it was like. I used to get
+the most grand feelings--like a great rush of force, or light--a great
+rush--right here, as I've said, at the solar plexus. And it would come
+any time--anywhere--no matter where I was. And then I was all right.
+
+"All right for what?--for making love?"
+
+"Yes, man, I was."
+
+"And now you aren't?--Oh, well, leave love alone, as any twopenny doctor
+would tell you."
+
+"No, you're off it there. It's nothing technical. Technically I can make
+love as much as you like. It's nothing a doctor has any say in. It's
+what I feel inside me. I feel the life going. I know it's going. I never
+get those inrushes now, unless I drink a jolly lot, or if I possibly
+could fall in love. Technically, I'm potent all right--oh, yes!"
+
+"You should leave yourself and your inrushes alone."
+
+"But you can't. It's a sort of ache."
+
+"Then you should stiffen your backbone. It's your backbone that matters.
+You shouldn't want to abandon yourself. You shouldn't want to fling
+yourself all loose into a woman's lap. You should stand by yourself and
+learn to be by yourself. Why don't you be more like the Japanese you
+talk about? Quiet, aloof little devils. They don't bother about being
+loved. They keep themselves taut in their own selves--there, at the
+bottom of the spine--the devil's own power they've got there."
+
+Jim mused a bit.
+
+"Think they have?" he laughed. It seemed comic to him.
+
+"Sure! Look at them. Why can't you gather yourself there?"
+
+"At the tail?"
+
+"Yes. Hold yourself firm there."
+
+Jim broke into a cackle of a laugh, and rose. The two went through
+the dark woods back to the cottage. Jim staggered and stumbled like a
+drunken man: or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia: as if he had no
+power in his lower limbs.
+
+"Walk there--!" said Lilly, finding him the smoothest bit of the
+dark path. But Jim stumbled and shambled, in a state of nauseous weak
+relaxation. However, they reached the cottage: and food and beer--and
+Tanny, piqued with curiosity to know what the men had been saying
+privately to each other.
+
+After dinner they sat once more talking round the fire.
+
+Lilly sat in a small chair facing the fire, the other two in the
+armchairs on either side the hearth.
+
+"How nice it will be for you, walking with Lois towards London
+tomorrow," gushed Tanny sentimentally.
+
+"Good God!" said Lilly. "Why the dickens doesn't he walk by himself,
+without wanting a woman always there, to hold his hand."
+
+"Don't be so spiteful," said Tanny. "YOU see that you have a woman
+always there, to hold YOUR hand."
+
+"My hand doesn't need holding," snapped Lilly.
+
+"Doesn't it! More than most men's! But you're so beastly ungrateful and
+mannish. Because I hold you safe enough all the time you like to pretend
+you're doing it all yourself."
+
+"All right. Don't drag yourself in," said Lilly, detesting his wife
+at that moment. "Anyhow," and he turned to Jim, "it's time you'd done
+slobbering yourself over a lot of little women, one after the other."
+
+"Why shouldn't I, if I like it?" said Jim.
+
+"Yes, why not?" said Tanny.
+
+"Because it makes a fool of you. Look at you, stumbling and staggering
+with no use in your legs. I'd be ashamed if I were you."
+
+"Would you?" said Jim.
+
+"I would. And it's nothing but your wanting to be loved which does it. A
+maudlin crying to be loved, which makes your knees all go rickety."
+
+"Think that's it?" said Jim.
+
+"What else is it. You haven't been here a day, but you must telegraph
+for some female to be ready to hold your hand the moment you go away.
+And before she lets go, you'll be wiring for another. YOU WANT TO BE
+LOVED, you want to be loved--a man of your years. It's disgusting--"
+
+"I don't see it. I believe in love--" said Jim, watching and grinning
+oddly.
+
+"Bah, love! Messing, that's what it is. It wouldn't matter if it did
+you no harm. But when you stagger and stumble down a road, out of sheer
+sloppy relaxation of your will---"
+
+At this point Jim suddenly sprang from his chair at Lilly, and gave him
+two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the body. Then
+he sat down in his own chair again, saying sheepishly:
+
+"I knew I should have to do it, if he said any more."
+
+Lilly sat motionless as a statue, his face like paper. One of the blows
+had caught him rather low, so that he was almost winded and could not
+breathe. He sat rigid, paralysed as a winded man is. But he wouldn't let
+it be seen. With all his will he prevented himself from gasping. Only
+through his parted lips he drew tiny gasps, controlled, nothing revealed
+to the other two. He hated them both far too much.
+
+For some minutes there was dead silence, whilst Lilly silently and
+viciously fought for his breath. Tanny opened her eyes wide in a sort
+of pleased bewilderment, and Jim turned his face aside, and hung his
+clasped hands between his knees.
+
+"There's a great silence, suddenly!" said Tanny.
+
+"What is there to say?" ejaculated Lilly rapidly, with a spoonful of
+breath which he managed to compress and control into speech. Then he sat
+motionless again, concerned with the business of getting back his wind,
+and not letting the other two see.
+
+Jim jerked in his chair, and looked round.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like the man," he said, in a rather small voice.
+"But I knew if he went on I should have to do it."
+
+To Lilly, rigid and physically preoccupied, there sounded a sort of
+self-consciousness in Jim's voice, as if the whole thing had been
+semi-deliberate. He detected the sort of maudlin deliberateness which
+goes with hysterics, and he was colder, more icy than ever.
+
+Tanny looked at Lilly, puzzled, bewildered, but still rather pleased, as
+if she demanded an answer. None being forthcoming, she said:
+
+"Of course, you mustn't expect to say all those things without rousing a
+man."
+
+Still Lilly did not answer. Jim glanced at him, then looked at Tanny.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like him," he said, slowly. "I like him better
+than any man I've ever known, I believe." He clasped his hands and
+turned aside his face.
+
+"Judas!" flashed through Lilly's mind.
+
+Again Tanny looked for her husband's answer.
+
+"Yes, Rawdon," she said. "You can't say the things you do without their
+having an effect. You really ask for it, you know."
+
+"It's no matter." Lilly squeezed the words out coldly. "He wanted to do
+it, and he did it."
+
+A dead silence ensued now. Tanny looked from man to man.
+
+"I could feel it coming on me," said Jim.
+
+"Of course!" said Tanny. "Rawdon doesn't know the things he says." She
+was pleased that he had had to pay for them, for once.
+
+It takes a man a long time to get his breath back, after a sharp blow in
+the wind. Lilly was managing by degrees. The others no doubt attributed
+his silence to deep or fierce thoughts. It was nothing of the kind,
+merely a cold struggle to get his wind back, without letting them know
+he was struggling: and a sheer, stock-stiff hatred of the pair of them.
+
+"I like the man," said Jim. "Never liked a man more than I like him." He
+spoke as if with difficulty.
+
+"The man" stuck safely in Lilly's ears.
+
+"Oh, well," he managed to say. "It's nothing. I've done my talking and
+had an answer, for once."
+
+"Yes, Rawdy, you've had an answer, for once. Usually you don't get an
+answer, you know--and that's why you go so far--in the things you say.
+Now you'll know how you make people feel."
+
+"Quite!" said Lilly.
+
+"_I_ don't feel anything. I don't mind what he says," said Jim.
+
+"Yes, but he ought to know the things he DOES say," said Tanny. "He goes
+on, without considering the person he's talking to. This time it's come
+back on him. He mustn't say such personal things, if he's not going to
+risk an answer."
+
+"I don't mind what he says. I don't mind a bit," said Jim.
+
+"Nor do I mind," said Lilly indifferently. "I say what I feel--You do as
+you feel--There's an end of it."
+
+A sheepish sort of silence followed this speech. It was broken by a
+sudden laugh from Tanny.
+
+"The things that happen to us!" she said, laughing rather shrilly.
+"Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, we're all struck into silence!"
+
+"Rum game, eh!" said Jim, grinning.
+
+"Isn't it funny! Isn't life too funny!" She looked again at her husband.
+"But, Rawdy, you must admit it was your own fault."
+
+Lilly's stiff face did not change.
+
+"Why FAULT!" he said, looking at her coldly. "What is there to talk
+about?"
+
+"Usually there's so much," she said sarcastically.
+
+A few phrases dribbled out of the silence. In vain Jim, tried to get
+Lilly to thaw, and in vain Tanny gave her digs at her husband. Lilly's
+stiff, inscrutable face did not change, he was polite and aloof. So they
+all went to bed.
+
+In the morning, the walk was to take place, as arranged, Lilly and Tanny
+accompanying Jim to the third station across country. The morning was
+lovely, the country beautiful. Lilly liked the countryside and enjoyed
+the walk. But a hardness inside himself never relaxed. Jim talked
+a little again about the future of the world, and a higher state of
+Christlikeness in man. But Lilly only laughed. Then Tanny managed to
+get ahead with Jim, sticking to his side and talking sympathetic
+personalities. But Lilly, feeling it from afar, ran after them and
+caught them up. They were silent.
+
+"What was the interesting topic?" he said cuttingly.
+
+"Nothing at all!" said Tanny, nettled. "Why must you interfere?"
+
+"Because I intend to," said Lilly.
+
+And the two others fell apart, as if severed with a knife. Jim walked
+rather sheepishly, as if cut out.
+
+So they came at last past the canals to the wayside station: and at last
+Jim's train came. They all said goodbye. Jim and Tanny were both waiting
+for Lilly to show some sign of real reconciliation. But none came. He
+was cheerful and aloof.
+
+"Goodbye," he said to Jim. "Hope Lois will be there all right. Third
+station on. Goodbye! Goodbye!"
+
+"You'll come to Rackham?" said Jim, leaning out of the train.
+
+"We should love to," called Tanny, after the receding train.
+
+"All right," said Lilly, non-committal.
+
+But he and his wife never saw Jim again. Lilly never intended to see
+him: a devil sat in the little man's breast.
+
+"You shouldn't play at little Jesus, coming so near to people, wanting
+to help them," was Tanny's last word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. LOW-WATER MARK
+
+
+Tanny went away to Norway to visit her people, for the first time for
+three years. Lilly did not go: he did not want to. He came to London
+and settled in a room over Covent Garden market. The room was high up, a
+fair size, and stood at the corner of one of the streets and the market
+itself, looking down on the stalls and the carts and the arcade. Lilly
+would climb out of the window and sit for hours watching the behaviour
+of the great draught-horses which brought the mountains of boxes and
+vegetables. Funny half-human creatures they seemed, so massive and
+fleshy, yet so Cockney. There was one which could not bear donkeys,
+and which used to stretch out its great teeth like some massive serpent
+after every poor diminutive ass that came with a coster's barrow.
+Another great horse could not endure standing. It would shake itself
+and give little starts, and back into the heaps of carrots and broccoli,
+whilst the driver went into a frenzy of rage.
+
+There was always something to watch. One minute it was two great loads
+of empty crates, which in passing had got entangled, and reeled, leaning
+to fall disastrously. Then the drivers cursed and swore and dismounted
+and stared at their jeopardised loads: till a thin fellow was persuaded
+to scramble up the airy mountains of cages, like a monkey. And he
+actually managed to put them to rights. Great sigh of relief when the
+vans rocked out of the market.
+
+Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky
+behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to somewhere, under
+the arches beside the market. The great brawny porters would tease him,
+and he would stop to give them cheek. One afternoon a giant lunged after
+him: the boy darted gracefully among the heaps of vegetables, still
+bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some young blue-buttoned acolyte
+fleeing before a false god. The giant rolled after him--when alas, the
+acolyte of the tea-tray slipped among the vegetables, and down came the
+tray. Then tears, and a roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants. Lilly
+felt they were going to make it up to him.
+
+Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
+vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered why.
+But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of silver
+brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet. Evidently
+an assignation. Yet what could be more conspicuous than this elegant
+pair, picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?
+
+And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
+overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly. Lilly had risen and was
+just retiring out of the chill, damp air. For some reason he lingered to
+watch the figure. The man was walking east. He stepped rather insecurely
+off the pavement, and wavered across the setts between the wheels of the
+standing vans. And suddenly he went down. Lilly could not see him on the
+ground, but he saw some van-men go forward, and he saw one of them pick
+up the man's hat.
+
+"I'd better go down," said Lilly to himself.
+
+So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past
+the many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the
+market. A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just
+rowing into the centre of the interest. Lilly, always a hoverer on the
+edge of public commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts of the
+crowd.
+
+"What is it?" he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.
+
+"Drunk," said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney, he
+pronounced it "Drank."
+
+Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.
+
+"Come on here. Where d' you want to go?" he heard the hearty tones of
+the policeman.
+
+"I'm all right. I'm all right," came the testy drunken answer.
+
+"All right, are yer! All right, and then some,--come on, get on your
+pins."
+
+"I'm all right! I'm all right."
+
+The voice made Lilly peer between the people. And sitting on the granite
+setts, being hauled up by a burly policeman, he saw our acquaintance
+Aaron, very pale in the face and a little dishevelled.
+
+"Like me to tuck the sheets round you, shouldn't you? Fancy yourself
+snug in bed, don't you? You won't believe you're right in the way of
+traffic, will you now, in Covent Garden Market? Come on, we'll see to
+you." And the policeman hoisted the bitter and unwilling Aaron.
+
+Lilly was quickly at the centre of the affair, unobtrusive like a
+shadow, different from the other people.
+
+"Help him up to my room, will you?" he said to the constable. "Friend of
+mine."
+
+The large constable looked down on the bare-headed wispy, unobtrusive
+Lilly with good-humoured suspicion and incredulity. Lilly could not have
+borne it if the policeman had uttered any of this cockney suspicion, so
+he watched him. There was a great gulf between the public official and
+the odd, quiet little individual--yet Lilly had his way.
+
+"Which room?" said the policeman, dubious.
+
+Lilly pointed quickly round. Then he said to Aaron:
+
+"Were you coming to see me, Sisson? You'll come in, won't you?"
+
+Aaron nodded rather stupidly and testily. His eyes looked angry.
+Somebody stuck his hat on his head for him, and made him look a fool.
+Lilly took it off again, and carried it for him. He turned and the crowd
+eased. He watched Aaron sharply, and saw that it was with difficulty
+he could walk. So he caught him by the arm on the other side from the
+policeman, and they crossed the road to the pavement.
+
+"Not so much of this sort of thing these days," said the policeman.
+
+"Not so much opportunity," said Lilly.
+
+"More than there was, though. Coming back to the old days, like. Working
+round, bit by bit."
+
+They had arrived at the stairs. Aaron stumbled up.
+
+"Steady now! Steady does it!" said the policeman, steering his charge.
+There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
+
+At last Lilly opened his own door. The room was pleasant. The fire
+burned warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions and
+papers. Books and papers covered the big writing desk. Beyond the screen
+made by the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with washstand by
+one of the large windows, the one through which Lilly had climbed.
+
+The policeman looked round curiously.
+
+"More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!" he said.
+
+Lilly laughed. He was hastily clearing the sofa.
+
+"Sit on the sofa, Sisson," he said.
+
+The policeman lowered his charge, with a--
+
+"Right we are, then!"
+
+Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown. But
+he was watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and
+semi-conscious.
+
+"Do you feel ill, Sisson?" he said sharply.
+
+Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
+
+"I believe you are," said Lilly, taking his hand.
+
+"Might be a bit o' this flu, you know," said the policeman.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly. "Where is there a doctor?" he added, on reflection.
+
+"The nearest?" said the policeman. And he told him. "Leave a message for
+you, Sir?"
+
+Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
+
+"No, I'll run round myself if necessary," he said.
+
+And the policeman departed.
+
+"You'll go to bed, won't you?" said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was
+shut. Aaron shook his head sulkily.
+
+"I would if I were you. You can stay here till you're all right. I'm
+alone, so it doesn't matter."
+
+But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness. Lilly put the big kettle
+on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire. Then he hovered in
+front of the stupefied man. He felt uneasy. Again he took Aaron's hand
+and felt the pulse.
+
+"I'm sure you aren't well. You must go to bed," he said. And he kneeled
+and unfastened his visitor's boots. Meanwhile the kettle began to boil,
+he put a hot-water bottle into the bed.
+
+"Let us get your overcoat off," he said to the stupefied man. "Come
+along." And with coaxing and pulling and pushing he got off the overcoat
+and coat and waistcoat.
+
+At last Aaron was undressed and in bed. Lilly brought him tea. With
+a dim kind of obedience he took the cup and would drink. He looked at
+Lilly with heavy eyes.
+
+"I gave in, I gave in to her, else I should ha' been all right," he
+said.
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"I gave in to her--and afterwards I cried, thinking of Lottie and the
+children. I felt my heart break, you know. And that's what did it. I
+should have been all right if I hadn't given in to her--"
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"Josephine. I felt, the minute I was loving her, I'd done myself. And I
+had. Everything came back on me. If I hadn't given in to her, I should
+ha' kept all right."
+
+"Don't bother now. Get warm and still--"
+
+"I felt it--I felt it go, inside me, the minute I gave in to her. It's
+perhaps killed me."
+
+"No, not it. Never mind, be still. Be still, and you'll be all right in
+the morning."
+
+"It's my own fault, for giving in to her. If I'd kept myself back, my
+liver wouldn't have broken inside me, and I shouldn't have been sick.
+And I knew--"
+
+"Never mind now. Have you drunk your tea? Lie down. Lie down, and go to
+sleep."
+
+Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over. Then he
+thrust his hands under the bedclothes and felt his feet--still cold. He
+arranged the water bottle. Then he put another cover on the bed.
+
+Aaron lay still, rather grey and peaked-looking, in a stillness that was
+not healthy. For some time Lilly went about stealthily, glancing at his
+patient from time to time. Then he sat down to read.
+
+He was roused after a time by a moaning of troubled breathing and a
+fretful stirring in the bed. He went across. Aaron's eyes were open, and
+dark looking.
+
+"Have a little hot milk," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron shook his head faintly, not noticing.
+
+"A little Bovril?"
+
+The same faint shake.
+
+Then Lilly wrote a note for the doctor, went into the office on the same
+landing, and got a clerk, who would be leaving in a few minutes, to call
+with the note. When he came back he found Aaron still watching.
+
+"Are you here by yourself?" asked the sick man.
+
+"Yes. My wife's gone to Norway."
+
+"For good?"
+
+"No," laughed Lilly. "For a couple of months or so. She'll come back
+here: unless she joins me in Switzerland or somewhere."
+
+Aaron was still for a while.
+
+"You've not gone with her," he said at length.
+
+"To see her people? No, I don't think they want me very badly--and I
+didn't want very badly to go. Why should I? It's better for married
+people to be separated sometimes."
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, watching the other man with fever-darkened eyes.
+
+"I hate married people who are two in one--stuck together like two
+jujube lozenges," said Lilly.
+
+"Me an' all. I hate 'em myself," said Aaron.
+
+"Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place--men and
+women as well. They can come together, in the second place, if
+they like. But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone,
+intrinsically."
+
+"I'm with you there," said Aaron. "If I'd kep' myself to myself I
+shouldn't be bad now--though I'm not very bad. I s'll be all right in
+the morning. But I did myself in when I went with another woman. I felt
+myself go--as if the bile broke inside me, and I was sick."
+
+"Josephine seduced you?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Ay, right enough," replied Aaron grimly. "She won't be coming here,
+will she?"
+
+"Not unless I ask her."
+
+"You won't ask her, though?"
+
+"No, not if you don't want her."
+
+"I don't."
+
+The fever made Aaron naive and communicative, unlike himself. And he
+knew he was being unlike himself, he knew that he was not in proper
+control of himself, so he was unhappy, uneasy.
+
+"I'll stop here the night then, if you don't mind," he said.
+
+"You'll have to," said Lilly. "I've sent for the doctor. I believe
+you've got the flu."
+
+"Think I have?" said Aaron frightened.
+
+"Don't be scared," laughed Lilly.
+
+There was a long pause. Lilly stood at the window looking at the
+darkening market, beneath the street-lamps.
+
+"I s'll have to go to the hospital, if I have," came Aaron's voice.
+
+"No, if it's only going to be a week or a fortnight's business, you can
+stop here. I've nothing to do," said Lilly.
+
+"There's no occasion for you to saddle yourself with me," said Aaron
+dejectedly.
+
+"You can go to your hospital if you like--or back to your lodging--if
+you wish to," said Lilly. "You can make up your mind when you see how
+you are in the morning."
+
+"No use going back to my lodgings," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll send a telegram to your wife if you like," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron was silent, dead silent, for some time.
+
+"Nay," he said at length, in a decided voice. "Not if I die for it."
+
+Lilly remained still, and the other man lapsed into a sort of
+semi-sleep, motionless and abandoned. The darkness had fallen over
+London, and away below the lamps were white.
+
+Lilly lit the green-shaded reading lamp over the desk. Then he stood and
+looked at Aaron, who lay still, looking sick. Rather beautiful the bones
+of the countenance: but the skull too small for such a heavy jaw and
+rather coarse mouth. Aaron half-opened his eyes, and writhed feverishly,
+as if his limbs could not be in the right place. Lilly mended the fire,
+and sat down to write. Then he got up and went downstairs to unfasten
+the street door, so that the doctor could walk up. The business people
+had gone from their various holes, all the lower part of the tall house
+was in darkness.
+
+Lilly waited and waited. He boiled an egg and made himself toast. Aaron
+said he might eat the same. Lilly cooked another egg and took it to the
+sick man. Aaron looked at it and pushed it away with nausea. He would
+have some tea. So Lilly gave him tea.
+
+"Not much fun for you, doing this for somebody who is nothing to you,"
+said Aaron.
+
+"I shouldn't if you were unsympathetic to me," said Lilly. "As it is,
+it's happened so, and so we'll let be."
+
+"What time is it?"
+
+"Nearly eight o'clock."
+
+"Oh, my Lord, the opera."
+
+And Aaron got half out of bed. But as he sat on the bedside he knew he
+could not safely get to his feet. He remained a picture of dejection.
+
+"Perhaps we ought to let them know," said Lilly.
+
+But Aaron, blank with stupid misery, sat huddled there on the bedside
+without answering.
+
+"Ill run round with a note," said Lilly. "I suppose others have had flu,
+besides you. Lie down!"
+
+But Aaron stupidly and dejectedly sat huddled on the side of the bed,
+wearing old flannel pyjamas of Lilly's, rather small for him. He felt
+too sick to move.
+
+"Lie down! Lie down!" said Lilly. "And keep still while I'm gone. I
+shan't be more than ten minutes."
+
+"I don't care if I die," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly laughed.
+
+"You're a long way from dying," said he, "or you wouldn't say it."
+
+But Aaron only looked up at him with queer, far-off, haggard eyes,
+something like a criminal who is just being executed.
+
+"Lie down!" said Lilly, pushing him gently into the bed. "You won't
+improve yourself sitting there, anyhow."
+
+Aaron lay down, turned away, and was quite still. Lilly quietly left the
+room on his errand.
+
+The doctor did not come until ten o'clock: and worn out with work when
+he did come.
+
+"Isn't there a lift in this establishment?" he said, as he groped his
+way up the stone stairs. Lilly had heard him, and run down to meet him.
+
+The doctor poked the thermometer under Aaron's tongue and felt the
+pulse. Then he asked a few questions: listened to the heart and
+breathing.
+
+"Yes, it's the flu," he said curtly. "Nothing to do but to keep warm in
+bed and not move, and take plenty of milk and liquid nourishment. I'll
+come round in the morning and give you an injection. Lungs are all right
+so far."
+
+"How long shall I have to be in bed?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh--depends. A week at least."
+
+Aaron watched him sullenly--and hated him. Lilly laughed to himself. The
+sick man was like a dog that is ill but which growls from a deep corner,
+and will bite if you put your hand in. He was in a state of black
+depression.
+
+Lilly settled him down for the night, and himself went to bed. Aaron
+squirmed with heavy, pained limbs, the night through, and slept and had
+bad dreams. Lilly got up to give him drinks. The din in the market was
+terrific before dawn, and Aaron suffered bitterly.
+
+In the morning he was worse. The doctor gave him injections against
+pneumonia.
+
+"You wouldn't like me to wire to your wife?" said Lilly.
+
+"No," said Aaron abruptly. "You can send me to the hospital. I'm nothing
+but a piece of carrion."
+
+"Carrion!" said Lilly. "Why?"
+
+"I know it. I feel like it."
+
+"Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu."
+
+"I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of. I can't
+stand myself--"
+
+He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion.
+
+"It's the germ that makes you feel like that," said Lilly. "It poisons
+the system for a time. But you'll work it off."
+
+At evening he was no better, the fever was still high. Yet there were no
+complications--except that the heart was irregular.
+
+"The one thing I wonder," said Lilly, "is whether you hadn't better be
+moved out of the noise of the market. It's fearful for you in the early
+morning."
+
+"It makes no difference to me," said Aaron.
+
+The next day he was a little worse, if anything. The doctor knew there
+was nothing to be done. At evening he gave the patient a calomel pill.
+It was rather strong, and Aaron had a bad time. His burning, parched,
+poisoned inside was twisted and torn. Meanwhile carts banged, porters
+shouted, all the hell of the market went on outside, away down on the
+cobble setts. But this time the two men did not hear.
+
+"You'll feel better now," said Lilly, "after the operation."
+
+"It's done me harm," cried Aaron fretfully. "Send me to the hospital, or
+you'll repent it. Get rid of me in time."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly. "You get better. Damn it, you're only one among a
+million."
+
+Again over Aaron's face went the ghastly grimace of self-repulsion.
+
+"My soul's gone rotten," he said.
+
+"No," said Lilly. "Only toxin in the blood."
+
+Next day the patient seemed worse, and the heart more irregular. He
+rested badly. So far, Lilly had got a fair night's rest. Now Aaron was
+not sleeping, and he seemed to struggle in the bed.
+
+"Keep your courage up, man," said the doctor sharply. "You give way."
+
+Aaron looked at him blackly, and did not answer.
+
+In the night Lilly was up time after time. Aaron would slip down on his
+back, and go semi-conscious. And then he would awake, as if drowning,
+struggling to move, mentally shouting aloud, yet making no sound for
+some moments, mentally shouting in frenzy, but unable to stir or make a
+sound. When at last he got some sort of physical control he cried: "Lift
+me up! Lift me up!"
+
+Lilly hurried and lifted him up, and he sat panting with a sobbing
+motion, his eyes gloomy and terrified, more than ever like a criminal
+who is just being executed. He drank brandy, and was laid down on his
+side.
+
+"Don't let me lie on my back," he said, terrified. "No, I won't," said
+Lilly. Aaron frowned curiously on his nurse. "Mind you don't let me," he
+said, exacting and really terrified.
+
+"No, I won't let you."
+
+And now Lilly was continually crossing over and pulling Aaron on to his
+side, whenever he found him slipped down on his back.
+
+In the morning the doctor was puzzled. Probably it was the toxin in the
+blood which poisoned the heart. There was no pneumonia. And yet Aaron
+was clearly growing worse. The doctor agreed to send in a nurse for the
+coming night.
+
+"What's the matter with you, man!" he said sharply to his patient. "You
+give way! You give way! Can't you pull yourself together?"
+
+But Aaron only became more gloomily withheld, retracting from life.
+And Lilly began to be really troubled. He got a friend to sit with the
+patient in the afternoon, whilst he himself went out and arranged to
+sleep in Aaron's room, at his lodging.
+
+The next morning, when he came in, he found the patient lying as ever,
+in a sort of heap in the bed. Nurse had had to lift him up and hold him
+up again. And now Aaron lay in a sort of semi-stupor of fear, frustrated
+anger, misery and self-repulsion: a sort of interlocked depression.
+
+The doctor frowned when he came. He talked with the nurse, and wrote
+another prescription. Then he drew Lilly away to the door.
+
+"What's the matter with the fellow?" he said. "Can't you rouse his
+spirit? He seems to be sulking himself out of life. He'll drop out quite
+suddenly, you know, if he goes on like this. Can't you rouse him up?"
+
+"I think it depresses him partly that his bowels won't work. It
+frightens him. He's never been ill in his life before," said Lilly.
+
+"His bowels won't work if he lets all his spirit go, like an animal
+dying of the sulks," said the doctor impatiently. "He might go off quite
+suddenly--dead before you can turn round--"
+
+Lilly was properly troubled. Yet he did not quite know what to do. It
+was early afternoon, and the sun was shining into the room. There were
+daffodils and anemones in a jar, and freezias and violets. Down below in
+the market were two stalls of golden and blue flowers, gay.
+
+"The flowers are lovely in the spring sunshine," said Lilly. "I wish I
+were in the country, don't you? As soon as you are better we'll go. It's
+been a terrible cold, wet spring. But now it's going to be nice. Do you
+like being in the country?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+He was thinking of his garden. He loved it. Never in his life had he
+been away from a garden before.
+
+"Make haste and get better, and we'll go."
+
+"Where?" said Aaron.
+
+"Hampshire. Or Berkshire. Or perhaps you'd like to go home? Would you?"
+
+Aaron lay still, and did not answer.
+
+"Perhaps you want to, and you don't want to," said Lilly. "You can
+please yourself, anyhow."
+
+There was no getting anything definite out of the sick man--his soul
+seemed stuck, as if it would not move.
+
+Suddenly Lilly rose and went to the dressing-table.
+
+"I'm going to rub you with oil," he said. "I'm going to rub you as
+mothers do their babies whose bowels don't work."
+
+Aaron frowned slightly as he glanced at the dark, self-possessed face of
+the little man.
+
+"What's the good of that?" he said irritably. "I'd rather be left
+alone."
+
+"Then you won't be."
+
+Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to
+rub the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion,
+a sort of massage. For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily, then
+went over the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort of
+incantation. He rubbed every speck of the man's lower body--the abdomen,
+the buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed it all
+warm and glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing the toes
+swiftly, till he was almost exhausted. Then Aaron was covered up again,
+and Lilly sat down in fatigue to look at his patient.
+
+He saw a change. The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the
+faint trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face. Aaron was
+regaining himself. But Lilly said nothing. He watched his patient fall
+into a proper sleep.
+
+And he sat and watched him sleep. And he thought to himself: "I wonder
+why I do it. I wonder why I bother with him.... Jim ought to have taught
+me my lesson. As soon as this man's really better he'll punch me in the
+wind, metaphorically if not actually, for having interfered with him.
+And Tanny would say, he was quite right to do it. She says I want power
+over them. What if I do? They don't care how much power the mob has over
+them, the nation, Lloyd George and Northcliffe and the police and money.
+They'll yield themselves up to that sort of power quickly enough, and
+immolate themselves _pro bono publico_ by the million. And what's
+the bonum publicum but a mob power? Why can't they submit to a bit of
+healthy individual authority? The fool would die, without me: just as
+that fool Jim will die in hysterics one day. Why does he last so long!
+
+"Tanny's the same. She does nothing really but resist me: my authority,
+or my influence, or just ME. At the bottom of her heart she just blindly
+and persistently opposes me. God knows what it is she opposes: just me
+myself. She thinks I want her to submit to me. So I do, in a measure
+natural to our two selves. Somewhere, she ought to submit to me. But
+they all prefer to kick against the pricks. Not that THEY get many
+pricks. I get them. Damn them all, why don't I leave them alone? They
+only grin and feel triumphant when they've insulted one and punched one
+in the wind.
+
+"This Aaron will do just the same. I like him, and he ought to like me.
+And he'll be another Jim: he WILL like me, if he can knock the wind out
+of me. A lot of little Stavrogins coming up to whisper affectionately,
+and biting one's ear.
+
+"But anyhow I can soon see the last of this chap: and him the last of
+all the rest. I'll be damned for ever if I see their Jims and Roberts
+and Julias and Scotts any more. Let them dance round their insipid
+hell-broth. Thin tack it is.
+
+"There's a whole world besides this little gang of Europeans. Except,
+dear God, that they've exterminated all the peoples worth knowing. I
+can't do with folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs
+and orientals altogether. Only vermin teem by the billion. Higher types
+breed slower. I would have loved the Aztecs and the Red Indians. I KNOW
+they hold the element in life which I am looking for--they had living
+pride. Not like the flea-bitten Asiatics--even niggers are better than
+Asiatics, though they are wallowers--the American races--and the South
+Sea Islanders--the Marquesans, the Maori blood. That was the true blood.
+It wasn't frightened. All the rest are craven--Europeans, Asiatics,
+Africans--everyone at his own individual quick craven and cringing: only
+conceited in the mass, the mob. How I hate them: the mass-bullies, the
+individual Judases.
+
+"Well, if one will be a Jesus he must expect his Judas. That's why
+Abraham Lincoln gets shot. A Jesus makes a Judas inevitable. A man
+should remain himself, not try to spread himself over humanity. He
+should pivot himself on his own pride.
+
+"I suppose really I ought to have packed this Aaron off to the hospital.
+Instead of which here am I rubbing him with oil to rub the life into
+him. And I KNOW he'll bite me, like a warmed snake, the moment he
+recovers. And Tanny will say 'Quite right, too,' I shouldn't have been
+so intimate. No, I should have left it to mechanical doctors and nurses.
+
+"So I should. Everything to its own. And Aaron belongs to this little
+system, and Jim is waiting to be psychoanalysed, and Tanny is waiting
+for her own glorification.
+
+"All right, Aaron. Last time I break my bread for anybody, this is. So
+get better, my flautist, so that I can go away.
+
+"It was easy for the Red Indians and the Others to take their hook into
+death. They might have stayed a bit longer to help one to defy the white
+masses.
+
+"I'll make some tea--"
+
+Lilly rose softly and went across to the fire. He had to cross a landing
+to a sort of little lavatory, with a sink and a tap, for water. The
+clerks peeped out at him from an adjoining office and nodded. He nodded,
+and disappeared from their sight as quickly as possible, with his
+kettle. His dark eyes were quick, his dark hair was untidy, there was
+something silent and withheld about him. People could never approach him
+quite ordinarily.
+
+He put on the kettle, and quietly set cups and plates on a tray. The
+room was clean and cosy and pleasant. He did the cleaning himself, and
+was as efficient and inobtrusive a housewife as any woman. While the
+kettle boiled, he sat darning the socks which he had taken off Aaron's
+feet when the flautist arrived, and which he had washed. He preferred
+that no outsider should see him doing these things. Yet he preferred
+also to do them himself, so that he should be independent of outside
+aid.
+
+His face was dark and hollow, he seemed frail, sitting there in the
+London afternoon darning the black woollen socks. His full brow was
+knitted slightly, there was a tension. At the same time, there was an
+indomitable stillness about him, as it were in the atmosphere about him.
+His hands, though small, were not very thin. He bit off the wool as he
+finished his darn.
+
+As he was making the tea he saw Aaron rouse up in bed.
+
+"I've been to sleep. I feel better," said the patient, turning round to
+look what the other man was doing. And the sight of the water steaming
+in a jet from the teapot seemed attractive.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly. "You've slept for a good two hours."
+
+"I believe I have," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you like a little tea?"
+
+"Ay--and a bit of toast."
+
+"You're not supposed to have solid food. Let me take your temperature."
+
+The temperature was down to a hundred, and Lilly, in spite of the
+doctor, gave Aaron a piece of toast with his tea, enjoining him not to
+mention it to the nurse.
+
+In the evening the two men talked.
+
+"You do everything for yourself, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I prefer it."
+
+"You like living all alone?"
+
+"I don't know about that. I never have lived alone. Tanny and I have
+been very much alone in various countries: but that's two, not one."
+
+"You miss her then?"
+
+"Yes, of course. I missed her horribly in the cottage, when she'd first
+gone. I felt my heart was broken. But here, where we've never been
+together, I don't notice it so much."
+
+"She'll come back," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, she'll come back. But I'd rather meet her abroad than here--and
+get on a different footing."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. There's something with marriage altogether, I think.
+_Egoisme a deux_--"
+
+"What's that mean?"
+
+"_Egoisme a deux_? Two people, one egoism. Marriage is a self-conscious
+egoistic state, it seems to me."
+
+"You've got no children?" said Aaron.
+
+"No. Tanny wants children badly. I don't. I'm thankful we have none."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I can't quite say. I think of them as a burden. Besides, there ARE such
+millions and billions of children in the world. And we know well enough
+what sort of millions and billions of people they'll grow up into. I
+don't want to add my quota to the mass--it's against my instinct--"
+
+"Ay!" laughed Aaron, with a curt acquiescence.
+
+"Tanny's furious. But then, when a woman has got children, she thinks
+the world wags only for them and her. Nothing else. The whole world wags
+for the sake of the children--and their sacred mother."
+
+"Ay, that's DAMNED true," said Aaron.
+
+"And myself, I'm sick of the children stunt. Children are all right, so
+long as you just take them for what they are: young immature things like
+kittens and half-grown dogs, nuisances, sometimes very charming. But
+I'll be hanged if I can see anything high and holy about children. I
+should be sorry, too, it would be so bad for the children. Young brats,
+tiresome and amusing in turns."
+
+"When they don't give themselves airs," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, indeed. Which they do half the time. Sacred children, and sacred
+motherhood, I'm absolutely fed stiff by it. That's why I'm thankful I
+have no children. Tanny can't come it over me there."
+
+"It's a fact. When a woman's got her children, by God, she's a bitch
+in the manger. You can starve while she sits on the hay. It's useful to
+keep her pups warm."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why, you know," Aaron turned excitedly in the bed, "they look on a man
+as if he was nothing but an instrument to get and rear children. If you
+have anything to do with a woman, she thinks it's because you want to
+get children by her. And I'm damned if it is. I want my own pleasure, or
+nothing: and children be damned."
+
+"Ah, women--THEY must be loved, at any price!" said Lilly. "And if you
+just don't want to love them--and tell them so--what a crime."
+
+"A crime!" said Aaron. "They make a criminal of you. Them and their
+children be cursed. Is my life given me for nothing but to get children,
+and work to bring them up? See them all in hell first. They'd better die
+while they're children, if childhood's all that important."
+
+"I quite agree," said Lilly. "If childhood is more important than
+manhood, then why live to be a man at all? Why not remain an infant?"
+
+"Be damned and blasted to women and all their importances," cried Aaron.
+"They want to get you under, and children is their chief weapon."
+
+"Men have got to stand up to the fact that manhood is more than
+childhood--and then force women to admit it," said Lilly. "But the
+rotten whiners, they're all grovelling before a baby's napkin and a
+woman's petticoat."
+
+"It's a fact," said Aaron. But he glanced at Lilly oddly, as if
+suspiciously. And Lilly caught the look. But he continued:
+
+"And if they think you try to stand on your legs and walk with the feet
+of manhood, why, there isn't a blooming father and lover among them but
+will do his best to get you down and suffocate you--either with a baby's
+napkin or a woman's petticoat."
+
+Lilly's lips were curling; he was dark and bitter.
+
+"Ay, it is like that," said Aaron, rather subduedly.
+
+"The man's spirit has gone out of the world. Men can't move an inch
+unless they can grovel humbly at the end of the journey."
+
+"No," said Aaron, watching with keen, half-amused eyes.
+
+"That's why marriage wants readjusting--or extending--to get men on to
+their own legs once more, and to give them the adventure again. But men
+won't stick together and fight for it. Because once a woman has climbed
+up with her children, she'll find plenty of grovellers ready to support
+her and suffocate any defiant spirit. And women will sacrifice eleven
+men, fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers, for one baby--or for her
+own female self-conceit--"
+
+"She will that," said Aaron.
+
+"And can you find two men to stick together, without feeling criminal,
+and without cringing, and without betraying one another? You can't. One
+is sure to go fawning round some female, then they both enjoy giving
+each other away, and doing a new grovel before a woman again."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+After which Lilly was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE WAR AGAIN
+
+
+"One is a fool," said Lilly, "to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to
+get a move on."
+
+Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting
+before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent,
+somewhat chastened in appearance.
+
+"Ay," he said rather sourly. "A move back to Guilford Street."
+
+"Oh, I meant to tell you," said Lilly. "I was reading an old Baden
+history. They made a law in 1528--not a law, but a regulation--that: if
+a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said
+wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that
+would please you. Does it?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron briefly.
+
+"They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter."
+
+"I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate," grinned
+Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no. You might quite like them here." But Lilly saw the white frown
+of determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
+
+"Wouldn't you?" he asked.
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"No," he said. And it was obvious he objected to the topic. "What are
+you going to do about your move on?"
+
+"Me!" said Lilly. "I'm going to sail away next week--or steam dirtily
+away on a tramp called the _Maud Allen Wing_."
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"London Dock. I fixed up my passage this morning for ten pounds. I am
+cook's assistant, signed on."
+
+Aaron looked at him with a little admiration.
+
+"You can take a sudden jump, can't you?" he said.
+
+"The difficulty is to refrain from jumping: overboard or anywhere."
+
+Aaron smoked his pipe slowly.
+
+"And what good will Malta do you?" he asked, envious.
+
+"Heaven knows. I shall cross to Syracuse, and move up Italy."
+
+"Sounds as if you were a millionaire."
+
+"I've got thirty-five pounds in all the world. But something will come
+along."
+
+"I've got more than that," said Aaron.
+
+"Good for you," replied Lilly.
+
+He rose and went to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and a basket of
+potatoes. He sat down again, paring the potatoes. His busy activity
+annoyed Aaron.
+
+"But what's the good of going to Malta? Shall YOU be any different in
+yourself, in another place? You'll be the same there as you are here."
+
+"How am I here?"
+
+"Why, you're all the time grinding yourself against something inside
+you. You're never free. You're never content. You never stop chafing."
+
+Lilly dipped his potato into the water, and cut out the eyes carefully.
+Then he cut it in two, and dropped it in the clean water of the second
+bowl. He had not expected this criticism.
+
+"Perhaps I don't," said he.
+
+"Then what's the use of going somewhere else? You won't change
+yourself."
+
+"I may in the end," said Lilly.
+
+"You'll be yourself, whether it's Malta or London," said Aaron.
+
+"There's a doom for me," laughed Lilly. The water on the fire was
+boiling. He rose and threw in salt, then dropped in the potatoes with
+little plops. "There there are lots of mes. I'm not only just one
+proposition. A new place brings out a new thing in a man. Otherwise
+you'd have stayed in your old place with your family."
+
+"The man in the middle of you doesn't change," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it so?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay. Every time."
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Nothing, as far as I can see. You get as much amusement out of life as
+possible, and there's the end of it."
+
+"All right then, I'll get the amusement."
+
+"Ay, all right then," said Aaron. "But there isn't anything wonderful
+about it. You talk as if you were doing something special. You aren't.
+You're no more than a man who drops into a pub for a drink, to liven
+himself up a bit. Only you give it a lot of names, and make out as if
+you were looking for the philosopher's stone, or something like that.
+When you're only killing time like the rest of folks, before time kills
+you."
+
+Lilly did not answer. It was not yet seven o'clock, but the sky was
+dark. Aaron sat in the firelight. Even the saucepan on the fire was
+silent. Darkness, silence, the firelight in the upper room, and the two
+men together.
+
+"It isn't quite true," said Lilly, leaning on the mantelpiece and
+staring down into the fire.
+
+"Where isn't it? You talk, and you make a man believe you've got
+something he hasn't got? But where is it, when it comes to? What have
+you got, more than me or Jim Bricknell! Only a bigger choice of words,
+it seems to me."
+
+Lilly was motionless and inscrutable like a shadow.
+
+"Does it, Aaron!" he said, in a colorless voice.
+
+"Yes. What else is there to it?" Aaron sounded testy.
+
+"Why," said Lilly at last, "there's something. I agree, it's true what
+you say about me. But there's a bit of something else. There's just a
+bit of something in me, I think, which ISN'T a man running into a pub
+for a drink--"
+
+"And what--?"
+
+The question fell into the twilight like a drop of water falling down a
+deep shaft into a well.
+
+"I think a man may come into possession of his own soul at last--as
+the Buddhists teach--but without ceasing to love, or even to hate. One
+loves, one hates--but somewhere beyond it all, one understands, and
+possesses one's soul in patience and in peace--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron slowly, "while you only stand and talk about it.
+But when you've got no chance to talk about it--and when you've got to
+live--you don't possess your soul, neither in patience nor in peace,
+but any devil that likes possesses you and does what it likes with you,
+while you fridge yourself and fray yourself out like a worn rag."
+
+"I don't care," said Lilly, "I'm learning to possess my soul in patience
+and in peace, and I know it. And it isn't a negative Nirvana either. And
+if Tanny possesses her own soul in patience and peace as well--and if in
+this we understand each other at last--then there we are, together
+and apart at the same time, and free of each other, and eternally
+inseparable. I have my Nirvana--and I have it all to myself. But more
+than that. It coincides with her Nirvana."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Aaron. "But I don't understand all that word-splitting."
+
+"I do, though. You learn to be quite alone, and possess your own soul
+in isolation--and at the same time, to be perfectly WITH someone
+else--that's all I ask."
+
+"Sort of sit on a mountain top, back to back with somebody else, like a
+couple of idols."
+
+"No--because it isn't a case of sitting--or a case of back to back. It's
+what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual fulfilment.
+And it never does away with the fighting and with the sensual passion.
+It flowers on top of them, and it would never flower save on top of
+them."
+
+"What wouldn't?"
+
+"The possessing one's own soul--and the being together with someone else
+in silence, beyond speech."
+
+"And you've got them?"
+
+"I've got a BIT of the real quietness inside me."
+
+"So has a dog on a mat."
+
+"So I believe, too."
+
+"Or a man in a pub."
+
+"Which I don't believe."
+
+"You prefer the dog?"
+
+"Maybe."
+
+There was silence for a few moments.
+
+"And I'm the man in the pub," said Aaron.
+
+"You aren't the dog on the mat, anyhow."
+
+"And you're the idol on the mountain top, worshipping yourself."
+
+"You talk to me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+"How do you talk to ME, do you think?"
+
+"How do I?"
+
+"Are the potatoes done?"
+
+Lilly turned quickly aside, and switched on the electric light.
+Everything changed. Aaron sat still before the fire, irritated. Lilly
+went about preparing the supper.
+
+The room was pleasant at night. Two tall, dark screens hid the two beds.
+In front, the piano was littered with music, the desk littered with
+papers. Lilly went out on to the landing, and set the chops to grill on
+the gas stove. Hastily he put a small table on the hearth-rug, spread it
+with a blue-and-white cloth, set plates and glasses. Aaron did not move.
+It was not his nature to concern himself with domestic matters--and
+Lilly did it best alone.
+
+The two men had an almost uncanny understanding of one another--like
+brothers. They came from the same district, from the same class. Each
+might have been born into the other's circumstance. Like brothers, there
+was a profound hostility between them. But hostility is not antipathy.
+
+Lilly's skilful housewifery always irritated Aaron: it was so
+self-sufficient. But most irritating of all was the little man's
+unconscious assumption of priority. Lilly was actually unaware that he
+assumed this quiet predominance over others. He mashed the potatoes, he
+heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked eggs into the
+milk pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid. But none of this
+detracted from the silent assurance with which he bore himself, and with
+which he seemed to domineer over his acquaintance.
+
+At last the meal was ready. Lilly drew the curtains, switched off the
+central light, put the green-shaded electric lamp on the table, and
+the two men drew up to the meal. It was good food, well cooked and hot.
+Certainly Lilly's hands were no longer clean: but it was clean dirt, as
+he said.
+
+Aaron sat in the low arm-chair at table. So his face was below, in the
+full light. Lilly sat high on a small chair, so that his face was in
+the green shadow. Aaron was handsome, and always had that peculiar
+well-dressed look of his type. Lilly was indifferent to his own
+appearance, and his collar was a rag.
+
+So the two men ate in silence. They had been together alone for a
+fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity. Aaron was well
+now--only he suffered from the depression and the sort of fear that
+follows influenza.
+
+"When are you going?" he asked irritably, looking up at Lilly, whose
+face hovered in that green shadow above, and worried him.
+
+"One day next week. They'll send me a telegram. Not later than
+Thursday."
+
+"You're looking forward to going?" The question was half bitter.
+
+"Yes. I want to get a new tune out of myself."
+
+"Had enough of this?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+A flush of anger came on Aaron's face.
+
+"You're easily on, and easily off," he said, rather insulting.
+
+"Am I?" said Lilly. "What makes you think so?"
+
+"Circumstances," replied Aaron sourly.
+
+To which there was no answer. The host cleared away the plates, and put
+the pudding on the table. He pushed the bowl to Aaron.
+
+"I suppose I shall never see you again, once you've gone," said Aaron.
+
+"It's your choice. I will leave you an address."
+
+After this, the pudding was eaten in silence.
+
+"Besides, Aaron," said Lilly, drinking his last sip of wine, "what do
+you care whether you see me again or not? What do you care whether
+you see anybody again or not? You want to be amused. And now you're
+irritated because you think I am not going to amuse you any more: and
+you don't know who is going to amuse you. I admit it's a dilemma. But
+it's a hedonistic dilemma of the commonest sort."
+
+"I don't know hedonistic. And supposing I am as you say--are you any
+different?"
+
+"No, I'm not very different. But I always persuade myself there's a bit
+of difference. Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me? She's
+had her lovers enough. 'There isn't any such thing as love, Lilly,' she
+said. 'Men are simply afraid to be alone. That is absolutely all there
+is in it: fear of being alone.'"
+
+"What by that?" said Aaron.
+
+"You agree?"
+
+"Yes, on the whole."
+
+"So do I--on the whole. And then I asked her what about woman. And then
+she said with a woman it wasn't fear, it was just boredom. A woman is
+like a violinist: any fiddle, any instrument rather than empty hands and
+no tune going."
+
+"Yes--what I said before: getting as much amusement out of life as
+possible," said Aaron.
+
+"You amuse me--and I'll amuse you."
+
+"Yes--just about that."
+
+"All right, Aaron," said Lilly. "I'm not going to amuse you, or try to
+amuse you any more."
+
+"Going to try somebody else; and Malta."
+
+"Malta, anyhow."
+
+"Oh, and somebody else--in the next five minutes."
+
+"Yes--that also."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron."
+
+With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes. Aaron sat alone under
+the zone of light, turning over a score of _Pelleas_. Though the noise
+of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep
+silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
+
+Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the
+opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came
+out a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a
+plate and a cloth in his hand.
+
+"Aaron's rod is putting forth again," he said, smiling.
+
+"What?" said Aaron, looking up.
+
+"I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again."
+
+"What rod?"
+
+"Your flute, for the moment."
+
+"It's got to put forth my bread and butter."
+
+"Is that all the buds it's going to have?"
+
+"What else!"
+
+"Nay--that's for you to show. What flowers do you imagine came out of
+the rod of Moses's brother?"
+
+"Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them."
+
+"Scarlet enough, I'll bet."
+
+Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music. Lilly finished the wiping of
+the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.
+
+"It's all one to you, then," said Aaron suddenly, "whether we ever see
+one another again?"
+
+"Not a bit," said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles. "I very much
+wish there might be something that held us together."
+
+"Then if you wish it, why isn't there?"
+
+"You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the
+joints."
+
+"Ay--I might. And it would be all the same."
+
+The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.
+
+"Oh, we shall run across one another again some time," said Aaron.
+
+"Sure," said Lilly. "More than that: I'll write you an address that will
+always find me. And when you write I will answer you."
+
+He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address. Aaron folded it and put
+it into his waistcoat pocket. It was an Italian address.
+
+"But how can I live in Italy?" he said. "You can shift about. I'm tied
+to a job."
+
+"You--with your budding rod, your flute--and your charm--you can always
+do as you like."
+
+"My what?"
+
+"Your flute and your charm."
+
+"What charm?"
+
+"Just your own. Don't pretend you don't know you've got it. I don't
+really like charm myself; too much of a trick about it. But whether or
+not, you've got it."
+
+"It's news to me."
+
+"Not it."
+
+"Fact, it is."
+
+"Ha! Somebody will always take a fancy to you. And you can live on that,
+as well as on anything else."
+
+"Why do you always speak so despisingly?"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?"
+
+"Have you any right to despise another man?"
+
+"When did it go by rights?"
+
+"No, not with you."
+
+"You answer me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+Again there was a space of silence. And again it was Aaron who at last
+broke it.
+
+"We're in different positions, you and me," he said.
+
+"How?"
+
+"You can live by your writing--but I've got to have a job."
+
+"Is that all?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay. And plenty. You've got the advantage of me."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly. "But why? I was a dirty-nosed little boy when
+you were a clean-nosed little boy. And I always had more patches on my
+breeches than you: neat patches, too, my poor mother! So what's the good
+of talking about advantages? You had the start. And at this very moment
+you could buy me up, lock, stock, and barrel. So don't feel hard done
+by. It's a lie."
+
+"You've got your freedom."
+
+"I make it and I take it."
+
+"Circumstances make it for you."
+
+"As you like."
+
+"You don't do a man justice," said Aaron.
+
+"Does a man care?"
+
+"He might."
+
+"Then he's no man."
+
+"Thanks again, old fellow."
+
+"Welcome," said Lilly, grimacing.
+
+Again Aaron looked at him, baffled, almost with hatred. Lilly grimaced
+at the blank wall opposite, and seemed to ruminate. Then he went back to
+his book. And no sooner had he forgotten Aaron, reading the fantasies of
+a certain Leo Frobenius, than Aaron must stride in again.
+
+"You can't say there isn't a difference between your position and mine,"
+he said pertinently.
+
+Lilly looked darkly over his spectacles.
+
+"No, by God," he said. "I should be in a poor way otherwise."
+
+"You can't say you haven't the advantage--your JOB gives you the
+advantage."
+
+"All right. Then leave it out with my job, and leave me alone."
+
+"That's your way of dodging it."
+
+"My dear Aaron, I agree with you perfectly. There is no difference
+between us, save the fictitious advantage given to me by my job. Save
+for my job--which is to write lies--Aaron and I are two identical little
+men in one and the same little boat. Shall we leave it at that, now?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "That's about it."
+
+"Let us shake hands on it--and go to bed, my dear chap. You are just
+recovering from influenza, and look paler than I like."
+
+"You mean you want to be rid of me," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I do mean that," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+And after a few minutes more staring at the score of _Pelleas_, he rose,
+put the score away on the piano, laid his flute beside it, and retired
+behind the screen. In silence, the strange dim noise of London sounding
+from below, Lilly read on about the Kabyles. His soul had the faculty of
+divesting itself of the moment, and seeking further, deeper interests.
+These old Africans! And Atlantis! Strange, strange wisdom of the
+Kabyles! Old, old dark Africa, and the world before the flood! How
+jealous Aaron seemed! The child of a jealous God. A jealous God! Could
+any race be anything but despicable, with such an antecedent?
+
+But no, persistent as a jealous God himself, Aaron reappeared in his
+pyjamas, and seated himself in his chair.
+
+"What is the difference then between you and me, Lilly?" he said.
+
+"Haven't we shaken hands on it--a difference of jobs."
+
+"You don't believe that, though, do you?"
+
+"Nay, now I reckon you're trespassing."
+
+"Why am I? I know you don't believe it."
+
+"What do I believe then?" said Lilly.
+
+"You believe you know something better than me--and that you are
+something better than me. Don't you?"
+
+"Do YOU believe it?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"That I AM something better than you, and that I KNOW something better?"
+
+"No, because I don't see it," said Aaron.
+
+"Then if you don't see it, it isn't there. So go to bed and sleep the
+sleep of the just and the convalescent. I am not to be badgered any
+more."
+
+"Am I badgering you?" said Aaron.
+
+"Indeed you are."
+
+"So I'm in the wrong again?"
+
+"Once more, my dear."
+
+"You're a God-Almighty in your way, you know."
+
+"So long as I'm not in anybody else's way--Anyhow, you'd be much better
+sleeping the sleep of the just. And I'm going out for a minute or two.
+Don't catch cold there with nothing on--
+
+"I want to catch the post," he added, rising.
+
+Aaron looked up at him quickly. But almost before there was time to
+speak, Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters, and
+gone.
+
+It was a rainy night. Lilly turned down King Street to walk to Charing
+Cross. He liked being out of doors. He liked to post his letters at
+Charing Cross post office. He did not want to talk to Aaron any more. He
+was glad to be alone.
+
+He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing
+blackly towards the sea. It had an endless fascination for him: never
+failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty. He liked the
+night, the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic. He enjoyed the
+sense of friction he got from the streaming of people who meant nothing
+to him. It was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting cattle.
+
+When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi standing
+outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping and hallooing.
+He hurried forward.
+
+It was a man called Herbertson.
+
+"Oh, why, there you are!" exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near. "Can
+I come up and have a chat?"
+
+"I've got that man who's had flu. I should think he is gone to bed."
+
+"Oh!" The disappointment was plain. "Well, look here I'll just come up
+for a couple of minutes." He laid his hand on Lilly's arm. "I heard you
+were going away. Where are you going?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Malta! Oh, I know Malta very well. Well now, it'll be all right if
+I come up for a minute? I'm not going to see much more of you,
+apparently." He turned quickly to the taxi. "What is it on the clock?"
+
+The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs. Aaron was in bed, but he
+called as Lilly entered the room.
+
+"Hullo!" said Lilly. "Not asleep? Captain Herbertson has come in for a
+minute."
+
+"Hope I shan't disturb you," said Captain Herbertson, laying down his
+stick and gloves, and his cap. He was in uniform. He was one of the
+few surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty-five,
+good-looking, getting rather stout. He settled himself in the chair
+where Aaron had sat, hitching up his trousers. The gold identity plate,
+with its gold chain, fell conspicuously over his wrist.
+
+"Been to 'Rosemary,'" he said. "Rotten play, you know--but passes the
+time awfully well. Oh, I quite enjoyed it."
+
+Lilly offered him Sauterne--the only thing in the house.
+
+"Oh, yes! How awfully nice! Yes, thanks, I shall love it. Can I have it
+with soda? Thanks! Do you know, I think that's the very best drink in
+the tropics: sweet white wine, with soda? Yes--well!-- Well--now, why
+are you going away?"
+
+"For a change," said Lilly.
+
+"You're quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all
+over. As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off. Malta! Yes! I've
+been in Malta several times. I think Valletta is quite enjoyable,
+particularly in winter, with the opera. Oh--er--how's your wife? All
+right? Yes!--glad to see her people again. Bound to be-- Oh, by the
+way, I met Jim Bricknell. Sends you a message hoping you'll go down and
+stay--down at Captain Bingham's place in Surrey, you know. Awfully queer
+lot down there. Not my sort, no. You won't go down? No, I shouldn't. Not
+the right sort of people."
+
+Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic. He had been through the very
+front hell of the war--and like every man who had, he had the war at the
+back of his mind, like an obsession. But in the meantime, he skirmished.
+
+"Yes. I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea-parties
+to the blind. Awful affair. But the children are awfully nice children.
+Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice. Prince Henry smart boy,
+too--oh, a smart boy. Queen Mary poured the tea, and I handed round
+bread and butter. She told me I made a very good waiter. I said,
+Thank you, Madam. But I like the children. Very different from
+the Battenbergs. Oh!--" he wrinkled his nose. "I can't stand the
+Battenbergs."
+
+"Mount Battens," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes! Awful mistake, changing the royal name. They were Guelfs, why not
+remain it? Why, I'll tell you what Battenberg did. He was in the Guards,
+too--"
+
+The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace and
+St. James.
+
+"Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria. Man named Joyce, something
+or other, often used to dine at the Palace. And he was an awfully good
+imitator--really clever, you know. Used to imitate the Queen. 'Mr.
+Joyce,' she said, 'I hear your imitation is very amusing. Will you do it
+for us now, and let us see what it is like?' 'Oh, no, Madam! I'm afraid
+I couldn't do it now. I'm afraid I'm not in the humour.' But she would
+have him do it. And it was really awfully funny. He had to do it. You
+know what he did. He used to take a table-napkin, and put it on with
+one corner over his forehead, and the rest hanging down behind, like
+her veil thing. And then he sent for the kettle-lid. He always had the
+kettle-lid, for that little crown of hers. And then he impersonated her.
+But he was awfully good--so clever. 'Mr. Joyce,' she said. 'We are not
+amused. Please leave the room.' Yes, that is exactly what she said: 'WE
+are not amused--please leave the room.' I like the WE, don't you? And he
+a man of sixty or so. However, he left the room and for a fortnight or
+so he wasn't invited--Wasn't she wonderful--Queen Victoria?"
+
+And so, by light transitions, to the Prince of Wales at the front, and
+thus into the trenches. And then Herbertson was on the subject he was
+obsessed by. He had come, unconsciously, for this and this only, to talk
+war to Lilly: or at Lilly. For the latter listened and watched, and said
+nothing. As a man at night helplessly takes a taxi to find some woman,
+some prostitute, Herbertson had almost unthinkingly got into a taxi and
+come battering at the door in Covent Garden, only to talk war to Lilly,
+whom he knew very little. But it was a driving instinct--to come and get
+it off his chest.
+
+And on and on he talked, over his wine and soda. He was not
+conceited--he was not showing off--far from it. It was the same thing
+here in this officer as it was with the privates, and the same with this
+Englishman as with a Frenchman or a German or an Italian. Lilly had sat
+in a cowshed listening to a youth in the north country: he had sat on
+the corn-straw that the oxen had been treading out, in Calabria, under
+the moon: he had sat in a farm-kitchen with a German prisoner: and every
+time it was the same thing, the same hot, blind, anguished voice of a
+man who has seen too much, experienced too much, and doesn't know where
+to turn. None of the glamour of returned heroes, none of the romance of
+war: only a hot, blind, mesmerised voice, going on and on, mesmerised by
+a vision that the soul cannot bear.
+
+In this officer, of course, there was a lightness and an appearance of
+bright diffidence and humour. But underneath it all was the same as in
+the common men of all the combatant nations: the hot, seared burn of
+unbearable experience, which did not heal nor cool, and whose irritation
+was not to be relieved. The experience gradually cooled on top: but only
+with a surface crust. The soul did not heal, did not recover.
+
+"I used to be awfully frightened," laughed Herbertson. "Now you say,
+Lilly, you'd never have stood it. But you would. You're nervous--and
+it was just the nervous ones that did stand it. When nearly all our
+officers were gone, we had a man come out--a man called Margeritson,
+from India--big merchant people out there. They all said he was no
+good--not a bit of good--nervous chap. No good at all. But when you
+had to get out of the trench and go for the Germans he was
+perfect--perfect--It all came to him then, at the crisis, and he was
+perfect.
+
+"Some things frighten one man, and some another. Now shells would never
+frighten me. But I couldn't stand bombs. You could tell the
+difference between our machines and the Germans. Ours was a steady
+noise--drrrrrrrr!--but their's was heavy, drrrrRURUrrrrRURU!-- My word,
+that got on my nerves....
+
+"No I was never hit. The nearest thing was when I was knocked down by an
+exploding shell--several times that--you know. When you shout like mad
+for the men to come and dig you out, under all the earth. And my word,
+you do feel frightened then." Herbertson laughed with a twinkling motion
+to Lilly. But between his brows there was a tension like madness.
+
+"And a funny thing you know--how you don't notice things. In--let me
+see--1916, the German guns were a lot better than ours. Ours were old,
+and when they're old you can't tell where they'll hit: whether they'll
+go beyond the mark, or whether they'll fall short. Well, this day our
+guns were firing short, and killing our own men. We'd had the order to
+charge, and were running forward, and I suddenly felt hot water spurting
+on my neck--" He put his hand to the back of his neck and glanced round
+apprehensively. "It was a chap called Innes--Oh, an awfully decent
+sort--people were in the Argentine. He'd been calling out to me as we
+were running, and I was just answering. When I felt this hot water on my
+neck and saw him running past me with no head--he'd got no head, and he
+went running past me. I don't know how far, but a long way.... Blood,
+you know--Yes--well--
+
+"Oh, I hated Chelsea--I loathed Chelsea--Chelsea was purgatory to me.
+I had a corporal called Wallace--he was a fine chap--oh, he was a
+fine chap--six foot two--and about twenty-four years old. He was my
+stand-back. Oh, I hated Chelsea, and parades, and drills. You know, when
+it's drill, and you're giving orders, you forget what order you've just
+given--in front of the Palace there the crowd don't notice--but it's
+AWFUL for you. And you know you daren't look round to see what the men
+are doing. But Wallace was splendid. He was just behind me, and I'd
+hear him, quite quiet you know, 'It's right wheel, sir.' Always perfect,
+always perfect--yes--well....
+
+"You know you don't get killed if you don't think you will. Now I never
+thought I should get killed. And I never knew a man get killed if he
+hadn't been thinking he would. I said to Wallace I'd rather be out here,
+at the front, than at Chelsea. I hated Chelsea--I can't tell you how
+much. 'Oh no, sir!' he said. 'I'd rather be at Chelsea than here. I'd
+rather be at Chelsea. There isn't hell like this at Chelsea.' We'd had
+orders that we were to go back to the real camp the next day. 'Never
+mind, Wallace,' I said. 'We shall be out of this hell-on-earth
+tomorrow.' And he took my hand. We weren't much for showing feeling
+or anything in the guards. But he took my hand. And we climbed out to
+charge--Poor fellow, he was killed--" Herbertson dropped his head, and
+for some moments seemed to go unconscious, as if struck. Then he lifted
+his face, and went on in the same animated chatty fashion: "You see, he
+had a presentiment. I'm sure he had a presentiment. None of the men got
+killed unless they had a presentiment--like that, you know...."
+
+Herbertson nodded keenly at Lilly, with his sharp, twinkling, yet
+obsessed eyes. Lilly wondered why he made the presentiment responsible
+for the death--which he obviously did--and not vice versa. Herbertson
+implied every time, that you'd never get killed if you could keep
+yourself from having a presentiment. Perhaps there was something in it.
+Perhaps the soul issues its own ticket of death, when it can stand no
+more. Surely life controls life: and not accident.
+
+"It's a funny thing what shock will do. We had a sergeant and he shouted
+to me. Both his feet were off--both his feet, clean at the ankle. I gave
+him morphia. You know officers aren't allowed to use the needle--might
+give the man blood poisoning. You give those tabloids. They say they act
+in a few minutes, but they DON'T. It's a quarter of an hour. And nothing
+is more demoralising than when you have a man, wounded, you know, and
+crying out. Well, this man I gave him the morphia before he got over the
+stunning, you know. So he didn't feel the pain. Well, they carried him
+in. I always used to like to look after my men. So I went next morning
+and I found he hadn't been removed to the Clearing Station. I got hold
+of the doctor and I said, 'Look here! Why hasn't this man been taken
+to the Clearing Station?' I used to get excited. But after some years
+they'd got used to me. 'Don't get excited, Herbertson, the man's dying.'
+'But,' I said, 'he's just been talking to me as strong as you are.' And
+he had--he'd talk as strong and well as you or me, then go quiet for
+a bit. I said I gave him the morphia before he came round from the
+stunning. So he'd felt nothing. But in two hours he was dead. The doctor
+says that the shock does it like that sometimes. You can do nothing
+for them. Nothing vital is injured--and yet the life is broken in them.
+Nothing can be done--funny thing--Must be something in the brain--"
+
+"It's obviously not the brain," said Lilly. "It's deeper than the
+brain."
+
+"Deeper," said Herbertson, nodding.
+
+"Funny thing where life is. We had a lieutenant. You know we all buried
+our own dead. Well, he looked as if he was asleep. Most of the chaps
+looked like that." Herbertson closed his eyes and laid his face aside,
+like a man asleep and dead peacefully. "You very rarely see a man dead
+with any other look on his face--you know the other look.--" And
+he clenched his teeth with a sudden, momentaneous, ghastly
+distortion.--"Well, you'd never have known this chap was dead. He had a
+wound here--in the back of the head--and a bit of blood on his hand--and
+nothing else, nothing. Well, I said we'd give him a decent burial. He
+lay there waiting--and they'd wrapped him in a filthy blanket--you know.
+Well, I said he should have a proper blanket. He'd been dead lying there
+a day and a half you know. So I went and got a blanket, a beautiful
+blanket, out of his private kit--his people were Scotch, well-known
+family--and I got the pins, you know, ready to pin him up properly, for
+the Scots Guards to bury him. And I thought he'd be stiff, you see. But
+when I took him by the arms, to lift him on, he sat up. It gave me an
+awful shock. 'Why he's alive!' I said. But they said he was dead. I
+couldn't believe it. It gave me an awful shock. He was as flexible as
+you or me, and looked as if he was asleep. You couldn't believe he was
+dead. But we pinned him up in his blanket. It was an awful shock to me.
+I couldn't believe a man could be like that after he'd been dead two
+days....
+
+"The Germans were wonderful with the machine guns--it's a wicked thing,
+a machine gun. But they couldn't touch us with the bayonet. Every time
+the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully good.
+You know when you thrust at the Germans--so--if you miss him, you bring
+your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt comes up and
+hits up under the jaw. It's one movement, following on with the stab,
+you see, if you miss him. It was too quick for them--But bayonet charge
+was worst, you know. Because your man cries out when you catch him, when
+you get him, you know. That's what does you....
+
+"No, oh no, this was no war like other wars. All the machinery of it.
+No, you couldn't stand it, but for the men. The men are wonderful, you
+know. They'll be wiped out.... No, it's your men who keep you going,
+if you're an officer.... But there'll never be another war like this.
+Because the Germans are the only people who could make a war like
+this--and I don't think they'll ever do it again, do you?
+
+"Oh, they were wonderful, the Germans. They were amazing. It was
+incredible, what they invented and did. We had to learn from them, in
+the first two years. But they were too methodical. That's why they lost
+the war. They were too methodical. They'd fire their guns every ten
+minutes--regular. Think of it. Of course we knew when to run, and when
+to lie down. You got so that you knew almost exactly what they'd do--if
+you'd been out long enough. And then you could time what you wanted to
+do yourselves.
+
+"They were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last. They sent up
+enough light at night from their trenches--you know, those things that
+burst in the air like electric light--we had none of that to do--they
+did it all for us--lit up everything. They were more nervous than we
+were...."
+
+It was nearly two o'clock when Herbertson left. Lilly, depressed,
+remained before the fire. Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to the
+fire.
+
+"It gives me the bellyache, that damned war," he said.
+
+"So it does me," said Lilly. "All unreal."
+
+"Real enough for those that had to go through it."
+
+"No, least of all for them," said Lilly sullenly. "Not as real as a bad
+dream. Why the hell don't they wake up and realise it!"
+
+"That's a fact," said Aaron. "They're hypnotised by it."
+
+"And they want to hypnotise me. And I won't be hypnotised. The war was a
+lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody busts it."
+
+"It was a fact--you can't bust that. You can't bust the fact that it
+happened."
+
+"Yes you can. It never happened. It never happened to me. No more than
+my dreams happen. My dreams don't happen: they only seem."
+
+"But the war did happen, right enough," smiled Aaron palely.
+
+"No, it didn't. Not to me or to any man, in his own self. It took place
+in the automatic sphere, like dreams do. But the ACTUAL MAN in every man
+was just absent--asleep--or drugged--inert--dream-logged. That's it."
+
+"You tell 'em so," said Aaron.
+
+"I do. But it's no good. Because they won't wake up now even--perhaps
+never. They'll all kill themselves in their sleep."
+
+"They wouldn't be any better if they did wake up and be themselves--that
+is, supposing they are asleep, which I can't see. They are what they
+are--and they're all alike--and never very different from what they are
+now."
+
+Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
+
+"Do you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?" he asked slowly.
+
+"I don't even want to believe in them."
+
+"But in yourself?" Lilly was almost wistful--and Aaron uneasy.
+
+"I don't know that I've any more right to believe in myself than in
+them," he replied. Lilly watched and pondered.
+
+"No," he said. "That's not true--I KNEW the war was false: humanly
+quite false. I always knew it was false. The Germans were false, we were
+false, everybody was false."
+
+"And not you?" asked Aaron shrewishly.
+
+"There was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war
+and all that horrible movement was false for me. And so I wasn't going
+to be dragged in. The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what
+they liked: I wouldn't have joined the WAR. I would like to kill my
+enemy. But become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the
+war, that I never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven
+mothers violated. But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more than
+one enemy. But not as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism. That never:
+no, never."
+
+Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement. Aaron made a fine nose. It
+seemed to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of a hole.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got men and nations, and you've got the
+machines of war--so how are you going to get out of it? League of
+Nations?"
+
+"Damn all leagues. Damn all masses and groups, anyhow. All I want is
+to get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm. The
+swarm to me is nightmare and nullity--horrible helpless writhing in
+a dream. I want to get myself awake, out of it all--all that
+mass-consciousness, all that mass-activity--it's the most horrible
+nightmare to me. No man is awake and himself. No man who was awake and
+in possession of himself would use poison gases: no man. His own awake
+self would scorn such a thing. It's only when the ghastly mob-sleep,
+the dream helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he becomes
+completely base and obscene."
+
+"Ha--well," said Aaron. "It's the wide-awake ones that invent the poison
+gas, and use it. Where should we be without it?"
+
+Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
+
+"Do you mean that, Aaron?" he said, looking into Aaron's face with a
+hard, inflexible look.
+
+Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
+
+"That's how it looks on the face of it, isn't it?" he said.
+
+"Look here, my friend, it's too late for you to be talking to me about
+the face of things. If that's how you feel, put your things on and
+follow Herbertson. Yes--go out of my room. I don't put up with the face
+of things here."
+
+Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
+
+"It'll do tomorrow morning, won't it?" he asked rather mocking.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly coldly. "But please go tomorrow morning."
+
+"Oh, I'll go all right," said Aaron. "Everybody's got to agree with
+you--that's your price."
+
+But Lilly did not answer. Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile
+under his nose. Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of
+affairs.
+
+As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once
+more to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
+
+"I'm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things. No,
+and I don't have friends who don't fundamentally agree with me. A friend
+means one who is at one with me in matters of life and death. And if
+you're at one with all the rest, then you're THEIR friend, not mine. So
+be their friend. And please leave me in the morning. You owe me
+nothing, you have nothing more to do with me. I have had enough of these
+friendships where I pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
+
+"Let me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than
+ever they won. A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual. Your heroic
+officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home. Bah, your
+Herbertson! The only justification for war is what we learn from it. And
+what have they learnt?--Why did so many of them have presentiments, as
+he called it? Because they could feel inside them, there was nothing
+to come after. There was no life-courage: only death-courage. Nothing
+beyond this hell--only death or love--languishing--"
+
+"What could they have seen, anyhow?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's not what you see, actually. It's the kind of spirit you keep
+inside you: the life spirit. When Wallace had presentiments, Herbertson,
+being officer, should have said: 'None of that, Wallace. You and I,
+we've got to live and make life smoke.'--Instead of which he let Wallace
+be killed and his own heart be broken. Always the death-choice-- And we
+won't, we simply will not face the world as we've made it, and our own
+souls as we find them, and take the responsibility. We'll never get
+anywhere till we stand up man to man and face EVERYTHING out, and
+break the old forms, but never let our own pride and courage of life be
+broken."
+
+Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed. Aaron turned over to sleep,
+rather resenting the sound of so many words. What difference did it
+make, anyhow? In the morning, however, when he saw the other man's pale,
+closed, rather haughty face, he realised that something _had_ happened.
+Lilly was courteous and even affable: but with a curious cold space
+between him and Aaron. Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew that he must
+leave. There was something in Lilly's bearing which just showed him the
+door. In some surprise and confusion, and in some anger, not unmingled
+with humorous irony, he put his things in his bag. He put on his hat and
+coat. Lilly was seated rather stiffly writing.
+
+"Well," said Aaron. "I suppose we shall meet again."
+
+"Oh, sure to," said Lilly, rising from his chair. "We are sure to run
+across one another."
+
+"When are you going?" asked Aaron.
+
+"In a few days' time."
+
+"Oh, well, I'll run in and see you before you go, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and then
+returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
+
+Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called. He took it rather
+as a slap in the face. But then he knew quite well that Lilly had made
+a certain call on his, Aaron's soul: a call which he, Aaron, did not
+at all intend to obey. If in return the soul-caller chose to shut his
+street-door in the face of the world-friend--well, let it be quits. He
+was not sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly enemy or not. He
+rather thought he did.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+
+
+The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a group
+of musical people in a village by the sea. He accepted, and spent a
+pleasant month. It pleased the young men musically-inclined and bohemian
+by profession to patronise the flautist, whom they declared marvellous.
+Bohemians with well-to-do parents, they could already afford to squander
+a little spasmodic and self-gratifying patronage. And Aaron did not mind
+being patronised. He had nothing else to do.
+
+But the party broke up early in September. The flautist was detained a
+few days at a country house, for the amusement of the guests. Then he
+left for London.
+
+In London he found himself at a loose end. A certain fretful dislike
+of the patronage of indifferent young men, younger than himself, and a
+certain distaste for regular work in the orchestra made him look round.
+He wanted something else. He wanted to disappear again. Qualms and
+emotions concerning his abandoned family overcame him. The early,
+delicate autumn affected him. He took a train to the Midlands.
+
+And again, just after dark, he strolled with his little bag across the
+field which lay at the end of his garden. It had been mown, and the
+grass was already growing long. He stood and looked at the line of back
+windows, lighted once more. He smelled the scents of autumn, phlox and
+moist old vegetation and corn in sheaf. A nostalgia which was half at
+least revulsion affected him. The place, the home, at once fascinated
+and revolted him.
+
+Sitting in his shed, he scrutinised his garden carefully, in the
+starlight. There were two rows of beans, rather disshevelled. Near at
+hand the marrow plants sprawled from their old bed. He could detect
+the perfume of a few carnations. He wondered who it was had planted
+the garden, during his long absence. Anyhow, there it was, planted and
+fruited and waning into autumn.
+
+The blind was not drawn. It was eight o'clock. The children were going
+to bed. Aaron waited in his shed, his bowels stirred with violent but
+only half-admitted emotions. There was his wife, slim and graceful,
+holding a little mug to the baby's mouth. And the baby was drinking. She
+looked lonely. Wild emotions attacked his heart. There was going to be a
+wild and emotional reconciliation.
+
+Was there? It seemed like something fearful and imminent. A passion
+arose in him, a craving for the violent emotional reconciliation. He
+waited impatiently for the children to be gone to bed, gnawed with
+restless desire.
+
+He heard the clock strike nine, then half-past, from the village behind.
+The children would be asleep. His wife was sitting sewing some little
+frock. He went lingering down the garden path, stooping to lift the
+fallen carnations, to see how they were. There were many flowers, but
+small. He broke one off, then threw it away. The golden rod was out.
+Even in the little lawn there were asters, as of old.
+
+His wife started to listen, hearing his step. He was filled with a
+violent conflict of tenderness, like a sickness. He hesitated, tapping
+at the door, and entered. His wife started to her feet, at bay.
+
+"What have you come for!" was her involuntary ejaculation.
+
+But he, with the familiar odd jerk of his head towards the garden, asked
+with a faint smile:
+
+"Who planted the garden?"
+
+And he felt himself dropping into the twang of the vernacular, which he
+had discarded.
+
+Lottie only stood and stared at him, objectively. She did not think
+to answer. He took his hat off, and put it on the dresser. Again the
+familiar act maddened her.
+
+"What have you come for?" she cried again, with a voice full of hate. Or
+perhaps it was fear and doubt and even hope as well. He heard only hate.
+
+This time he turned to look at her. The old dagger was drawn in her.
+
+"I wonder," he said, "myself."
+
+Then she recovered herself, and with trembling hand picked up her sewing
+again. But she still stood at bay, beyond the table. She said nothing.
+He, feeling tired, sat down on the chair nearest the door. But he
+reached for his hat, and kept it on his knee. She, as she stood there
+unnaturally, went on with her sewing. There was silence for some time.
+Curious sensations and emotions went through the man's frame seeming to
+destroy him. They were like electric shocks, which he felt she emitted
+against him. And an old sickness came in him again. He had forgotten
+it. It was the sickness of the unrecognised and incomprehensible strain
+between him and her.
+
+After a time she put down her sewing, and sat again in her chair.
+
+"Do you know how vilely you've treated me?" she said, staring across the
+space at him. He averted his face.
+
+Yet he answered, not without irony.
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"And why?" she cried. "I should like to know why."
+
+He did not answer. The way she rushed in made him go vague.
+
+"Justify yourself. Say why you've been so vile to me. Say what you had
+against me," she demanded.
+
+"What I HAD against her," he mused to himself: and he wondered that she
+used the past tense. He made no answer.
+
+"Accuse me," she insisted. "Say what I've done to make you treat me like
+this. Say it. You must THINK it hard enough."
+
+"Nay," he said. "I don't think it."
+
+This speech, by which he merely meant that he did not trouble to
+formulate any injuries he had against her, puzzled her.
+
+"Don't come pretending you love me, NOW. It's too late," she said with
+contempt. Yet perhaps also hope.
+
+"You might wait till I start pretending," he said.
+
+This enraged her.
+
+"You vile creature!" she exclaimed. "Go! What have you come for?"
+
+"To look at YOU," he said sarcastically.
+
+After a few minutes she began to cry, sobbing violently into her apron.
+And again his bowels stirred and boiled.
+
+"What have I done! What have I done! I don't know what I've done that he
+should be like this to me," she sobbed, into her apron. It was childish,
+and perhaps true. At least it was true from the childish part of her
+nature. He sat gloomy and uneasy.
+
+She took the apron from her tear-stained face, and looked at him. It
+was true, in her moments of roused exposure she was a beautiful woman--a
+beautiful woman. At this moment, with her flushed, tear-stained, wilful
+distress, she was beautiful.
+
+"Tell me," she challenged. "Tell me! Tell me what I've done. Tell me
+what you have against me. Tell me."
+
+Watching like a lynx, she saw the puzzled, hurt look in his face.
+Telling isn't so easy--especially when the trouble goes too deep for
+conscious comprehension. He couldn't _tell_ what he had against her. And
+he had not the slightest intention of doing what she would have liked
+him to do, starting to pile up detailed grievances. He knew the detailed
+grievances were nothing in themselves.
+
+"You CAN'T," she cried vindictively. "You CAN'T. You CAN'T find anything
+real to bring against me, though you'd like to. You'd like to be able
+to accuse me of something, but you CAN'T, because you know there isn't
+anything."
+
+She watched him, watched. And he sat in the chair near the door, without
+moving.
+
+"You're unnatural, that's what you are," she cried. "You're unnatural.
+You're not a man. You haven't got a man's feelings. You're nasty, and
+cold, and unnatural. And you're a coward. You're a coward. You run away
+from me, without telling me what you've got against me."
+
+"When you've had enough, you go away and you don't care what you do," he
+said, epigrammatic.
+
+She paused a moment.
+
+"Enough of what?" she said. "What have you had enough of? Of me and your
+children? It's a nice manly thing to say. Haven't I loved you? Haven't
+I loved you for twelve years, and worked and slaved for you and tried to
+keep you right? Heaven knows where you'd have been but for me, evil as
+you are at the bottom. You're evil, that's what it is--and weak. You're
+too weak to love a woman and give her what she wants: too weak. Unmanly
+and cowardly, he runs away."
+
+"No wonder," he said.
+
+"No," she cried. "It IS no wonder, with a nature like yours: weak and
+unnatural and evil. It IS no wonder."
+
+She became quiet--and then started to cry again, into her apron. Aaron
+waited. He felt physically weak.
+
+"And who knows what you've been doing all these months?" she wept. "Who
+knows all the vile things you've been doing? And you're the father of my
+children--the father of my little girls--and who knows what vile things
+he's guilty of, all these months?"
+
+"I shouldn't let my imagination run away with me," he answered. "I've
+been playing the flute in the orchestra of one of the theatres in
+London."
+
+"Ha!" she cried. "It's more than that. Don't think I'm going to believe
+you. I know you, with your smooth-sounding lies. You're a liar, as you
+know. And I know you've been doing other things besides play a flute
+in an orchestra. You!--as if I don't know you. And then coming crawling
+back to me with your lies and your pretense. Don't think I'm taken in."
+
+"I should be sorry," he said.
+
+"Coming crawling back to me, and expecting to be forgiven," she went on.
+"But no--I don't forgive--and I can't forgive--never--not as long as I
+live shall I forgive what you've done to me."
+
+"You can wait till you're asked, anyhow," he said.
+
+"And you can wait," she said. "And you shall wait." She took up her
+sewing, and stitched steadily, as if calmly. Anyone glancing in would
+have imagined a quiet domestic hearth at that moment. He, too, feeling
+physically weak, remained silent, feeling his soul absent from the
+scene.
+
+Again she suddenly burst into tears, weeping bitterly.
+
+"And the children," she sobbed, rocking herself with grief and chagrin.
+"What have I been able to say to the children--what have I been able to
+tell them?"
+
+"What HAVE you told them?" he asked coldly.
+
+"I told them you'd gone away to work," she sobbed, laying her head on
+her arms on the table. "What else could I tell them? I couldn't tell
+them the vile truth about their father. I couldn't tell THEM how evil
+you are." She sobbed and moaned.
+
+He wondered what exactly the vile truth would have been, had she
+_started_ to tell it. And he began to feel, coldly and cynically, that
+among all her distress there was a luxuriating in the violent emotions
+of the scene in hand, and the situation altogether.
+
+Then again she became quiet, and picked up her sewing. She stitched
+quietly, wistfully, for some time. Then she looked up at him--a long
+look of reproach, and sombre accusation, and wifely tenderness. He
+turned his face aside.
+
+"You know you've been wrong to me, don't you?" she said, half wistfully,
+half menacing.
+
+He felt her wistfulness and her menace tearing him in his bowels and
+loins.
+
+"You do know, don't you?" she insisted, still with the wistful appeal,
+and the veiled threat.
+
+"You do, or you would answer," she said. "You've still got enough that's
+right in you, for you to know."
+
+She waited. He sat still, as if drawn by hot wires.
+
+Then she slipped across to him, put her arms round him, sank on her
+knees at his side, and sank her face against his thigh.
+
+"Say you know how wrong you are. Say you know how cruel you've been to
+me," she pleaded. But under her female pleading and appeal he felt the
+iron of her threat.
+
+"You DO know it," she murmured, looking up into his face as she crouched
+by his knee. "You DO know it. I can see in your eyes that you know it.
+And why have you come back to me, if you don't know it! Why have you
+come back to me? Tell me!" Her arms gave him a sharp, compulsory little
+clutch round the waist. "Tell me! Tell me!" she murmured, with all her
+appeal liquid in her throat.
+
+But him, it half overcame, and at the same time, horrified. He had a
+certain horror of her. The strange liquid sound of her appeal seemed
+to him like the swaying of a serpent which mesmerises the fated,
+fluttering, helpless bird. She clasped her arms round him, she drew
+him to her, she half roused his passion. At the same time she coldly
+horrified and repelled him. He had not the faintest feeling, at the
+moment, of his own wrong. But she wanted to win his own self-betrayal
+out of him. He could see himself as the fascinated victim, falling to
+this cajoling, awful woman, the wife of his bosom. But as well, he had
+a soul outside himself, which looked on the whole scene with cold
+revulsion, and which was as unchangeable as time.
+
+"No," he said. "I don't feel wrong."
+
+"You DO!" she said, giving him a sharp, admonitory clutch. "You DO.
+Only you're silly, and obstinate, babyish and silly and obstinate. An
+obstinate little boy--you DO feel wrong. And you ARE wrong. And you've
+got to say it."
+
+But quietly he disengaged himself and got to his feet, his face pale and
+set, obstinate as she said. He put his hat on, and took his little bag.
+She watched him curiously, still crouching by his chair.
+
+"I'll go," he said, putting his hand on the latch.
+
+Suddenly she sprang to her feet and clutched him by the shirt-neck, her
+hand inside his soft collar, half strangling him.
+
+"You villain," she said, and her face was transfigured with passion as
+he had never seen it before, horrible. "You villain!" she said thickly.
+"What have you come here for?"
+
+His soul went black as he looked at her. He broke her hand away from his
+shirt collar, bursting the stud-holes. She recoiled in silence. And in
+one black, unconscious movement he was gone, down the garden and over
+the fence and across the country, swallowed in a black unconsciousness.
+
+She, realising, sank upon the hearth-rug and lay there curled upon
+herself. She was defeated. But she, too, would never yield. She lay
+quite motionless for some time. Then she got up, feeling the draught on
+the floor. She closed the door, and drew down the blind. Then she looked
+at her wrist, which he had gripped, and which pained her. Then she
+went to the mirror and looked for a long time at her white, strained,
+determined face. Come life, come death, she, too would never yield. And
+she realised now that he would never yield.
+
+She was faint with weariness, and would be glad to get to bed and sleep.
+
+Aaron meanwhile had walked across the country and was looking for a
+place to rest. He found a cornfield with a half-built stack, and sheaves
+in stook. Ten to one some tramp would have found the stack. He threw
+a dozen sheaves together and lay down, looking at the stars in the
+September sky. He, too, would never yield. The illusion of love was gone
+for ever. Love was a battle in which each party strove for the mastery
+of the other's soul. So far, man had yielded the mastery to woman. Now
+he was fighting for it back again. And too late, for the woman would
+never yield.
+
+But whether woman yielded or not, he would keep the mastery of his own
+soul and conscience and actions. He would never yield himself up to her
+judgment again. He would hold himself forever beyond her jurisdiction.
+
+Henceforth, life single, not life double.
+
+He looked at the sky, and thanked the universe for the blessedness
+of being alone in the universe. To be alone, to be oneself, not to be
+driven or violated into something which is not oneself, surely it is
+better than anything. He thought of Lottie, and knew how much more truly
+herself she was when she was alone, with no man to distort her. And he
+was thankful for the division between them. Such scenes as the last were
+too horrible and unreal.
+
+As for future unions, too soon to think about it. Let there be clean
+and pure division first, perfected singleness. That is the only way to
+final, living unison: through sheer, finished singleness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. NOVARA
+
+
+Having no job for the autumn, Aaron fidgetted in London. He played at
+some concerts and some private shows. He was one of an odd quartette,
+for example, which went to play to Lady Artemis Hooper, when she lay
+in bed after her famous escapade of falling through the window of her
+taxi-cab. Aaron had that curious knack, which belongs to some people,
+of getting into the swim without knowing he was doing it. Lady Artemis
+thought his flute lovely, and had him again to play for her. Aaron
+looked at her and she at him. She, as she reclined there in bed in a
+sort of half-light, well made-up, smoking her cigarettes and talking in
+a rather raucous voice, making her slightly rasping witty comments
+to the other men in the room--of course there were other men, the
+audience--was a shock to the flautist. This was the bride of the moment!
+Curious how raucous her voice sounded out of the cigarette smoke. Yet
+he liked her--the reckless note of the modern, social freebooter. In
+himself was a touch of the same quality.
+
+"Do you love playing?" she asked him.
+
+"Yes," he said, with that shadow of irony which seemed like a smile on
+his face.
+
+"Live for it, so to speak," she said.
+
+"I make my living by it," he said.
+
+"But that's not really how you take it?" she said. He eyed her. She
+watched him over her cigarette. It was a personal moment.
+
+"I don't think about it," he said.
+
+"I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't be so good if you did. You're awfully
+lucky, you know, to be able to pour yourself down your flute."
+
+"You think I go down easy?" he laughed.
+
+"Ah!" she replied, flicking her cigarette broadcast. "That's the point.
+What should you say, Jimmy?" she turned to one of the men. He screwed
+his eyeglass nervously and stiffened himself to look at her.
+
+"I--I shouldn't like to say, off-hand," came the small-voiced,
+self-conscious answer. And Jimmy bridled himself and glanced at Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it a tight squeeze, then?" she said, turning to Aaron once
+more.
+
+"No, I can't say that," he answered. "What of me goes down goes down
+easy enough. It's what doesn't go down."
+
+"And how much is that?" she asked, eying him.
+
+"A good bit, maybe," he said.
+
+"Slops over, so to speak," she retorted sarcastically. "And which do you
+enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the lap of
+Mother Earth--of Miss, more probably!"
+
+"Depends," he said.
+
+Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left
+him to get off by himself.
+
+So he found London got on his nerves. He felt it rubbed him the wrong
+way. He was flattered, of course, by his own success--and felt at
+the same time irritated by it. This state of mind was by no means
+acceptable. Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly, the
+first place--or a place among the first. Among the musical people
+he frequented, he found himself on a callow kind of equality with
+everybody, even the stars and aristocrats, at one moment, and a
+backstairs outsider the next. It was all just as the moment demanded.
+There was a certain excitement in slithering up and down the social
+scale, one minute chatting in a personal tete-a-tete with the most
+famous, or notorious, of the society beauties: and the next walking in
+the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby lodging in Bloomsbury.
+Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm that lay at the bottom
+of his soul, and which burned there like an unhealthy bile.
+
+Therefore he determined to clear out--to disappear. He had a letter from
+Lilly, from Novara. Lilly was drifting about. Aaron wrote to Novara, and
+asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak of. "Come
+if you want to. Bring your flute. And if you've no money, put on a good
+suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside the best cafe in
+any Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get on with."
+
+It was a sporting chance. Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
+wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
+Franks'. He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London. But
+it didn't.
+
+Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a
+wet, dark evening. He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody. With some
+slight dismay he faced the big, crowded station. The stream of people
+carried him automatically through the barrier, a porter having seized
+his bag, and volleyed various unintelligible questions at him. Aaron
+understood not one word. So he just wandered after the blue blouse of
+the porter.
+
+The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired
+off more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space of
+darkness outside the station. Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he nodded
+and said "Yes." But there were no cabs. So once more the blue-bloused
+porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over his
+shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and a
+sort of theatre place.
+
+One carriage stood there in the rain--yes, and it was free.
+
+"Keb? Yes--orright--sir. Whe'to? Where you go? Sir William Franks? Yes,
+I know. Long way go--go long way. Sir William Franks."
+
+The cabman spattered his few words of English. Aaron gave the porter an
+English shilling. The porter let the coin lie in the middle of his palm,
+as if it were a live beetle, and darted to the light of the carriage to
+examine the beast, exclaiming volubly. The cabman, wild with interest,
+peered down from the box into the palm of the porter, and carried on an
+impassioned dialogue. Aaron stood with one foot on the step.
+
+"What you give--he? One franc?" asked the driver.
+
+"A shilling," said Aaron.
+
+"One sheeling. Yes. I know that. One sheeling English"--and the driver
+went off into impassioned exclamations in Torinese. The porter, still
+muttering and holding his hand as if the coin might sting him, filtered
+away.
+
+"Orright. He know--sheeling--orright. English moneys, eh? Yes, he know.
+You get up, sir."
+
+And away went Aaron, under the hood of the carriage, clattering down the
+wide darkness of Novara, over a bridge apparently, past huge rain-wet
+statues, and through more rainy, half-lit streets.
+
+They stopped at last outside a sort of park wall with trees above. The
+big gates were just beyond.
+
+"Sir William Franks--there." In a mixture of Italian and English the
+driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right. Aaron got
+down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.
+
+"How much?" said Aaron to the driver.
+
+"Ten franc," said the fat driver.
+
+But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink
+ten-shilling note. He waved it in his hand.
+
+"Not good, eh? Not good moneys?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, rather indignantly. "Good English money. Ten
+shillings. Better than ten francs, a good deal. Better--better--"
+
+"Good--you say? Ten sheeling--" The driver muttered and muttered, as
+if dissatisfied. But as a matter of fact he stowed the note in his
+waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron
+curiously, and drove away.
+
+Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished himself
+somewhere else. However, he rang the bell. There was a huge barking
+of dogs on the other side. Presently a light switched on, and a woman,
+followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-opened doorway.
+
+"Sir William Franks?" said Aaron.
+
+"Si, signore."
+
+And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate. Huge dogs jumped
+round. He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the
+park. The woman fastened the gate--Aaron saw a door--and through an
+uncurtained window a man writing at a desk--rather like the clerk in an
+hotel office. He was going with his two bags to the open door, when the
+woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian. It was evident
+he must not go on. So he put down the bags. The man stood a few yards
+away, watchfully.
+
+Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what
+she was saying, but could not. The dogs still barked spasmodically,
+drops fell from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.
+
+"Is Mr. Lilly here? Mr. Lilly?" he asked.
+
+"Signor Lillee. No, Signore--"
+
+And off the woman went in Italian. But it was evident Lilly was not at
+the house. Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had gone to
+an hotel.
+
+He made out that the woman was asking him for his name--"Meester--?
+Meester--?" she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.
+
+"Sisson. Mr. Sisson," said Aaron, who was becoming impatient. And he
+found a visiting card to give her. She seemed appeased--said something
+about telephone--and left him standing.
+
+The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high
+trees. Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk reach
+the telephone. There was a long pause. At length the woman came back
+and motioned to him to go up--up the drive which curved and disappeared
+under the dark trees.
+
+"Go up there?" said Aaron, pointing.
+
+That was evidently the intention. So he picked up his bags and strode
+forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive
+in the darkness. It was a steep incline. He saw trees and the grass
+slopes. There was a tang of snow in the air.
+
+Suddenly, up ahead, a brilliant light switched on. He continued uphill
+through the trees along the path, towards it, and at length, emerged
+at the foot of a great flight of steps, above which was a wide glass
+entrance, and an Italian manservant in white gloves hovering as if on
+the brink.
+
+Aaron emerged from the drive and climbed the steps. The manservant came
+down two steps and took the little bag. Then he ushered Aaron and the
+big bag into a large, pillared hall, with thick Turkish carpet on the
+floor, and handsome appointments. It was spacious, comfortable and warm;
+but somewhat pretentious; rather like the imposing hall into which the
+heroine suddenly enters on the film.
+
+Aaron dropped his heavy bag, with relief, and stood there, hat in hand,
+in his damp overcoat in the circle of light, looking vaguely at the
+yellow marble pillars, the gilded arches above, the shadowy distances
+and the great stairs. The butler disappeared--reappeared in another
+moment--and through an open doorway came the host. Sir William was a
+small, clean old man with a thin, white beard and a courtly deportment,
+wearing a black velvet dinner jacket faced with purple silk.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Sisson. You come straight from England?"
+
+Sir William held out his hand courteously and benevolently, smiling an
+old man's smile of hospitality.
+
+"Mr. Lilly has gone away?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes. He left us several days ago."
+
+Aaron hesitated.
+
+"You didn't expect me, then?"
+
+"Yes, oh, yes. Yes, oh, yes. Very glad to see you--well, now, come in
+and have some dinner--"
+
+At this moment Lady Franks appeared--short, rather plump, but erect and
+definite, in a black silk dress and pearls round her throat.
+
+"How do you do? We are just at dinner," she said. "You haven't eaten?
+No--well, then--would you like a bath now, or--?"
+
+It was evident the Franks had dispensed much hospitality: much of it
+charitable. Aaron felt it.
+
+"No," he said. "I'll wash my hands and come straight in, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps that would be better--"
+
+"I'm afraid I am a nuisance."
+
+"Not at all--Beppe--" and she gave instructions in Italian.
+
+Another footman appeared, and took the big bag. Aaron took the little
+one this time. They climbed the broad, turning stairs, crossed another
+handsome lounge, gilt and ormolu and yellow silk chairs and scattered
+copies of _The Graphic_ or of _Country Life_, then they disappeared
+through a doorway into a much narrower flight of stairs. Man can so
+rarely keep it up all the way, the grandeur.
+
+Two black and white chamber-maids appeared. Aaron found himself in a
+blue silk bedroom, and a footman unstrapping his bag, which he did not
+want unstrapped. Next minute he was beckoned and allured by the Italian
+servants down the corridor, and presented to the handsome, spacious
+bathroom, which was warm and creamy-coloured and glittering with massive
+silver and mysterious with up-to-date conveniences. There he was left to
+his own devices, and felt like a small boy finding out how it works. For
+even the mere turning on of the taps was a problem in silver mechanics.
+
+In spite of all the splendours and the elaborated convenience, he washed
+himself in good hot water, and wished he were having a bath, chiefly
+because of the wardrobe of marvellous Turkish towels. Then he clicked
+his way back to his bedroom, changed his shirt and combed his hair in
+the blue silk bedroom with the Greuze picture, and felt a little dim and
+superficial surprise. He had fallen into country house parties before,
+but never into quite such a plushy sense of riches. He felt he ought to
+have his breath taken away. But alas, the cinema has taken our breath
+away so often, investing us in all the splendours of the splendidest
+American millionaire, or all the heroics and marvels of the Somme or the
+North Pole, that life has now no magnate richer than we, no hero nobler
+than we have been, on the film. _Connu_! _Connu_! Everything life has to
+offer is known to us, couldn't be known better, from the film.
+
+So Aaron tied his tie in front of a big Venice mirror, and nothing was
+a surprise to him. He found a footman hovering to escort him to the
+dining-room--a real Italian footman, uneasy because milady's dinner was
+unsettled. He entered the rather small dining-room, and saw the people
+at table.
+
+He was told various names: bowed to a young, slim woman with big
+blue eyes and dark hair like a photograph, then to a smaller rather
+colourless young woman with a large nose: then to a stout, rubicund,
+bald colonel, and to a tall, thin, Oxford-looking major with a black
+patch over his eye--both these men in khaki: finally to a good-looking,
+well-nourished young man in a dinner-jacket, and he sat down to his
+soup, on his hostess' left hand. The colonel sat on her right, and was
+confidential. Little Sir William, with his hair and his beard white like
+spun glass, his manner very courteous and animated, the purple facings
+of his velvet jacket very impressive, sat at the far end of the table
+jesting with the ladies and showing his teeth in an old man's smile, a
+little bit affected, but pleasant, wishing everybody to be happy.
+
+Aaron ate his soup, trying to catch up. Milady's own confidential
+Italian butler, fidelity itself, hovered quivering near, spiritually
+helping the newcomer to catch up. Two nice little entree dishes,
+specially prepared for Aaron to take the place of the bygone fish and
+vol au-vents of the proper dinner, testified to the courtesy and charity
+of his hostess.
+
+Well, eating rapidly, he had more or less caught up by the time the
+sweets came. So he swallowed a glass of wine and looked round. His
+hostess with her pearls, and her diamond star in her grey hair, was
+speaking of Lilly and then of music to him.
+
+"I hear you are a musician. That's what I should have been if I had had
+my way."
+
+"What instrument?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the piano. Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says. I think the flute
+can be so attractive. But I feel, of course you have more range with the
+piano. I love the piano--and orchestra."
+
+At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her. But she
+came back in snatches. She was a woman who reminded him a little
+of Queen Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her
+attention always given to the successful issue of her duties, the
+remainder at the disposal of her guests. It was an old-fashioned, not
+unpleasant feeling: like retrospect. But she had beautiful, big, smooth
+emeralds and sapphires on her fingers. Money! What a curious thing it
+is! Aaron noticed the deference of all the guests at table: a touch of
+obsequiousness: before the money! And the host and hostess accepted the
+deference, nay, expected it, as their due. Yet both Sir William and Lady
+Franks knew that it was only money and success. They had both a certain
+afterthought, knowing dimly that the game was but a game, and that
+they were the helpless leaders in the game. They had a certain basic
+ordinariness which prevented their making any great hits, and which
+kept them disillusioned all the while. They remembered their poor and
+insignificant days.
+
+"And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden. We came
+back from London last week. I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much."
+
+"Which do you like best?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the Russian. I think _Ivan_. It is such fine music."
+
+"I find _Ivan_ artificial."
+
+"Do you? Oh, I don't think so. No, I don't think you can say that."
+
+Aaron wondered at her assurance. She seemed to put him just a tiny bit
+in his place, even in an opinion on music. Money gave her that right,
+too. Curious--the only authority left. And he deferred to her opinion:
+that is, to her money. He did it almost deliberately. Yes--what did he
+believe in, besides money? What does any man? He looked at the black
+patch over the major's eye. What had he given his eye for?--the nation's
+money. Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise we might be where
+the wretched Austrians are. Instead of which--how smooth his hostess'
+sapphires!
+
+"Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky," said Aaron. "I think he is a
+greater artist. But perhaps it is just personal preference."
+
+"Yes. _Boris_ is wonderful. Oh, some of the scenes in _Boris_!"
+
+"And even more _Kovantchina_," said Aaron. "I wish we could go back
+to melody pure and simple. Yet I find _Kovantchina_, which is all mass
+music practically, gives me more satisfaction than any other opera."
+
+"Do you really? I shouldn't say so: oh, no--but you can't mean that
+you would like all music to go back to melody pure and simple! Just a
+flute--just a pipe! Oh, Mr. Sisson, you are bigoted for your instrument.
+I just LIVE in harmony--chords, chords!" She struck imaginary chords on
+the white damask, and her sapphires swam blue. But at the same time she
+was watching to see if Sir William had still got beside his plate the
+white medicine _cachet_ which he must swallow at every meal. Because if
+so, she must remind him to swallow it. However, at that very moment,
+he put it on his tongue. So that she could turn her attention again to
+Aaron and the imaginary chord on the white damask; the thing she just
+lived in. But the rubicund bald colonel, more rubicund after wine, most
+rubicund now the Marsala was going, snatched her attention with a burly
+homage to her femininity, and shared his fear with her with a boyish
+gallantry.
+
+When the women had gone up, Sir William came near and put his hand on
+Aaron's shoulder. It was evident the charm was beginning to work. Sir
+William was a self-made man, and not in the least a snob. He liked the
+fundamental ordinariness in Aaron, the commonness of the common man.
+
+"Well now, Mr. Sisson, we are very glad to see you! Very glad, indeed. I
+count Mr. Lilly one of the most interesting men it has ever been my good
+fortune to know. And so for your own sake, and for Mr. Lilly's sake,
+we are very glad to see you. Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson some
+Marsala--and take some yourself."
+
+"Thank you, Sir," said the well-nourished young man in nice evening
+clothes. "You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?"
+
+"Yes, I will, I will. I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson. Major, where
+are you wandering off to? Come and take a glass with us, my boy."
+
+"Thanks, Sir William," drawled the young major with the black patch.
+
+"Now, Colonel--I hope you are in good health and spirits."
+
+"Never better, Sir William, never better."
+
+"I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed. Try my Marsala--I think it
+is quite good. Port is beyond us for the moment--for the moment--"
+
+And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again. He made quite a
+handsome picture: but he was frail.
+
+"And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson? Towards Rome?"
+
+"I came to meet Lilly," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah! But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time. Never was such a
+man for crossing frontiers. Wonderful person, to be able to do it."
+
+"Where has he gone?" said Aaron.
+
+"I think to Geneva for the moment. But he certainly talked of Venice.
+You yourself have no definite goal?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah! You have not come to Italy to practice your art?"
+
+"I shall HAVE to practice it: or else--no, I haven't come for that."
+
+"Ah, you will HAVE to practice it. Ah, yes! We are all under the
+necessity to eat. And you have a family in England? Am I not right?"
+
+"Quite. I've got a family depending on me."
+
+"Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art.
+Well--shall we join the ladies? Coffee will no doubt be served."
+
+"Will you take my arm, Sir?" said the well-nourished Arthur.
+
+"Thank you, thank you," the old man motioned him away.
+
+So they went upstairs to where the three women were sitting in the
+library round the fire, chattering not very interested. The entry of Sir
+William at once made a stir.
+
+The girl in white, with the biggish nose, fluttered round him. She was
+Arthur's wife. The girl in soft blue spread herself on the couch: she
+was the young Major's wife, and she had a blue band round her hair. The
+Colonel hovered stout and fidgetty round Lady Franks and the liqueur
+stand. He and the Major were both in khaki--belonging to the service on
+duty in Italy still.
+
+Coffee appeared--and Sir William doled out _creme de menthe_. There
+was no conversation--only tedious words. The little party was just
+commonplace and dull--boring. Yet Sir William, the self-made man, was a
+study. And the young, Oxford-like Major, with his English diffidence and
+his one dark, pensive, baffled eye was only waiting to be earnest, poor
+devil.
+
+The girl in white had been a sort of companion to Lady Franks, so that
+Arthur was more or less a son-in-law. In this capacity, he acted. Aaron
+strayed round uneasily looking at the books, bought but not read, and at
+the big pictures above. It was Arthur who fetched out the little boxes
+containing the orders conferred on Sir William for his war-work: and
+perhaps more, for the many thousands of pounds he had spent on his
+war-work.
+
+There were three orders: one British, and quite important, a large
+silver star for the breast: one Italian, smaller, and silver and gold;
+and one from the State of Ruritania, in silver and red-and-green enamel,
+smaller than the others.
+
+"Come now, William," said Lady Franks, "you must try them all on. You
+must try them all on together, and let us see how you look."
+
+The little, frail old man, with his strange old man's blue eyes and his
+old man's perpetual laugh, swelled out his chest and said:
+
+"What, am I to appear in all my vanities?" And he laughed shortly.
+
+"Of course you are. We want to see you," said the white girl.
+
+"Indeed we do! We shouldn't mind all appearing in such vanities--what,
+Lady Franks!" boomed the Colonel.
+
+"I should think not," replied his hostess. "When a man has honours
+conferred on him, it shows a poor spirit if he isn't proud of them."
+
+"Of course I am proud of them!" said Sir William. "Well then, come and
+have them pinned on. I think it's wonderful to have got so much in one
+life-time--wonderful," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, Sir William is a wonderful man," said the Colonel. "Well--we won't
+say so before him. But let us look at him in his orders."
+
+Arthur, always ready on these occasions, had taken the large and shining
+British star from its box, and drew near to Sir William, who stood
+swelling his chest, pleased, proud, and a little wistful.
+
+"This one first, Sir," said Arthur.
+
+Sir William stood very still, half tremulous, like a man undergoing an
+operation.
+
+"And it goes just here--the level of the heart. This is where it goes."
+And carefully he pinned the large, radiating ornament on the black
+velvet dinner-jacket of the old man.
+
+"That is the first--and very becoming," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, very becoming! Very becoming!" said the tall wife of the Major--she
+was a handsome young woman of the tall, frail type.
+
+"Do you think so, my dear?" said the old man, with his eternal smile:
+the curious smile of old people when they are dead.
+
+"Not only becoming, Sir," said the Major, bending his tall, slim figure
+forwards. "But a reassuring sign that a nation knows how to distinguish
+her valuable men."
+
+"Quite!" said Lady Franks. "I think it is a very great honour to have
+got it. The king was most gracious, too-- Now the other. That goes
+beside it--the Italian--"
+
+Sir William stood there undergoing the operation of the pinning-on. The
+Italian star being somewhat smaller than the British, there was a
+slight question as to where exactly it should be placed. However, Arthur
+decided it: and the old man stood before the company with his two stars
+on his breast.
+
+"And now the Ruritanian," said Lady Franks eagerly.
+
+"That doesn't go on the same level with the others, Lady Franks," said
+Arthur. "That goes much lower down--about here."
+
+"Are you sure?" said Lady Franks. "Doesn't it go more here?"
+
+"No no, no no, not at all. Here! Isn't it so, Sybil?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," said Sybil.
+
+Old Sir William stood quite silent, his breast prepared, peering over
+the facings of his coat to see where the star was going. The Colonel was
+called in, and though he knew nothing about it, he agreed with Arthur,
+who apparently did know something. So the star was pinned quite low
+down. Sir William, peeping down, exclaimed:
+
+"Well, that is most curious now! I wear an order over the pit of my
+stomach! I think that is very curious: a curious place to wear an
+order."
+
+"Stand up! Stand up and let us look!" said Lady Franks. "There now,
+isn't it handsome? And isn't it a great deal of honour for one man?
+Could he have expected so much, in one life-time? I call it wonderful.
+Come and look at yourself, dear"--and she led him to a mirror.
+
+"What's more, all thoroughly deserved," said Arthur.
+
+"I should think so," said the Colonel, fidgetting.
+
+"Ah, yes, nobody has deserved them better," cooed Sybil.
+
+"Nor on more humane and generous grounds," said the Major, _sotto voce._
+
+"The effort to save life, indeed," returned the Major's young wife:
+"splendid!"
+
+Sir William stood naively before the mirror and looked at his three
+stars on his black velvet dinner-jacket.
+
+"Almost directly over the pit of my stomach," he said. "I hope that is
+not a decoration for my greedy APPETITE." And he laughed at the young
+women.
+
+"I assure you it is in position, Sir," said Arthur. "Absolutely correct.
+I will read it out to you later."
+
+"Aren't you satisfied? Aren't you a proud man! Isn't it wonderful?" said
+Lady Franks. "Why, what more could a man want from life? He could never
+EXPECT so much."
+
+"Yes, my dear. I AM a proud man. Three countries have honoured me--"
+There was a little, breathless pause.
+
+"And not more than they ought to have done," said Sybil.
+
+"Well! Well! I shall have my head turned. Let me return to my own humble
+self. I am too much in the stars at the moment."
+
+Sir William turned to Arthur to have his decorations removed. Aaron,
+standing in the background, felt the whole scene strange, childish, a
+little touching. And Lady Franks was so obviously trying to _console_
+her husband: to console the frail, excitable old man with his honours.
+But why console him? Did he need consolation? And did she? It was
+evident that only the hard-money woman in her put any price on the
+decorations.
+
+Aaron came forward and examined the orders, one after the other. Just
+metal playthings of curious shiny silver and gilt and enamel. Heavy the
+British one--but only like some heavy buckle, a piece of metal merely
+when one turned it over. Somebody dropped the Italian cross, and there
+was a moment of horror. But the lump of metal took no hurt. Queer to see
+the things stowed in their boxes again. Aaron had always imagined these
+mysterious decorations as shining by nature on the breasts of heroes.
+Pinned-on pieces of metal were a considerable come-down.
+
+The orders were put away, the party sat round the fire in the
+comfortable library, the men sipping more _creme de menthe_, since
+nothing else offered, and the couple of hours in front promising the
+tedium of small-talk of tedious people who had really nothing to say and
+no particular originality in saying it.
+
+Aaron, however, had reckoned without his host. Sir William sat upright
+in his chair, with all the determination of a frail old man who insists
+on being level with the young. The new guest sat in a lower chair,
+smoking, that curious glimmer on his face which made him so attractive,
+and which only meant that he was looking on the whole scene from the
+outside, as it were, from beyond a fence. Sir William came almost
+directly to the attack.
+
+"And so, Mr. Sisson, you have no definite purpose in coming to Italy?"
+
+"No, none," said Aaron. "I wanted to join Lilly."
+
+"But when you had joined him--?"
+
+"Oh, nothing--stay here a time, in this country, if I could earn my
+keep."
+
+"Ah!--earn your keep? So you hope to earn your keep here? May I ask
+how?"
+
+"By my flute."
+
+"Italy is a poor country."
+
+"I don't want much."
+
+"You have a family to provide for."
+
+"They are provided for--for a couple of years."
+
+"Oh, indeed! Is that so?"
+
+The old man got out of Aaron the detailed account of his
+circumstances--how he had left so much money to be paid over to his
+wife, and had received only a small amount for himself.
+
+"I see you are like Lilly--you trust to Providence," said Sir William.
+
+"Providence or fate," said Aaron.
+
+"Lilly calls it Providence," said Sir William. "For my own part, I
+always advise Providence plus a banking account. I have every belief in
+Providence, plus a banking account. Providence and no banking account I
+have observed to be almost invariably fatal. Lilly and I have argued it.
+He believes in casting his bread upon the waters. I sincerely hope
+he won't have to cast himself after his bread, one of these days.
+Providence with a banking account. Believe in Providence once you have
+secured enough to live on. I should consider it disastrous to believe in
+Providence BEFORE. One can never be SURE of Providence."
+
+"What can you be sure of, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Well, in moderation, I can believe in a little hard cash, and in my own
+ability to earn a little hard cash."
+
+"Perhaps Lilly believes in his own ability, too."
+
+"No. Not so. Because he will never directly work to earn money. He
+works--and works quite well, I am told: but only as the spirit moves
+him, and never with any eye to the market. Now I call that TEMPTING
+Providence, myself. The spirit may move him in quite an opposite
+direction to the market--then where is Lilly? I have put it to him more
+than once."
+
+"The spirit generally does move him dead against the market," said
+Aaron. "But he manages to scrape along."
+
+"In a state of jeopardy: all the time in a state of jeopardy," said
+the old man. "His whole existence, and that of his wife, is completely
+precarious. I found, in my youth, the spirit moved me to various things
+which would have left me and my wife starving. So I realised in time,
+this was no good. I took my spirit in hand, therefore, and made him
+pull the cart which mankind is riding in. I harnessed him to the work of
+productive labour. And so he brought me my reward."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "But every man according to his belief."
+
+"I don't see," said Sir William, "how a man can BELIEVE in a Providence
+unless he sets himself definitely to the work of earning his daily
+bread, and making provision for future needs. That's what Providence
+means to me--making provision for oneself and one's family. Now, Mr.
+Lilly--and you yourself--you say you believe in a Providence that does
+NOT compel you to earn your daily bread, and make provision. I confess
+myself I cannot see it: and Lilly has never been able to convince me."
+
+"I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence," said Aaron, "and I don't
+believe Lilly does. But I believe in chance. I believe, if I go my own
+way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always throw something
+in my way: enough to get along with."
+
+"But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?"
+
+"I just feel like that."
+
+"And if you are ever quite without success--and nothing to fall back
+on?"
+
+"I can work at something."
+
+"In case of illness, for example?"
+
+"I can go to a hospital--or die."
+
+"Dear me! However, you are more logical than Lilly. He seems to believe
+that he has the Invisible--call it Providence if you will--on his side,
+and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch, or let him
+down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain, and NEVER
+works for his own ends. I don't quite see how he works. Certainly he
+seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent unworthily. Yet
+for some reason or other he calls this true, genuine activity, and has
+a contempt for actual work by which a man makes provision for his years
+and for his family. In the end, he will have to fall back on charity.
+But when I say so, he denies it, and says that in the end we, the men
+who work and make provision, will have to fall back on him. Well, all
+I can say is, that SO FAR he is in far greater danger of having to fall
+back on me, than I on him."
+
+The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph. But it
+smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in his
+life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
+
+"I don't suppose he will do much falling back," he said.
+
+"Well, he is young yet. You are both young. You are squandering your
+youth. I am an old man, and I see the end."
+
+"What end, Sir William?"
+
+"Charity--and poverty--and some not very congenial 'job,' as you call
+it, to put bread in your mouth. No, no, I would not like to trust myself
+to your Providence, or to your Chance. Though I admit your Chance is
+a sounder proposition than Lilly's Providence. You speculate with your
+life and your talent. I admit the nature which is a born speculator.
+After all, with your flute, you will speculate in other people's taste
+for luxury, as a man may speculate in theatres or _trains de luxe_. You
+are the speculator. That may be your way of wisdom. But Lilly does not
+even speculate. I cannot see his point. I cannot see his point. I cannot
+see his point. Yet I have the greatest admiration for his mentality."
+
+The old man had fired up during this conversation--and all the others
+in the room had gone silent. Lady Franks was palpably uneasy. She alone
+knew how frail the old man was--frailer by far than his years. She alone
+knew what fear of his own age, what fear of death haunted him now: fear
+of his own non-existence. His own old age was an agony to him; worse
+than an agony, a horror. He wanted to be young--to live, to live. And
+he was old, he was breaking up. The glistening youth of Aaron, the
+impetuousness of Lilly fascinated him. And both these men seemed calmly
+to contradict his own wealth and honours.
+
+Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of normal
+chit-chat. The Colonel was horribly bored--so were all the women--Arthur
+was indifferent. Only the young Major was implicated, troubled in his
+earnest and philosophic spirit.
+
+"What I can't see," he said, "is the place that others have in your
+scheme."
+
+"Is isn't a scheme," said Aaron.
+
+"Well then, your way of life. Isn't it pretty selfish, to marry a woman
+and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that always
+precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or in
+Chance: which I think worse? What I don't see is where others come in.
+What would the world be like if everybody lived that way?"
+
+"Other people can please themselves," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they can't--because you take first choice, it seems to me.
+Supposing your wife--or Lilly's wife--asks for security and for
+provision, as Sir William says. Surely she has a right to it."
+
+"If I've no right to it myself--and I HAVE no right to it, if I don't
+want it--then what right has she?"
+
+"Every right, I should say. All the more since you are improvident."
+
+"Then she must manage her rights for herself. It's no good her foisting
+her rights on to me."
+
+"Isn't that pure selfishness?"
+
+"It may be. I shall send my wife money as long as I've money to send."
+
+"And supposing you have none?"
+
+"Then I can't send it--and she must look out for herself."
+
+"I call that almost criminal selfishness."
+
+"I can't help it."
+
+The conversation with the young Major broke off.
+
+"It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr.
+Lilly are not common," said Sir William, laughing.
+
+"Becoming commoner every day, you'll find," interjaculated the Colonel.
+
+"Indeed! Indeed! Well. May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson? I
+hope you don't object to our catechism?"
+
+"No. Nor your judgment afterwards," said Aaron, grinning.
+
+"Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family? I know it is a
+tender subject. But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could
+see...."
+
+"There were no grounds," said Aaron. "No, there weren't I just left
+them."
+
+"Mere caprice?"
+
+"If it's a caprice to be begotten--and a caprice to be born--and a
+caprice to die--then that was a caprice, for it was the same."
+
+"Like birth or death? I don't follow."
+
+"It happened to me: as birth happened to me once--and death will happen.
+It was a sort of death, too: or a sort of birth. But as undeniable as
+either. And without any more grounds."
+
+The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.
+
+"A natural event," said Sir William.
+
+"A natural event," said Aaron.
+
+"Not that you loved any other woman?"
+
+"God save me from it."
+
+"You just left off loving?"
+
+"Not even that. I went away."
+
+"What from?"
+
+"From it all."
+
+"From the woman in particular?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, that."
+
+"And you couldn't go back?"
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"Yet you can give no reasons?"
+
+"Not any reasons that would be any good. It wasn't a question of
+reasons. It was a question of her and me and what must be. What makes a
+child be born out of its mother to the pain and trouble of both of them?
+I don't know."
+
+"But that is a natural process."
+
+"So is this--or nothing."
+
+"No," interposed the Major. "Because birth is a universal process--and
+yours is a specific, almost unique event."
+
+"Well, unique or not, it so came about. I didn't ever leave off loving
+her--not as far as I know. I left her as I shall leave the earth when I
+die--because it has to be."
+
+"Do you know what I think it is, Mr. Sisson?" put in Lady Franks. "I
+think you are just in a wicked state of mind: just that. Mr. Lilly, too.
+And you must be very careful, or some great misfortune will happen to
+you."
+
+"It may," said Aaron.
+
+"And it will, mark my word, it will."
+
+"You almost wish it might, as a judgment on me," smiled Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no, indeed. I should only be too sorry. But I feel it will, unless
+you are careful."
+
+"I'll be careful, then."
+
+"Yes, and you can't be too careful."
+
+"You make me frightened."
+
+"I would like to make you very frightened indeed, so that you went back
+humbly to your wife and family."
+
+"It would HAVE to be a big fright then, I assure you."
+
+"Ah, you are really heartless. It makes me angry."
+
+She turned angrily aside.
+
+"Well, well! Well, well! Life! Life! Young men are a new thing to me!"
+said Sir William, shaking his head. "Well, well! What do you say to
+whiskey and soda, Colonel?"
+
+"Why, delighted, Sir William," said the Colonel, bouncing up.
+
+"A night-cap, and then we retire," said Lady Franks.
+
+Aaron sat thinking. He knew Sir William liked him: and that Lady Franks
+didn't. One day he might have to seek help from Sir William. So he had
+better placate milady. Wrinkling the fine, half mischievous smile on his
+face, and trading on his charm, he turned to his hostess.
+
+"You wouldn't mind, Lady Franks, if I said nasty things about my wife
+and found a lot of fault with her. What makes you angry is that I know
+it is not a bit more her fault than mine, that we come apart. It can't
+be helped."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed. I disapprove of your way of looking at things
+altogether. It seems to me altogether cold and unmanly and inhuman.
+Thank goodness my experience of a man has been different."
+
+"We can't all be alike, can we? And if I don't choose to let you see me
+crying, that doesn't prove I've never had a bad half hour, does it? I've
+had many--ay, and a many."
+
+"Then why are you so WRONG, so wrong in your behaviour?"
+
+"I suppose I've got to have my bout out: and when it's out, I can
+alter."
+
+"Then I hope you've almost had your bout out," she said.
+
+"So do I," said he, with a half-repentant, half-depressed look on his
+attractive face. The corners of his mouth grimaced slightly under his
+moustache.
+
+"The best thing you can do is to go straight back to England, and to
+her."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better ask her if she wants me, first," he said drily.
+
+"Yes, you might do that, too." And Lady Franks felt she was quite
+getting on with her work of reform, and the restoring of woman to her
+natural throne. Best not go too fast, either.
+
+"Say when," shouted the Colonel, who was manipulating the syphon.
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+The men stood up to their drinks.
+
+"Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Sisson?" asked Lady Franks.
+
+"May I stay till Monday morning?" said Aaron. They were at Saturday
+evening.
+
+"Certainly. And you will take breakfast in your room: we all do. At what
+time? Half past eight?"
+
+"Thank you very much."
+
+"Then at half past eight the man will bring it in. Goodnight."
+
+Once more in his blue silk bedroom, Aaron grimaced to himself and stood
+in the middle of the room grimacing. His hostess' admonitions were like
+vitriol in his ears. He looked out of the window. Through the darkness
+of trees, the lights of a city below. Italy! The air was cold with snow.
+He came back into his soft, warm room. Luxurious it was. And luxurious
+the deep, warm bed.
+
+He was still asleep when the man came noiselessly in with the tray: and
+it was morning. Aaron woke and sat up. He felt that the deep, warm bed,
+and the soft, warm room had made him sleep too well: robbed him of his
+night, like a narcotic. He preferred to be more uncomfortable and more
+aware of the flight of the dark hours. It seemed numbing.
+
+The footman in his grey house-jacket was neat and Italian and
+sympathising. He gave good-morning in Italian--then softly arranged the
+little table by the bedside, and put out the toast and coffee and butter
+and boiled egg and honey, with silver and delicate china. Aaron watched
+the soft, catlike motions of the man. The dark eyes glanced once at the
+blond man, leaning on his elbow on the pillow. Aaron's face had that
+watchful, half-amused expression. The man said something in Italian.
+Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said:
+
+"Tell me in English."
+
+The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with his
+hand.
+
+"Yes, do," said Aaron.
+
+So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting
+in bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further
+heaven great snowy mountains.
+
+"The Alps," he said in surprise.
+
+"Gli Alpi--si, signore." The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes, and
+silently retired.
+
+Aaron watched through the window. It was a frosty morning at the end
+of September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful,
+snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting.
+There they were, hovering round, circling, waiting. They reminded him
+of marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the
+red-roofed city. Aaron looked, and looked again. In the near distance,
+under the house elm-tree tops were yellowing. He felt himself changing
+inside his skin.
+
+So he turned away to his coffee and eggs. A little silver egg-cup with a
+curious little frill round it: honey in a frail, iridescent glass bowl,
+gold-iridescent: the charm of delicate and fine things. He smiled half
+mockingly to himself. Two instincts played in him: the one, an instinct
+for fine, delicate things: he had attractive hands; the other, an
+inclination to throw the dainty little table with all its niceties out
+of the window. It evoked a sort of devil in him.
+
+He took his bath: the man had brought back his things: he dressed and
+went downstairs. No one in the lounge: he went down to the ground floor:
+no one in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and its gold
+arches, its enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet. He stood before the great
+glass doors. Some red flowers still were blooming in the tubs, on the
+steps, handsome: and beautiful chrysanthemums in the wide portico.
+Beyond, yellow leaves were already falling on the green grass and the
+neat drive. Everywhere was silent and empty. He climbed the wide stairs,
+sat in the long, upper lounge where the papers were. He wanted his hat
+and coat, and did not know where to find them. The windows looked on to
+a terraced garden, the hill rising steeply behind the house. He wanted
+to go out.
+
+So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five or
+six manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven, neat,
+with neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather brooms, and
+all frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys. They were all
+of the same neat, smallish size. They were all laughing. They rolled
+back a great rug as if it were some football game, one flew at the
+curtains. And they merely looked at Aaron and went on chattering, and
+laughing and dusting.
+
+Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a
+moment looking out. The noise went on behind him. So he turned, smiling,
+and asked for his hat, pointing to his head. They knew at once what he
+wanted. One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to the hall and to
+the long cupboard place where hats and coats and sticks were hung. There
+was his hat; he put it on, while the man chattered to him pleasantly and
+unintelligibly, and opened for him the back door, into the garden.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+
+
+The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house. So
+Aaron found it. He felt himself dashing up the steps into the garden
+like a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught: that warm
+and luxurious house. Heaven bless us, we who want to save civilisation.
+We had better make up our minds what of it we want to save. The kernel
+may be all well and good. But there is precious little kernel, to a lot
+of woolly stuffing and poisonous rind.
+
+The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
+war-neglected. But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air, the
+flowers showed their colour beside the walks. Many birds dashed
+about, rather bewildered, having crossed the Alps in their migration
+southwards. Aaron noted with gratification a certain big magnificence,
+a certain reckless powerfulness in the still-blossoming, harsh-coloured,
+autumn flowers. Distinct satisfaction he derived from it.
+
+He wandered upwards, up the succeeding flights of step; till he came
+to the upper rough hedge, and saw the wild copse on the hill-crest just
+above. Passing through a space in the hedge, he climbed the steep last
+bit of Sir William's lane. It was a little vineyard, with small vines
+and yellowing leaves. Everywhere the place looked neglected--but as if
+man had just begun to tackle it once more.
+
+At the very top, by the wild hedge where spindle-berries hung pink,
+seats were placed, and from here the view was very beautiful. The hill
+dropped steep beneath him. A river wound on the near side of the city,
+crossed by a white bridge. The city lay close clustered, ruddy on the
+plains, glittering in the clear air with its flat roofs and domes and
+square towers, strangely naked-seeming in the clear, clean air. And
+massive in the further nearness, snow-streaked mountains, the tiger-like
+Alps. Tigers prowling between the north and the south. And this
+beautiful city lying nearest exposed. The snow-wind brushed her this
+morning like the icy whiskers of a tiger. And clear in the light lay
+Novara, wide, fearless, violent Novara. Beautiful the perfect air, the
+perfect and unblemished Alp-sky. And like the first southern flower,
+Novara.
+
+Aaron sat watching in silence. Only the uneasy birds rustled. He watched
+the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent Alps. He
+was on the south side. On the other side of the time barrier. His old,
+sleepy English nature was startled in its sleep. He felt like a man who
+knows it is time to wake up, and who doesn't want to wake up, to face
+the responsibility of another sort of day.
+
+To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility. Wake
+up and enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself. Ach, the
+horror of responsibility! He had all his life slept and shelved the
+burden. And he wanted to go on sleeping. It was so hateful to have
+to get a new grip on his own bowels, a new hard recklessness into his
+heart, a new and responsible consciousness into his mind and soul. He
+felt some finger prodding, prodding, prodding him awake out of the sleep
+of pathos and tragedy and spasmodic passion, and he wriggled, unwilling,
+oh, most unwilling to undertake the new business.
+
+In fact he ran away again. He gave a last look at the town and its
+white-fanged mountains, and descended through the garden, round the way
+of the kitchen garden and garage and stables and pecking chickens, back
+to the house again. In the hall still no one. He went upstairs to the
+long lounge. There sat the rubicund, bald, boy-like Colonel reading the
+_Graphic_. Aaron sat down opposite him, and made a feeble attempt at
+conversation. But the Colonel wasn't having any. It was evident he
+didn't care for the fellow--Mr. Aaron, that is. Aaron therefore dried
+up, and began to sit him out, with the aid of _The Queen_. Came a
+servant, however, and said that the Signor Colonello was called up from
+the hospital, on the telephone. The Colonel once departed, Aaron fled
+again, this time out of the front doors, and down the steep little park
+to the gates.
+
+Huge dogs and little dogs came bounding forward. Out of the lodge came
+the woman with the keys, smiling very pleasantly this morning. So, he
+was in the street. The wide road led him inevitably to the big bridge,
+with the violent, physical stone statue-groups. Men and women were
+moving about, and he noticed for the first time the littleness and
+the momentaneousness of the Italians in the street. Perhaps it was the
+wideness of the bridge and the subsequent big, open boulevard. But there
+it was: the people seemed little, upright brisk figures moving in a
+certain isolation, like tiny figures on a big stage. And he felt himself
+moving in the space between. All the northern cosiness gone. He was set
+down with a space round him.
+
+Little trams flitted down the boulevard in the bright, sweet light. The
+barbers' shops were all busy, half the Novarese at that moment ambushed
+in lather, full in the public gaze. A shave is nothing if not a public
+act, in the south. At the little outdoor tables of the cafes a very few
+drinkers sat before empty coffee-cups. Most of the shops were shut. It
+was too soon after the war for life to be flowing very fast. The feeling
+of emptiness, of neglect, of lack of supplies was evident everywhere.
+
+Aaron strolled on, surprised himself at his gallant feeling of liberty:
+a feeling of bravado and almost swaggering carelessness which is Italy's
+best gift to an Englishman. He had crossed the dividing line, and
+the values of life, though ostensibly and verbally the same, were
+dynamically different. Alas, however, the verbal and the ostensible,
+the accursed mechanical ideal gains day by day over the spontaneous
+life-dynamic, so that Italy becomes as idea-bound and as automatic as
+England: just a business proposition.
+
+Coming to the station, he went inside. There he saw a money-changing
+window which was open, so he planked down a five-pound note and got
+two-hundred-and-ten lire. Here was a start. At a bookstall he saw a
+man buy a big timetable with a large railway map in it. He immediately
+bought the same. Then he retired to a corner to get his whereabouts.
+
+In the morning he must move: where? He looked on the map. The map seemed
+to offer two alternatives, Milan and Genoa. He chose Milan, because of
+its musical associations and its cathedral. Milano then. Strolling and
+still strolling, he found the boards announcing Arrivals and Departures.
+As far as he could make out, the train for Milan left at 9:00 in the
+morning.
+
+So much achieved, he left the big desolating caravanserai of the
+station. Soldiers were camped in every corner, lying in heaps asleep.
+In their grey-green uniform, he was surprised at their sturdy limbs and
+uniformly short stature. For the first time, he saw the cock-feathers
+of the Bersaglieri. There seemed a new life-quality everywhere. Many
+worlds, not one world. But alas, the one world triumphing more and
+more over the many worlds, the big oneness swallowing up the many
+small diversities in its insatiable gnawing appetite, leaving a dreary
+sameness throughout the world, that means at last complete sterility.
+
+Aaron, however, was too new to the strangeness, he had no eye for the
+horrible sameness that was spreading like a disease over Italy from
+England and the north. He plunged into the space in front of the
+station, and took a new, wide boulevard. To his surprise he ran towards
+a big and over-animated statue that stood resolutely with its back to
+the magnificent snow-domes of the wild Alps. Wolves in the street
+could not have startled him more than those magnificent fierce-gleaming
+mountains of snow at the street-end, beyond the statue. He stood and
+wondered, and never thought to look who the gentleman was. Then he
+turned right round, and began to walk home.
+
+Luncheon was at one o'clock. It was half-past twelve when he rang at
+the lodge gates. He climbed through the leaves of the little park, on a
+side-path, rather reluctantly towards the house. In the hall Lady Franks
+was discussing with Arthur a fat Pekinese who did not seem very well.
+She was sure the servants did not obey her orders concerning the
+Pekinese bitch. Arthur, who was more than indifferent, assured her they
+did. But she seemed to think that the whole of the male human race was
+in league against the miserable specimen of a she-dog. She almost cried,
+thinking her Queenie _might_ by some chance meet with, perhaps, a harsh
+word or look. Queenie apparently fattened on the secret detestation of
+the male human species.
+
+"I can't bear to think that a dumb creature might be ill-treated," she
+said to Aaron. "Thank goodness the Italians are better than they used to
+be."
+
+"Are they better than they used to be?"
+
+"Oh, much. They have learnt it from us."
+
+She then enquired if her guest had slept, and if he were rested from
+his journey. Aaron, into whose face the faint snow-wind and the sun had
+brought a glow, replied that he had slept well and enjoyed the morning,
+thank you. Whereupon Lady Franks knitted her brows and said Sir William
+had had such a bad night. He had not been able to sleep, and had got
+up and walked about the room. The least excitement, and she dreaded a
+break-down. He must have absolute calm and restfulness.
+
+"There's one for you and your jawing last night, Aaron, my boy!" said
+our hero to himself.
+
+"I thought Sir William seemed so full of life and energy," he said,
+aloud.
+
+"Ah, did you! No, he WANTS to be. But he can't do it. He's very much
+upset this morning. I have been very anxious about him."
+
+"I am sorry to hear that."
+
+Lady Franks departed to some duty. Aaron sat alone before the fire.
+It was a huge fireplace, like a dark chamber shut in by tall,
+finely-wrought iron gates. Behind these iron gates of curly iron the
+logs burned and flickered like leopards slumbering and lifting their
+heads within their cage. Aaron wondered who was the keeper of the savage
+element, who it was that would open the iron grille and throw on another
+log, like meat to the lions. To be sure the fire was only to be looked
+at: like wild beasts in the Zoo. For the house was warm from roof to
+floor. It was strange to see the blue air of sunlight outside, the
+yellow-edged leaves falling in the wind, the red flowers shaking.
+
+The gong sounded softly through the house. The Colonel came in heartily
+from the garden, but did not speak to Aaron. The Major and his wife
+came pallid down the stairs. Lady Franks appeared, talking
+domestic-secretarial business with the wife of Arthur. Arthur,
+well-nourished and half at home, called down the stairs. And then Sir
+William descended, old and frail now in the morning, shaken: still he
+approached Aaron heartily, and asked him how he did, and how he had
+spent his morning. The old man who had made a fortune: how he expected
+homage: and how he got it! Homage, like most things, is just a
+convention and a social trick. Aaron found himself paying homage, too,
+to the old man who had made a fortune. But also, exacting a certain
+deference in return, from the old man who had made a fortune. Getting
+it, too. On what grounds? Youth, maybe. But mostly, scorn for fortunes
+and fortune-making. Did he scorn fortunes and fortune-making? Not he,
+otherwise whence this homage for the old man with much money? Aaron,
+like everybody else, was rather paralysed by a million sterling,
+personified in one old man. Paralysed, fascinated, overcome. All those
+three. Only having no final control over his own make-up, he could not
+drive himself into the money-making or even into the money-having habit.
+And he had just wit enough to threaten Sir William's golden king with
+his own ivory queen and knights of wilful life. And Sir William quaked.
+
+"Well, and how have you spent your morning?" asked the host.
+
+"I went first to look at the garden."
+
+"Ah, not much to see now. They have been beautiful with flowers,
+once. But for two and a half years the house has been a hospital for
+officers--and even tents in the park and garden--as many as two hundred
+wounded and sick at a time. We are only just returning to civil life.
+And flowers need time. Yes--yes--British officers--for two and a half
+years. But did you go up, now, to the belvedere?"
+
+"To the top--where the vines are? I never expected the mountains."
+
+"You never expected the mountains? Pray, why not? They are always
+there!"
+
+"But I was never there before. I never knew they were there, round the
+town. I didn't expect it like that."
+
+"Ah! So you found our city impressive?"
+
+"Very! Ah, very! A new world to me. I feel I've come out of myself."
+
+"Yes, it is a wonderful sight--a wonderful sight-- But you have not been
+INTO the town?"
+
+"Yes. I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station:
+and a statue, and mountains behind it. Oh, I've had a full morning."
+
+"A full morning! That is good, that is good!" The old man looked again
+at the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live in him
+vicariously.
+
+"Come," said the hostess. "Luncheon."
+
+Aaron sat again on his hostess' left hand. The Colonel was more affable
+now it was meal-time. Sir William was again in a good humour, chaffing
+the young ladies with an old man's gallantry. But now he insisted on
+drawing Aaron into the play. And Aaron did not want to be drawn. He did
+not one bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young women. Between
+him and Sir William there was a curious rivalry--unconscious on both
+sides. The old knight had devoted an energetic, adventurous, almost an
+artistic nature to the making of his fortune and the developing of later
+philanthropies. He had no children. Aaron was devoting a similar nature
+to anything but fortune-making and philanthropy. The one held life to
+be a storing-up of produce and a conservation of energy: the other held
+life to be a sheer spending of energy and a storing-up of nothing but
+experience. There they were, in opposition, the old man and the young.
+Sir William kept calling Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of
+the table: and Aaron kept on refusing to join. He hated long distance
+answers, anyhow. And in his mood of the moment he hated the young women.
+He had a conversation with Arthur about statues: concerning which Aaron
+knew nothing, and Arthur less than nothing. Then Lady Franks turned the
+conversation to the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William
+had equipped rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station: but
+that such was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross--or
+some such body, locally--that Sir William's huts had been left
+empty--standing unused--while the men had slept on the stone floor of
+the station, night after night, in icy winter. There was evidently much
+bitter feeling as a result of Sir William's philanthropy. Apparently
+even the honey of lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian
+mouth: at least the official mouth. Which gall had been spat back at
+the charitable, much to his pain. It is in truth a difficult world,
+particularly when you have another race to deal with. After which came
+the beef-olives.
+
+"Oh," said Lady Franks, "I had such a dreadful dream last night, such a
+dreadful dream. It upset me so much. I have not been able to get over it
+all day."
+
+"What was it?" said Aaron. "Tell it, and break it."
+
+"Why," said his hostess, "I dreamed I was asleep in my room--just as I
+actually was--and that it was night, yet with a terrible sort of light,
+like the dead light before dawn, so that one could see. And my maid
+Giuseppina came running into my room, saying: 'Signora! Signora! Si
+alza! Subito! Signora! Vengono su!'--and I said, 'Chi? Chi sono chi
+vengono? Chi?'--'I Novaresi! I Novaresi vengono su. Vengono qui!'--I
+got out of bed and went to the window. And there they were, in the dead
+light, rushing up to the house, through the trees. It was so awful, I
+haven't been able to forget it all day."
+
+"Tell me what the words are in English," said Aaron.
+
+"Why," she said, "get up, get up--the Novaresi, the people of Novara
+are coming up--vengono su--they are coming up--the Novara
+people--work-people. I can't forget it. It was so real, I can't believe
+it didn't actually happen."
+
+"Ah," said Aaron. "It will never happen. I know, that whatever one
+foresees, and FEELS has happened, never happens in real life. It sort of
+works itself off through the imagining of it."
+
+"Well, it was almost more real to me than real life," said his hostess.
+
+"Then it will never happen in real life," he said.
+
+Luncheon passed, and coffee. The party began to disperse--Lady Franks to
+answer more letters, with the aid of Arthur's wife--some to sleep, some
+to walk. Aaron escaped once more through the big gates. This time he
+turned his back on the town and the mountains, and climbed up the hill
+into the country. So he went between the banks and the bushes, watching
+for unknown plants and shrubs, hearing the birds, feeling the influence
+of a new soil. At the top of the hill he saw over into vineyards, and a
+new strange valley with a winding river, and jumbled, entangled hills.
+Strange wild country so near the town. It seemed to keep an almost
+virgin wildness--yet he saw the white houses dotted here and there.
+
+Just below him was a peasant house: and on a little loggia in the sun
+two peasants in white shirtsleeves and black Sunday suits were sitting
+drinking wine, and talking, talking. Peasant youths in black hats, their
+sweethearts in dark stuff dresses, wearing no hat, but a black silk or
+a white silk scarf, passed slowly along the little road just below the
+ridge. None looked up to see Aaron sitting there alone. From some hidden
+place somebody was playing an accordion, a jerky sound in the still
+afternoon. And away beyond lay the unchanging, mysterious valley, and
+the infolding, mysterious hills of Italy.
+
+Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of the
+hill in new and deserted suburb streets--unfinished streets of seemingly
+unfinished houses. Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois families
+were taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout, pallid mamas
+in rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed, and long lads
+in short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering. Alien they
+felt, alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but particularly
+a foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd. Aaron wandered and wandered,
+finding the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished street after
+street. He had a great disinclination to ask his way.
+
+At last he recognised the bank and the little stream of water that ran
+along the street side. So he was back in time for tea. A hospital nurse
+was there, and two other strange women. Arthur played the part of host.
+Sir William came in from a walk with the dogs, but retired to his room
+without taking tea.
+
+And so the evening fell. Aaron sat in the hall at some distance from the
+fire, which burned behind its wrought iron gates. He was tired now with
+all his impressions, and dispirited. He thought of his wife and children
+at home: of the church-bells ringing so loudly across the field beyond
+his garden end: of the dark-clad people trailing unevenly across the two
+paths, one to the left, one to the right, forking their way towards the
+houses of the town, to church or to chapel: mostly to chapel. At this
+hour he himself would be dressed in his best clothes, tying his bow,
+ready to go out to the public house. And his wife would be resenting his
+holiday departure, whilst she was left fastened to the children.
+
+Rather tired and dispirited in this alien place, he wondered if he
+wished himself back. But the moment he actually _realised_ himself
+at home, and felt the tension of barrenness which it meant, felt the
+curious and deadly opposition of his wife's will against his own nature,
+the almost nauseating ache which it amounted to, he pulled himself
+together and rejoiced again in his new surroundings. Her will, her will,
+her terrible, implacable, cunning will! What was there in the female
+will so diabolical, he asked himself, that it could press like a flat
+sheet of iron against a man all the time? The female will! He realised
+now that he had a horror of it. It was flat and inflexible as a sheet
+of iron. But also it was cunning as a snake that could sing treacherous
+songs.
+
+Of two people at a deadlock, he always reminded himself, there is not
+one only wholly at fault. Both must be at fault. Having a detached and
+logical soul, he never let himself forget this truth. Take Lottie! He
+had loved her. He had never loved any other woman. If he had had his
+other affairs--it was out of spite or defiance or curiosity. They meant
+nothing. He and Lottie had loved one another. And the love had developed
+almost at once into a kind of combat. Lottie had been the only child of
+headstrong, well-to-do parents. He also had been the only child of his
+widowed mother. Well then, both he and Lottie had been brought up
+to consider themselves the first in whatsoever company they found
+themselves. During the early months of the marriage he had, of course,
+continued the spoiling of the young wife. But this never altered the
+fact that, by his very nature, he considered himself as first and almost
+as single in any relationship. First and single he felt, and as such he
+bore himself. It had taken him years to realise that Lottie also felt
+herself first and single: under all her whimsicalness and fretfulness
+was a conviction as firm as steel: that she, as woman, was the centre of
+creation, the man was but an adjunct. She, as woman, and particularly
+as mother, was the first great source of life and being, and also of
+culture. The man was but the instrument and the finisher. She was the
+source and the substance.
+
+Sure enough, Lottie had never formulated this belief inside herself. But
+it was formulated for her in the whole world. It is the substantial
+and professed belief of the whole white world. She did but inevitably
+represent what the whole world around her asserted: the life-centrality
+of woman. Woman, the life-bearer, the life-source.
+
+Nearly all men agree to the assertion. Practically all men, even while
+demanding their selfish rights as superior males, tacitly agree to the
+fact of the sacred life-bearing priority of woman. Tacitly, they yield
+the worship to that which is female. Tacitly, they conspire to agree
+that all that is productive, all that is fine and sensitive and most
+essentially noble, is woman. This, in their productive and religious
+souls, they believe. And however much they may react against the belief,
+loathing their women, running to prostitutes, or beer or _anything_,
+out of reaction against this great and ignominious dogma of the sacred
+priority of women, still they do but profane the god they worship.
+Profaning woman, they still inversely worship her.
+
+But in Aaron was planted another seed. He did not know it. He started
+off on the good old tack of worshipping his woman while his heart was
+honest, and profaning her in his fits of temper and revolt. But he made
+a bad show. Born in him was a spirit which could not worship woman:
+no, and would not. Could not and would not. It was not in him. In early
+days, he tried to pretend it was in him. But through his plaintive and
+homage-rendering love of a young husband was always, for the woman,
+discernible the arrogance of self-unyielding male. He never yielded
+himself: never. All his mad loving was only an effort. Afterwards, he
+was as devilishly unyielded as ever. And it was an instinct in her, that
+her man must yield to her, so that she should envelop him yielding,
+in her all-beneficent love. She was quite sure that her love was
+all-beneficent. Of this no shadow of doubt. She was quite sure that
+the highest her man could ever know or ever reach, was to be perfectly
+enveloped in her all-beneficent love. This was her idea of marriage.
+She held it not as an idea, but as a profound impulse and instinct: an
+instinct developed in her by the age in which she lived. All that was
+deepest and most sacred in he feeling centred in this belief.
+
+And he outraged her! Oh, from the first day and the first night, she
+felt he outraged her. True, for some time she had been taken in by his
+manifest love. But though you can deceive the conscious mind, you can
+never deceive the deep, unconscious instinct. She could never understand
+whence arose in her, almost from the first days of marriage with him,
+her terrible paroxysms of hatred for him. She was in love with him: ah,
+heaven, how maddeningly she was in love with him: a certain unseizable
+beauty that was his, and which fascinated her as a snake a bird. But in
+revulsion, how she hated him! How she abhorred him! How she despised and
+shuddered at him! He seemed a horrible thing to her.
+
+And then again, oh, God, the agony of her desire for him. The agony of
+her long, long desire for him. He was a passionate lover. He gave
+her, ostensibly, all she asked for. He withheld from her nothing, no
+experience, no degree of intimacy. She was his initiate, or he hers.
+
+And yet, oh, horror for a woman, he withheld everything from her.
+He withheld the very centre of himself. For a long time, she never
+realised. She was dazed and maddened only. But as months of married
+experience passed into years of married torment, she began to
+understand. It was that, after their most tremendous, and, it seemed to
+her, heaven-rending passion--yea, when for her every veil seemed
+rent and a terrible and sacred creative darkness covered the
+earth--then--after all this wonder and miracle--in crept a poisonous
+grey snake of disillusionment, a poisonous grey snake of disillusion
+that bit her to madness, so that she really was a mad woman, demented.
+
+Why? Why? He never gave himself. He never came to her, _really_. He
+withheld himself. Yes, in those supreme and sacred times which for her
+were the whole culmination of life and being, the ecstasy of unspeakable
+passional conjunction, he was not really hers. He was withheld. He
+withheld the central core of himself, like the devil and hell-fiend he
+was. He cheated and made play with her tremendous passional soul, her
+sacred sex passion, most sacred of all things for a woman. All the time,
+some central part of him stood apart from her, aside, looking on.
+
+Oh, agony and horror for a passionate, fierce-hearted woman! She who
+loved him. She who loved him to madness. She who would have died for
+him. She who did die with him, many terrible and magnificent connubial
+deaths, in his arms, her husband.
+
+Her husband! How bitter the word grew to her! Her husband! and him never
+once given, given wholly to her! Her husband--and in all the frenzied
+finality of desire, she never _fully_ possessed him, not once. No, not
+once. As time went on, she learned it for inevitable. Not once!
+
+And then, how she hated him! Cheated, foiled, betrayed, forced to love
+him or to hate him: never able to be at peace near him nor away from
+him: poor Lottie, no wonder she was as a mad woman. She was strictly
+as a woman demented, after the birth of her second child. For all
+her instinct, all her impulse, all her desire, and above all, all her
+_will_, was to possess her man in very fulness once: just once: and once
+and for all. Once, just once: and it would be once and for all.
+
+But never! Never! Not once! Never! Not for one single solitary second!
+Was it not enough to send a woman mad! Was it not enough to make her
+demented! Yes, and mad she was. She made his life a hell for him. She
+bit him to the bone with her frenzy of rage, chagrin, and agony. She
+drove him mad, too: mad, so that he beat her: mad so that he longed
+to kill her. But even in his greatest rages it was the same: he
+never finally lost himself: he remained, somewhere in the centre, in
+possession of himself. She sometimes wished he would kill her: or that
+she would kill him. Neither event happened.
+
+And neither of them understood what was happening. How should they? They
+were both dazed, horrified, and mortified. He took to leaving her alone
+as much as was possible. But when he _had_ to come home, there was
+her terrible will, like a flat, cold snake coiled round his soul and
+squeezing him to death. Yes, she did not relent. She was a good wife and
+mother. All her duties she fulfilled. But she was not one to yield. _He_
+must yield. That was written in eternal letters, on the iron tablet of
+her will. _He_ must yield. She the woman, the mother of his children,
+how should she ever even think to yield? It was unthinkable. He, the
+man, the weak, the false, the treacherous, the half-hearted, it was he
+who must yield. Was not hers the divine will and the divine right? Ha,
+she would be less than woman if she ever capitulated, abandoned her
+divine responsibility as woman! No, _he_ must yield.
+
+So, he was unfaithful to her. Piling reproach after reproach upon
+himself, he added adultery to his brutality. And this was the beginning
+of the end. She was more than maddened: but he began to grow silent,
+unresponsive, as if he did not hear her. He was unfaithful to her:
+and oh, in such a low way. Such shame, such shame! But he only smiled
+carelessly now, and asked her what she wanted. She had asked for all she
+got. That he reiterated. And that was all he would do.
+
+Terrible was, that she found even his smile of insolent indifference
+half-beautiful. Oh, bitter chain to bear! But she summoned up all
+her strange woman's will. She fought against his fascination, the
+fascination he exerted over her. With fearful efforts of will she fought
+against it, and mastered it. And then, suddenly, horror and agony of
+it, up it would rush in her again, her unbearable desire for him, the
+longing for his contact, his quality of beauty.
+
+That was a cross hard to bear. Yet even that she bore. And schooled
+herself into a fretful, petulant manner of indifference. Her odd,
+whimsical petulance hid a will which he, and he alone, knew to be
+stronger than steel, strong as a diabolical, cold, grey snake that
+presses and presses and cannot-relax: nay, cannot relax. She became the
+same as he. Even in her moments of most passionate desire for him, the
+cold and snake-like tension of her will never relaxed, and the cold,
+snake-like eye of her intention never closed.
+
+So, till it reached a deadlock. Each will was wound tense, and so fixed.
+Fixed! There was neither any relaxing or any increase of pressure.
+Fixed. Hard like a numbness, a grip that was solidifying and turning to
+stone.
+
+He realised, somehow, that at this terrible passive game of fixed
+tension she would beat him. Her fixed female soul, her wound-up female
+will would solidify into stone--whereas his must break. In him
+something must break. It was a cold and fatal deadlock, profitless. A
+life-automatism of fixed tension that suddenly, in him, did break. His
+will flew loose in a recoil: a recoil away from her. He left her, as
+inevitably as a broken spring flies out from its hold.
+
+Not that he was broken. He would not do her even that credit. He had
+only flown loose from the old centre-fixture. His will was still entire
+and unabated. Only he did not know: he did not understand. He swung
+wildly about from place to place, as if he were broken.
+
+Then suddenly, on this Sunday evening in the strange country, he
+realised something about himself. He realised that he had never intended
+to yield himself fully to her or to anything: that he did not intend
+ever to yield himself up entirely to her or to anything: that his very
+being pivoted on the fact of his isolate self-responsibility, aloneness.
+His intrinsic and central aloneness was the very centre of his being.
+Break it, and he broke his being. Break this central aloneness, and he
+broke everything. It was the great temptation, to yield himself: and
+it was the final sacrilege. Anyhow, it was something which, from his
+profoundest soul, he did not intend to do. By the innermost isolation
+and singleness of his own soul he would abide though the skies fell on
+top of one another, and seven heavens collapsed.
+
+Vaguely he realised this. And vaguely he realised that this had been the
+root cause of his strife with Lottie: Lottie, the only person who had
+mattered at all to him in all the world: save perhaps his mother. And
+his mother had not mattered, no, not one-half nor one-fifth what Lottie
+had mattered. So it was: there was, for him, only her significant in the
+universe. And between him and her matters were as they were.
+
+He coldly and terribly hated her, for a moment. Then no more. There was
+no solution. It was a situation without a solution. But at any rate, it
+was now a defined situation. He could rest in peace.
+
+Thoughts something in this manner ran through Aaron's subconscious mind
+as he sat still in the strange house. He could not have fired it all
+off at any listener, as these pages are fired off at any chance reader.
+Nevertheless there it was, risen to half consciousness in him. All
+his life he had _hated_ knowing what he felt. He had wilfully, if not
+consciously, kept a gulf between his passional soul and his open
+mind. In his mind was pinned up a nice description of himself, and a
+description of Lottie, sort of authentic passports to be used in the
+conscious world. These authentic passports, self-describing: nose short,
+mouth normal, etc.; he had insisted that they should do all the duty
+of the man himself. This ready-made and very banal idea of himself as a
+really quite nice individual: eyes blue, nose short, mouth normal, chin
+normal; this he had insisted was really himself. It was his conscious
+mask.
+
+Now at last, after years of struggle, he seemed suddenly to have dropped
+his mask on the floor, and broken it. His authentic self-describing
+passport, his complete and satisfactory idea of himself suddenly became
+a rag of paper, ridiculous. What on earth did it matter if he was nice
+or not, if his chin was normal or abnormal.
+
+His mask, his idea of himself dropped and was broken to bits. There he
+sat now maskless and invisible. That was how he strictly felt: invisible
+and undefined, rather like Wells' _Invisible Man_. He had no longer a
+mask to present to people: he was present and invisible: they _could_
+not really think anything about him, because they could not really
+see him. What did they see when they looked at him? Lady Franks, for
+example. He neither knew nor cared. He only knew he was invisible to
+himself and everybody, and that all thinking about what he was like was
+only a silly game of Mrs. Mackenzie's Dead.
+
+So there. The old Aaron Sisson was as if painfully transmuted, as the
+Invisible Man when he underwent his transmutations. Now he was gone, and
+no longer to be seen. His visibility lost for ever.
+
+And then what? Sitting there as an invisible presence, the preconceived
+world melted also and was gone. Lady Franks, Sir William, all the
+guests, they talked and maneuvered with their visible personalities,
+manipulating the masks of themselves. And underneath there was something
+invisible and dying--something fading, wilting: the essential plasm of
+themselves: their invisible being.
+
+Well now, and what next? Having in some curious manner tumbled from the
+tree of modern knowledge, and cracked and rolled out from the shell of
+the preconceived idea of himself like some dark, night-lustrous chestnut
+from the green ostensibility of the burr, he lay as it were exposed but
+invisible on the floor, knowing, but making no conceptions: knowing,
+but having no idea. Now that he was finally unmasked and exposed,
+the accepted idea of himself cracked and rolled aside like a broken
+chestnut-burr, the mask split and shattered, he was at last quiet and
+free. He had dreaded exposure: and behold, we cannot be exposed, for we
+are invisible. We cannot be exposed to the looks of others, for our very
+being is night-lustrous and unseeable. Like the Invisible Man, we are
+only revealed through our clothes and our masks.
+
+In his own powerful but subconscious fashion Aaron realized this. He was
+a musician. And hence even his deepest _ideas_: were not word-ideas, his
+very thoughts were not composed of words and ideal concepts. They
+too, his thoughts and his ideas, were dark and invisible, as electric
+vibrations are invisible no matter how many words they may purport. If
+I, as a word-user, must translate his deep conscious vibrations into
+finite words, that is my own business. I do but make a translation of
+the man. He would speak in music. I speak with words.
+
+The inaudible music of his conscious soul conveyed his meaning in him
+quite as clearly as I convey it in words: probably much more clearly.
+But in his own mode only: and it was in his own mode only he realised
+what I must put into words. These words are my own affair. His mind was
+music.
+
+Don't grumble at me then, gentle reader, and swear at me that this
+damned fellow wasn't half clever enough to think all these smart things,
+and realise all these fine-drawn-out subtleties. You are quite right, he
+wasn't, yet it all resolved itself in him as I say, and it is for you to
+prove that it didn't.
+
+In his now silent, maskless state of wordless comprehension, he knew
+that he had never wanted to surrender himself utterly to Lottie: nor to
+his mother: nor to anybody. The last extreme of self-abandon in love was
+for him an act of false behaviour. His own nature inside him fated
+him not to take this last false step, over the edge of the abyss of
+selflessness. Even if he wanted to, he could not. He might struggle on
+the edge of the precipice like an assassin struggling with his own soul,
+but he could not conquer. For, according to all the current prejudice
+and impulse in one direction, he too had believed that the final
+achievement, the consummation of human life, was this flinging oneself
+over the precipice, down the bottomless pit of love. Now he realised
+that love, even in its intensest, was only an attribute of the human
+soul: one of its incomprehensible gestures. And to fling down the whole
+soul in one gesture of finality in love was as much a criminal suicide
+as to jump off a church-tower or a mountain-peak. Let a man give himself
+as much as he liked in love, to seven thousand extremities, he must
+never give himself _away_. The more generous and the more passionate a
+soul, the more it _gives_ itself. But the more absolute remains the law,
+that it shall never give itself away. Give thyself, but give thyself not
+away. That is the lesson written at the end of the long strange lane of
+love.
+
+The _idee fixe_ of today is that every individual shall not only give
+himself, but shall achieve the last glory of giving himself away. And
+since this takes two--you can't even make a present of yourself unless
+you've got somebody to receive the present; since this last extra-divine
+act takes two people to perform it, you've got to take into count not
+only your giver but your receiver. Who is going to be the giver and who
+the receiver.
+
+Why, of course, in our long-drawn-out Christian day, man is given and
+woman is recipient. Man is the gift, woman the receiver. This is the
+sacrament we live by; the holy Communion we live for. That man gives
+himself to woman in an utter and sacred abandon, all, all, all himself
+given, and taken. Woman, eternal woman, she is the communicant. She
+receives the sacramental body and spirit of the man. And when she's got
+it, according to her passionate and all-too-sacred desire, completely,
+when she possesses her man at last finally and ultimately, without
+blemish or reservation in the perfection of the sacrament: then, also,
+poor woman, the blood and the body of which she has partaken become
+insipid or nauseous to her, she is driven mad by the endless meal of the
+marriage sacrament, poisoned by the sacred communion which was her goal
+and her soul's ambition.
+
+We have pushed a process into a goal. The aim of any process is not
+the perpetuation of that process, but the completion thereof. Love is a
+process of the incomprehensible human soul: love also incomprehensible,
+but still only a process. The process should work to a completion, not
+to some horror of intensification and extremity wherein the soul and
+body ultimately perish. The completion of the process of love is the
+arrival at a state of simple, pure self-possession, for man and woman.
+Only that. Which isn't exciting enough for us sensationalists. We prefer
+abysses and maudlin self-abandon and self-sacrifice, the degeneration
+into a sort of slime and merge.
+
+Perhaps, truly, the process of love is never accomplished. But it moves
+in great stages, and at the end of each stage a true goal, where the
+soul possesses itself in simple and generous singleness. Without this,
+love is a disease.
+
+So Aaron, crossing a certain border-line and finding himself alone
+completely, accepted his loneliness or singleness as a fulfilment, a
+state of fulfilment. The long fight with Lottie had driven him at last
+to himself, so that he was quiet as a thing which has its root deep in
+life, and has lost its anxiety. As for considering the lily, it is not
+a matter of consideration. The lily toils and spins hard enough, in her
+own way. But without that strain and that anxiety with which we try
+to weave ourselves a life. The lily is life-rooted, life-central. She
+_cannot_ worry. She is life itself, a little, delicate fountain playing
+creatively, for as long or as short a time as may be, and unable to
+be anxious. She may be sad or sorry, if the north wind blows. But even
+then, anxious she cannot be. Whether her fountain play or cease to play,
+from out the cold, damp earth, she cannot be anxious. She may only be
+glad or sorry, and continue her way. She is perfectly herself, whatever
+befall! even if frosts cut her off. Happy lily, never to be saddled with
+an _idee fixe_, never to be in the grip of a monomania for happiness or
+love or fulfilment. It is not _laisser aller_. It is life-rootedness. It
+is being by oneself, life-living, like the much-mooted lily. One toils,
+one spins, one strives: just as the lily does. But like her, taking
+one's own life-way amidst everything, and taking one's own life-way
+alone. Love too. But there also, taking one's way alone, happily alone
+in all the wonders of communion, swept up on the winds, but never swept
+away from one's very self. Two eagles in mid-air, maybe, like Whitman's
+Dalliance of Eagles. Two eagles in mid-air, grappling, whirling, coming
+to their intensification of love-oneness there in mid-air. In mid-air
+the love consummation. But all the time each lifted on its own wings:
+each bearing itself up on its own wings at every moment of the mid-air
+love consummation. That is the splendid love-way.
+
+
+        ...............
+
+
+The party was festive at dinner-time, the women in their finest dresses,
+new flowers on the table, the best wine going. It was Sunday evening.
+Aaron too was dressed--and Lady Franks, in black lace and pearls, was
+almost gay. There were quails for dinner. The Colonel was quite happy.
+An air of conviviality gathered round the table during the course of the
+meal.
+
+"I hope," said Aaron, "that we shall have some music tonight."
+
+"I want so much to hear your flute," said his hostess.
+
+"And I your piano," he said.
+
+"I am very weak--very out of practise. I tremble at the thought of
+playing before a musician. But you must not be too critical."
+
+"Oh," said Aaron, "I am not a man to be afraid of."
+
+"Well, we will see," said Lady Franks. "But I am afraid of music
+itself."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "I think it is risky."
+
+"Risky! I don't see that! Music risky? Bach? Beethoven! No, I don't
+agree. On the contrary, I think it is most elevating--most morally
+inspiring. No, I tremble before it because it is so wonderful and
+elevating."
+
+"I often find it makes me feel diabolical," said he.
+
+"That is your misfortune, I am sure," said Lady Franks. "Please do take
+another--but perhaps you don't like mushrooms?"
+
+Aaron quite liked mushrooms, and helped himself to the _entree_.
+
+"But perhaps," said she, "you are too modern. You don't care for Bach or
+Beethoven or Chopin--dear Chopin."
+
+"I find them all quite as modern as I am."
+
+"Is that so! Yes. For myself I am quite old-fashioned--though I can
+appreciate Strauss and Stravinsky as well, some things. But my old
+things--ah, I don't think the moderns are so fine. They are not so deep.
+They haven't fathomed life so deeply." Lady Franks sighed faintly.
+
+"They don't care for depths," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they haven't the capacity. But I like big, deep music. Oh, I love
+orchestra. But my instrument is the piano. I like the great
+masters, Bach, Beethoven. They have such faith. You were talking of
+faith--believing that things would work out well for you in the end.
+Beethoven inspires that in me, too."
+
+"He makes you feel that all will be well with you at last?"
+
+"Yes, he does. He makes me feel faith in my PERSONAL destiny. And I do
+feel that there is something in one's special fate. I feel that I myself
+have a special kind of fate, that will always look after me."
+
+"And you can trust to it?"
+
+"Yes, I can. It ALWAYS turns out right. I think something has gone
+wrong--and then, it always turns out right. Why when we were in
+London--when we were at lunch one morning it suddenly struck me, haven't
+I left my fur cloak somewhere? It was rather cold, so I had taken it
+with me, and then never put it on. And I hadn't brought it home. I had
+left it somewhere. But whether in a taxi, or in a shop, or in a little
+show of pictures I had been to, I couldn't remember. I COULD NOT
+remember. And I thought to myself: have I lost my cloak? I went round
+to everywhere I could think of: no-trace of it. But I didn't give it
+up. Something prompted me not to give it up: quite distinctly, I felt
+something telling me that I should get it back. So I called at Scotland
+Yard and gave the information. Well, two days later I had a notice from
+Scotland Yard, so I went. And there was my cloak. I had it back. And
+that has happened to me almost every time. I almost always get my things
+back. And I always feel that something looks after me, do you know:
+almost takes care of me."
+
+"But do you mean when you lose things--or in your life?"
+
+"I mean when I lose things--or when I want to get something I want--I am
+very nearly ALWAYS successful. And I always feel there is some sort of
+higher power which does it for me."
+
+"Finds your cloak for you."
+
+"Yes. Wasn't it extraordinary? I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland
+Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you. And I always feel, as I say,
+that there is some higher power which helps me. Do you feel the same?"
+
+"No, not that way, worse luck. I lost a batch of music a month ago which
+didn't belong to me--and which I couldn't replace. But I never could
+recover it: though I'm sure nobody wanted it."
+
+"How very unfortunate! Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that gets
+stolen most."
+
+"I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren't all
+gifted alike with guardian angels."
+
+"Apparently not. And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you
+know, that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle."
+
+"For always recovering your property?"
+
+"Yes--and succeeding in my undertakings."
+
+"I'm afraid I had no fairy godmother."
+
+"Well--I think I had. And very glad I am of it."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at his hostess.
+
+So the dinner sailed merrily on.
+
+"But does Beethoven make you feel," said Aaron as an afterthought, "in
+the same way--that you will always find the things you have lost?"
+
+"Yes--he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be
+returned to me. Just as I found my cloak. And that if I enter into an
+undertaking, it will be successful."
+
+"And your life has been always successful?"
+
+"Yes--almost always. We have succeeded with almost everything."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at her again.
+
+But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her
+satisfaction. She had had her suffering, sure enough. But none the
+less, she was in the main satisfied. She sat there, a good hostess, and
+expected the homage due to her success. And of course she got it. Aaron
+himself did his little share of shoe-licking, and swallowed the taste of
+boot-polish with a grimace, knowing what he was about.
+
+The dinner wound gaily to an end. The ladies retired. Sir William left
+his seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next to
+Aaron, summoning the other three men to cluster near.
+
+"Now, Colonel," said the host, "send round the bottle."
+
+With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the port,
+actually port, in those bleak, post-war days!
+
+"Well, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "we will drink to your kind
+Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by so
+doing."
+
+"No, sir; no, sir! The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly. Mr. Sisson put
+his money on kindly fortune, I believe," said Arthur, who rosy and fresh
+with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous _bonne bouchee_ for a
+finely-discriminating cannibal.
+
+"Ah, yes, indeed! A much more ingratiating lady to lift our glasses to.
+Mr. Sisson's kindly fortune. _Fortuna gentil-issima_! Well, Mr. Sisson,
+and may your Lady Fortune ever smile on you."
+
+Sir William lifted his glass with an odd little smirk, some touch of a
+strange, prim old satyr lurking in his oddly inclined head. Nay, more
+than satyr: that curious, rather terrible iron demon that has fought
+with the world and wrung wealth from it, and which knows all about it.
+The devilish spirit of iron itself, and iron machines. So, with his
+strange, old smile showing his teeth rather terribly, the old knight
+glowered sightlessly over his glass at Aaron. Then he drank: the
+strange, careful, old-man's gesture in drinking.
+
+"But," said Aaron, "if Fortune is a female---"
+
+"Fortune! Fortune! Why, Fortune is a lady. What do you say, Major?"
+
+"She has all the airs of one, Sir William," said the Major, with the
+wistful grimness of his age and culture. And the young fellow stared
+like a crucified cyclops from his one eye: the black shutter being over
+the other.
+
+"And all the graces," capped Sir William, delighted with himself.
+
+"Oh, quite!" said the Major. "For some, all the airs, and for others,
+all the graces."
+
+"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, my boy," said Sir William. "Not that
+your heart is faint. On the contrary--as we know, and your country
+knows. But with Lady Fortune you need another kind of stout heart--oh,
+quite another kind."
+
+"I believe it, sir: and the kind of stout heart which I am afraid I
+haven't got," said the Major.
+
+"What!" said the old man. "Show the white feather before you've tackled
+the lady! Fill the Major's glass, Colonel. I am quite sure we will none
+of us ever say die."
+
+"Not likely. Not if we know it," said the Colonel, stretching himself
+heartily inside his tunic. He was becoming ruddier than the cherry.
+All he cared about at the moment was his gay little port glass. But
+the Major's young cheek was hollow and sallow, his one eye terribly
+pathetic.
+
+"And you, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "mean to carry all before you
+by taking no thought for the morrow. Well, now, we can only wish you
+success."
+
+"I don't want to carry all before me," said Aaron. "I should be sorry. I
+want to walk past most of it."
+
+"Can you tell us where to? I am intrigued, as Sybil says, to know where
+you will walk to. Come now. Enlighten us."
+
+"Nowhere, I suppose."
+
+"But is that satisfactory? Can you find it satisfactory?"
+
+"Is it even true?" said the Major. "Isn't it quite as positive an act to
+walk away from a situation as to walk towards it?"
+
+"My dear boy, you can't merely walk away from a situation. Believe that.
+If you walk away from Rome, you walk into the Maremma, or into the Alban
+Hills, or into the sea--but you walk into something. Now if I am going
+to walk away from Rome, I prefer to choose my direction, and therefore
+my destination."
+
+"But you can't," said the Major.
+
+"What can't you?"
+
+"Choose. Either your direction or your destination." The Major was
+obstinate.
+
+"Really!" said Sir William. "I have not found it so. I have not found
+it so. I have had to keep myself hard at work, all my life, choosing
+between this or that."
+
+"And we," said the Major, "have no choice, except between this or
+nothing."
+
+"Really! I am afraid," said Sir William, "I am afraid I am too old--or
+too young--which shall I say?--to understand."
+
+"Too young, sir," said Arthur sweetly. "The child was always father to
+the man, I believe."
+
+"I confess the Major makes me feel childish," said the old man. "The
+choice between this or nothing is a puzzler to me. Can you help me out,
+Mr. Sisson? What do you make of this this-or-nothing business? I can
+understand neck-or-nothing---"
+
+"I prefer the NOTHING part of it to the THIS part of it," said Aaron,
+grinning.
+
+"Colonel," said the old man, "throw a little light on this nothingness."
+
+"No, Sir William," said the Colonel. "I am all right as I am."
+
+"As a matter of fact, so are we all, perfectly A-one," said Arthur.
+
+Aaron broke into a laugh.
+
+"That's the top and bottom of it," he laughed, flushed with wine, and
+handsome. We're all as right as ninepence. Only it's rather nice to
+talk."
+
+"There!" said Sir William. "We're all as right as ninepence! We're all
+as right ninepence. So there well leave it, before the Major has time to
+say he is twopence short." Laughing his strange old soundless laugh, Sir
+William rose and made a little bow. "Come up and join the ladies in a
+minute or two," he said. Arthur opened the door for him and he left the
+room.
+
+The four men were silent for a moment--then the Colonel whipped up the
+decanter and filled his glass. Then he stood up and clinked glasses with
+Aaron, like a real old sport.
+
+"Luck to you," he said.
+
+"Thanks," said Aaron.
+
+"You're going in the morning?" said Arthur.
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"What train?" said Arthur.
+
+"Eight-forty."
+
+"Oh--then we shan't see you again. Well--best of luck."
+
+"Best of luck--" echoed the Colonel.
+
+"Same to you," said Aaron, and they all peered over their glasses and
+quite loved one another for a rosy minute.
+
+"I should like to know, though," said the hollow-cheeked young Major
+with the black flap over his eye, "whether you do really mean you are
+all right--that it is all right with you--or whether you only say so to
+get away from the responsibility."
+
+"I mean I don't really care--I don't a damn--let the devil take it all."
+
+"The devil doesn't want it, either," said the Major.
+
+"Then let him leave it. I don't care one single little curse about it
+all."
+
+"Be damned. What is there to care about?" said the Colonel.
+
+"Ay, what?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's all the same, whether you care or don't care. So I say it's much
+easier not to care," said Arthur.
+
+"Of course it is," said the Colonel gaily.
+
+"And I think so, too," said Aaron.
+
+"Right you are! We're all as right as ninepence--what? Good old sport!
+Here's yours!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"We shall have to be going up," said Arthur, wise in his generation.
+
+As they went into the hall, Arthur suddenly put one arm round Aaron's
+waist, and one arm round the Colonel's, and the three did a sudden
+little barn-dance towards the stairs. Arthur was feeling himself quite
+let loose again, back in his old regimental mess.
+
+Approaching the foot of the stairs, he let go again. He was in that rosy
+condition when united-we-stand. But unfortunately it is a complicated
+job to climb the stairs in unison. The whole lot tends to fall
+backwards. Arthur, therefore, rosy, plump, looking so good to eat, stood
+still a moment in order to find his own neatly-slippered feet. Having
+found them, he proceeded to put them carefully one before the other, and
+to his enchantment found that this procedure was carrying him magically
+up the stairs. The Colonel, like a drowning man, clutched feebly for the
+straw of the great stair-rail--and missed it. He would have gone under,
+but that Aaron's hand gripped his arm. So, orientating once more like
+a fragile tendril, he reached again for the banister rail, and got it.
+After which, lifting his feet as if they were little packets of sand
+tied to his trouser buttons, he manipulated his way upwards. Aaron was
+in that pleasant state when he saw what everybody else was doing and was
+unconscious of what he did himself. Whilst tall, gaunt, erect, like a
+murdered Hamlet resurrected in khaki, with the terrible black shutter
+over his eye, the young Major came last.
+
+Arthur was making a stern fight for his composure. His whole future
+depended on it. But do what he would, he could not get the flushed,
+pleased, mess-happy look off his face. The Colonel, oh, awful man, did
+a sort of plump roly-poly-cake-walk, like a fat boy, right to the
+very door of that santum-sanctorum, the library. Aaron was inwardly
+convulsed. Even the Major laughed.
+
+But Arthur stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat. All four
+started to compose themselves, like actors going on the stage, outside
+that library door. And then Arthur softly, almost wistfully, opened and
+held the door for the others to pass. The Colonel slunk meekly in, and
+sat in a chair in the background. The Major stalked in expressionless,
+and hovered towards the sofa where his wife sat.
+
+There was a rather cold-water-down-your-back feeling in the library.
+The ladies had been waiting for coffee. Sir William was waiting, too.
+Therefore in a little tension, half silent, the coffee was handed round.
+Lady Franks was discussing something with Arthur's wife. Arthur's
+wife was in a cream lace dress, and looking what is called lovely.
+The Major's wife was in amethyst chiffon with dark-red roses, and
+was looking blindingly beautiful. The Colonel was looking into his
+coffee-cup as wistfully as if it contained the illusion of tawny port.
+The Major was looking into space, as if there and there alone, etc.
+Arthur was looking for something which Lady Franks had asked for, and
+which he was much too flushed to find. Sir William was looking at Aaron,
+and preparing for another _coeur a coeur_.
+
+"Well," he said, "I doubt if you will care for Milan. It is one of the
+least Italian of all the towns, in my opinion. Venice, of course, is a
+thing apart. I cannot stand, myself, that miserable specimen the modern
+Roman. He has most of the vices of the old Romans and none of the
+virtues. The most congenial town, perhaps, for a stranger, is Florence.
+But it has a very bad climate."
+
+Lady Franks rose significantly and left the room, accompanied by
+Arthur's wife. Aaron knew, silently, that he was summoned to follow.
+His hostess had her eye on him this evening. But always postponing his
+obedience to the cool commands of women, he remained talking with his
+host in the library, and sipping _creme de menthe_! Came the ripple
+of the pianoforte from the open doorway down at the further end of the
+room. Lady Franks was playing, in the large drawing-room. And the ripple
+of the music contained in it the hard insistence of the little woman's
+will. Coldly, and decidedly, she intended there should be no more
+unsettling conversations for the old Sir William. Aaron was to come
+forthwith into the drawing room. Which Aaron plainly understood--and
+so he didn't go. No, he didn't go, though the pianoforte rippled and
+swelled in volume. No, and he didn't go even when Lady Franks left off
+playing and came into the library again. There he sat, talking with Sir
+William. Let us do credit to Lady Franks' will-power, and admit that the
+talk was quite empty and distracted--none of the depths and skirmishes
+of the previous occasions. None the less, the talk continued. Lady
+Franks retired, discomfited, to her piano again. She would never break
+in upon her lord.
+
+So now Aaron relented. He became more and more distracted. Sir William
+wandered away like some restless, hunted soul. The Colonel still sat in
+his chair, nursing his last drop of _creme de menthe_ resentfully. He
+did not care for the green toffee-stuff. Arthur was busy. The Major
+lay sprawled in the last stages of everything on the sofa, holding
+his wife's hand. And the music came pathetically through the open
+folding-doors. Of course, she played with feeling--it went without
+saying. Aaron's soul felt rather tired. But she had a touch of
+discrimination also.
+
+He rose and went to the drawing-room. It was a large, vacant-seeming,
+Empire sort of drawing-room, with yellow silk chairs along the walls and
+yellow silk panels upon the walls, and a huge, vasty crystal chandelier
+hanging from a faraway-above ceiling. Lady Franks sat at a large black
+Bechstein piano at one end of this vacant yellow state-room. She sat,
+a little plump elderly lady in black lace, for all the world like Queen
+Victoria in Max Beerbohm's drawing of Alfred Tennyson reading to her
+Victorian Majesty, with space before her. Arthur's wife was bending over
+some music in a remote corner of the big room.
+
+Aaron seated himself on one of the chairs by the wall, to listen.
+Certainly it was a beautiful instrument. And certainly, in her way, she
+loved it. But Aaron remembered an anthem in which he had taken part as a
+boy.
+
+
+                    His eye is on the sparrow
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+For a long time he had failed to catch the word _sparrow_, and had
+heard:
+
+
+                    His eye is on the spy-hole
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+Which was just how it had all seemed to him, as a boy.
+
+Now, as ever, he felt the eye was on the spy-hole. There sat the woman
+playing music. But her inward eye was on the spy-hole of her vital
+affairs--her domestic arrangements, her control of her household, guests
+and husband included. The other eye was left for the music, don't you
+know.
+
+Sir William appeared hovering in the doorway, not at all liking the
+defection of Mr. Aaron. Then he retreated. He seemed not to care for
+music. The Major's wife hovered--felt it her duty to _aude_, or play
+audience--and entered, seating herself in a breath of lilac and amethyst
+again at the near distance. The Major, after a certain beating about the
+bush, followed and sat wrapt in dim contemplation near his wife. Arthur
+luckily was still busy with something.
+
+Aaron of course made proper musical remarks in the intervals--Arthur's
+wife sorted out more pieces. Arthur appeared--and then the Colonel. The
+Colonel tip-toed beautifully across the wide blank space of the Empire
+room, and seated himself on a chair, rather in the distance, with his
+back to the wall, facing Aaron. When Lady Franks finished her piece,
+to everybody's amazement the Colonel clapped gaily to himself and said
+Bravo! as if at a Cafe Chantant, looking round for his glass. But there
+was no glass. So he crossed his neatly-khakied legs, and looked rapt
+again.
+
+Lady Franks started with a _vivace_ Schumann piece. Everybody listened
+in sanctified silence, trying to seem to like it. When suddenly our
+Colonel began to spring and bounce in his chair, slinging his loose leg
+with a kind of rapture up and down in the air, and capering upon his
+posterior, doing a sitting-down jig to the Schumann _vivace_. Arthur,
+who had seated himself at the farthest extremity of the room, winked
+with wild bliss at Aaron. The Major tried to look as if he noticed
+nothing, and only succeeded in looking agonised. His wife studied the
+point of her silver shoe minutely, and peeped through her hair at the
+performance. Aaron grimly chuckled, and loved the Colonel with real
+tenderness.
+
+And the game went on while the _vivace_ lasted. Up and down bounced the
+plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent toe
+higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig. Rosy
+and unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to. The
+broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way. Let him enjoy
+himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled
+salon. Aaron felt quite cheered up.
+
+"Well, now," he thought to himself, "this man is in entire command of
+a very important branch of the British Service in Italy. We are a great
+race still."
+
+But Lady Franks must have twigged. Her playing went rather stiff. She
+came to the end of the _vivace_ movement, and abandoned her piece.
+
+"I always prefer Schumann in his _vivace_ moods," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you?" said Lady Franks. "Oh, I don't know."
+
+It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing. Arthur seemed to get
+further away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote end
+of the room, near the gallery doors. The Colonel became quiet, pensive.
+The Major's wife eyed the young woman in white lace, and seemed not
+to care for lace. Arthur seemed to be trying to push himself backwards
+through the wall. Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and
+voluminous crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the
+room's centre. And Arthur's wife sang sweet little French songs, and _Ye
+Banks and Braes_, and _Caro mio ben_, which goes without saying: and so
+on. She had quite a nice voice and was quite adequately trained. Which
+is enough said. Aaron had all his nerves on edge.
+
+Then he had to play the flute. Arthur strolled upstairs with him,
+arm-in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
+
+"I find music in the home rather a strain, you know," said Arthur.
+
+"Cruel strain. I quite agree," said Aaron.
+
+"I don't mind it so much in the theatre--or even a concert--where
+there are a lot of other people to take the edge off-- But after a good
+dinner--"
+
+"It's medicine," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, you know, it really is, to me. It affects my inside." Aaron
+laughed. And then, in the yellow drawing-room, blew into his pipe and
+played. He knew so well that Arthur, the Major, the Major's wife, the
+Colonel, and Sir William thought it merely an intolerable bore. However,
+he played. His hostess even accompanied him in a Mozart bit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. XX SETTEMBRE
+
+
+Aaron was awakened in the morning by the soft entrance of the butler
+with the tray: it was just seven o'clock. Lady Franks' household was
+punctual as the sun itself.
+
+But our hero roused himself with a wrench. The very act of lifting
+himself from the pillow was like a fight this morning. Why? He
+recognized his own wrench, the pain with which he struggled under the
+necessity to move. Why shouldn't he want to move? Why not? Because he
+didn't want the day in front--the plunge into a strange country, towards
+nowhere, with no aim in view. True, he said that ultimately he wanted to
+join Lilly. But this was hardly more than a sop, an excuse for his own
+irrational behaviour. He was breaking loose from one connection after
+another; and what for? Why break every tie? Snap, snap, snap went the
+bonds and ligatures which bound him to the life that had formed him, the
+people he had loved or liked. He found all his affections snapping off,
+all the ties which united him with his own people coming asunder. And
+why? In God's name, why? What was there instead?
+
+There was nothingness. There was just himself, and blank nothingness.
+He had perhaps a faint sense of Lilly ahead of him; an impulse in that
+direction, or else merely an illusion. He could not persuade himself
+that he was seeking for love, for any kind of unison or communion. He
+knew well enough that the thought of any loving, any sort of real coming
+together between himself and anybody or anything, was just objectionable
+to him. No--he was not moving _towards_ anything: he was moving almost
+violently away from everything. And that was what he wanted. Only
+that. Only let him _not_ run into any sort of embrace with anything or
+anybody--this was what he asked. Let no new connection be made between
+himself and anything on earth. Let all old connections break. This was
+his craving.
+
+Yet he struggled under it this morning as under the lid of a tomb. The
+terrible sudden weight of inertia! He knew the tray stood ready by the
+bed: he knew the automobile would be at the door at eight o'clock, for
+Lady Franks had said so, and he half divined that the servant had also
+said so: yet there he lay, in a kind of paralysis in this bed. He
+seemed for the moment to have lost his will. Why go forward into more
+nothingness, away from all that he knew, all he was accustomed to and
+all he belonged to?
+
+However, with a click he sat up. And the very instant he had poured his
+coffee from the little silver coffee-pot into his delicate cup, he was
+ready for anything and everything. The sense of silent adventure took
+him, the exhilarated feeling that he was fulfilling his own
+inward destiny. Pleasant to taste was the coffee, the bread, the
+honey--delicious.
+
+The man brought his clothes, and again informed him that the automobile
+would be at the door at eight o'clock: or at least so he made out.
+
+"I can walk," said Aaron.
+
+"Milady ha comandato l'automobile," said the man softly.
+
+It was evident that if Milady had ordered it, so it must be.
+
+So Aaron left the still-sleeping house, and got into the soft and
+luxurious car. As he dropped through the park he wondered that Sir
+William and Lady Franks should be so kind to him: a complete stranger.
+But so it was. There he sat in their car. He wondered, also, as he ran
+over the bridge and into the city, whether this soft-running automobile
+would ever rouse the socialistic bile of the work-people. For the first
+time in his life, as he sat among the snug cushions, he realised what
+it might be to be rich and uneasy: uneasy, even if not afraid, lurking
+there inside an expensive car.--Well, it wasn't much of a sensation
+anyhow: and riches were stuffy, like wadded upholstery on everything. He
+was glad to get out into the fresh air of the common crowd. He was glad
+to be in the bleak, not-very-busy station. He was glad to be part of
+common life. For the very atmosphere of riches seems to be stuffed and
+wadded, never any real reaction. It was terrible, as if one's very body,
+shoulders and arms, were upholstered and made cushiony. Ugh, but he was
+glad to shake off himself the atmosphere of wealth and motor-cars, to
+get out of it all. It was like getting out of quilted clothes.
+
+"Well," thought Aaron, "if this is all it amounts to, to be rich, you
+can have riches. They talk about money being power. But the only sort of
+power it has over me is to bring on a kind of numbness, which I fairly
+hate. No wonder rich people don't seem to be really alive."
+
+The relief of escaping quite took away his self-conscious embarrassment
+at the station. He carried his own bags, bought a third-class ticket,
+and got into the train for Milan without caring one straw for the
+comments or the looks of the porters.
+
+It began to rain. The rain ran across the great plain of north Italy.
+Aaron sat in his wood-seated carriage and smoked his pipe in silence,
+looking at the thick, short Lombards opposite him without heeding
+them. He paid hardly any outward attention to his surroundings, but sat
+involved in himself.
+
+In Milan he had been advised to go to the Hotel Britannia, because it
+was not expensive, and English people went there. So he took a carriage,
+drove round the green space in front of Milan station, and away into the
+town. The streets were busy, but only half-heartedly so.
+
+It must be confessed that every new move he made was rather an effort.
+Even he himself wondered why he was struggling with foreign porters and
+foreign cabmen, being talked at and not understanding a word. But there
+he was. So he went on with it.
+
+The hotel was small and congenial. The hotel porter answered in English.
+Aaron was given a little room with a tiny balcony, looking on to a quiet
+street. So, he had a home of his own once more. He washed, and then
+counted his money. Thirty-seven pounds he had: and no more. He stood on
+the balcony and looked at the people going by below. Life seems to be
+moving so quick, when one looks down on it from above.
+
+Across the road was a large stone house with its green shutters all
+closed. But from the flagpole under the eaves, over the central window
+of the uppermost floor--the house was four storeys high--waved the
+Italian flag in the melancholy damp air. Aaron looked at it--the red,
+white and green tricolour, with the white cross of Savoy in the centre.
+It hung damp and still. And there seemed a curious vacancy in the
+city--something empty and depressing in the great human centre. Not that
+there was really a lack of people. But the spirit of the town seemed
+depressed and empty. It was a national holiday. The Italian flag was
+hanging from almost every housefront.
+
+It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Aaron sat in the restaurant
+of the hotel drinking tea, for he was rather tired, and looking through
+the thin curtains at the little square outside, where people passed:
+little groups of dark, aimless-seeming men, a little bit poorer
+looking--perhaps rather shorter in stature--but very much like the
+people in any other town. Yet the feeling of the city was so different
+from that of London. There seemed a curious emptiness. The rain had
+ceased, but the pavements were still wet. There was a tension.
+
+Suddenly there was a noise of two shots, fired in rapid succession.
+Aaron turned startled to look into the quiet piazza. And to his
+amazement, the pavements were empty, not a soul was in sight. Two
+minutes before the place was busy with passers-by, and a newspaper man
+selling the Corriere, and little carriages rattling through. Now, as if
+by magic, nobody, nothing. It was as if they had all melted into thin
+air.
+
+The waiter, too, was peeping behind the curtain. A carriage came
+trotting into the square--an odd man took his way alone--the traffic
+began to stir once more, and people reappeared as suddenly as they had
+disappeared. Then the waiter ran hastily and furtively out and craned
+his neck, peering round the square. He spoke with two youths--rather
+loutish youths. Then he returned to his duty in the hotel restaurant.
+
+"What was it? What were the shots?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"Oh--somebody shooting at a dog," said the man negligently.
+
+"At a dog!" said Aaron, with round eyes.
+
+He finished his tea, and went out into the town. His hotel was not far
+from the cathedral square. Passing through the arcade, he came in sight
+of the famous cathedral with its numerous spines pricking into the
+afternoon air. He was not as impressed as he should have been. And yet
+there was something in the northern city--this big square with all the
+trams threading through, the little yellow Continental trams: and the
+spiny bulk of the great cathedral, like a grey-purple sea-urchin with
+many spines, on the one side, the ornamental grass-plots and flower beds
+on the other: the big shops going all along the further strands, all
+round: and the endless restless nervous drift of a north Italian crowd,
+so nervous, so twitchy; nervous and twitchy as the slipping past of
+the little yellow tram-cars; it all affected him with a sense of
+strangeness, nervousness, and approaching winter. It struck him the
+people were afraid of themselves: afraid of their own souls, and that
+which was in their own souls.
+
+Turning up the broad steps of the cathedral, he entered the famous
+building. The sky had cleared, and the freshened light shone coloured in
+living tablets round the wonderful, towering, rose-hearted dusk of the
+great church. At some altars lights flickered uneasily. At some unseen
+side altar mass was going on, and a strange ragged music fluttered
+out on the incense-dusk of the great and lofty interior, which was all
+shadow, all shadow, hung round with jewel tablets of light. Particularly
+beautiful the great east bay, above the great altar. And all the time,
+over the big-patterned marble floor, the faint click and rustle of feet
+coming and going, coming and going, like shallow uneasy water rustled
+back and forth in a trough. A white dog trotted pale through the
+under-dusk, over the pale, big-patterned floor. Aaron came to the side
+altar where mass was going on, candles ruddily wavering. There was a
+small cluster of kneeling women--a ragged handful of on-looking men--and
+people wandering up and wandering away, young women with neatly dressed
+black hair, and shawls, but without hats; fine young women in very high
+heels; young men with nothing to do; ragged men with nothing to do.
+All strayed faintly clicking over the slabbed floor, and glanced at the
+flickering altar where the white-surpliced boys were curtseying and
+the white-and-gold priest bowing, his hands over his breast, in the
+candle-light. All strayed, glanced, lingered, and strayed away again, as
+if the spectacle were not sufficiently holding. The bell chimed for the
+elevation of the Host. But the thin trickle of people trickled the
+same, uneasily, over the slabbed floor of the vastly-upreaching
+shadow-foliaged cathedral.
+
+The smell of incense in his nostrils, Aaron went out again by a side
+door, and began to walk along the pavements of the cathedral square,
+looking at the shops. Some were closed, and had little notices pinned on
+them. Some were open, and seemed half-stocked with half-elegant things.
+Men were carrying newspapers. In the cafes a few men were seated
+drinking vermouth. In the doorway of the restaurants waiters stood
+inert, looking out on the streets. The curious heart-eating _ennui_ of
+the big town on a holiday came over our hero. He felt he must get out,
+whatever happened. He could not bear it.
+
+So he went back to his hotel and up to his room. It was still only five
+o'clock. And he did not know what to do with himself. He lay down on
+the bed, and looked at the painting on his bedroom ceiling. It was a
+terrible business in reckitt's blue and browny gold, with awful heraldic
+beasts, rather worm-wriggly, displayed in a blue field.
+
+As he lay thinking of nothing and feeling nothing except a certain
+weariness, or dreariness, or tension, or God-knows-what, he heard a loud
+hoarse noise of humanity in the distance, something frightening. Rising,
+he went on to his little balcony. It was a sort of procession, or march
+of men, here and there a red flag fluttering from a man's fist. There
+had been a big meeting, and this was the issue. The procession was
+irregular, but powerful, men four abreast. They emerged irregularly from
+the small piazza to the street, calling and vociferating. They stopped
+before a shop and clotted into a crowd, shouting, becoming vicious. Over
+the shop-door hung a tricolour, a national flag. The shop was closed,
+but the men began to knock at the door. They were all workmen, some
+in railway men's caps, mostly in black felt hats. Some wore red cotton
+neck-ties. They lifted their faces to the national flag, and as they
+shouted and gesticulated Aaron could see their strong teeth in their
+jaws. There was something frightening in their lean, strong Italian
+jaws, something inhuman and possessed-looking in their foreign,
+southern-shaped faces, so much more formed and demon-looking than
+northern faces. They had a demon-like set purpose, and the noise of
+their voices was like a jarring of steel weapons. Aaron wondered what
+they wanted. There were no women--all men--a strange male, slashing
+sound. Vicious it was--the head of the procession swirling like a little
+pool, the thick wedge of the procession beyond, flecked with red flags.
+
+A window opened above the shop, and a frowsty-looking man, yellow-pale,
+was quickly and nervously hauling in the national flag. There were
+shouts of derision and mockery--a great overtone of acrid derision--the
+flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared. And the procession moved
+on. Almost every shop had a flag flying. And every one of these flags
+now disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later, in obedience to the
+command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that marched and clotted slowly
+down the street, having its own way.
+
+Only one flag remained flying--the big tricolour that floated from the
+top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel. The ground floor of this
+house consisted of shop-premises--now closed. There was no sign of any
+occupant. The flag floated inert aloft.
+
+The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and
+all were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which
+stirred damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves of
+the house opposite. Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped almost
+unmoved from the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl itself
+up of its own accord, in obedience to the will of the masses. Then he
+looked down at the packed black shoulders of the mob below, and at the
+curious clustering pattern of a sea of black hats. He could hardly see
+anything but hats and shoulders, uneasily moving like boiling pitch away
+beneath him. But the shouts began to come up hotter and hotter. There
+had been a great ringing of a door-bell and battering on the shop-door.
+The crowd--the swollen head of the procession--talked and shouted,
+occupying the centre of the street, but leaving the pavement clear.
+A woman in a white blouse appeared in the shop-door. She came out and
+looked up at the flag and shook her head and gesticulated with her
+hands. It was evidently not her flag--she had nothing to do with it. The
+leaders again turned to the large house-door, and began to ring all
+the bells and to knock with their knuckles. But no good--there was
+no answer. They looked up again at the flag. Voices rose ragged and
+ironical. The woman explained something again. Apparently there was
+nobody at home in the upper floors--all entrance was locked--there was
+no caretaker. Nobody owned the flag. There it hung under the broad eaves
+of the strong stone house, and didn't even know that it was guilty.
+The woman went back into her shop and drew down the iron shutter from
+inside.
+
+The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle. The
+voices rose in pitch and derision. Steam was getting up. There hung the
+flag. The procession crowded forward and filled the street in a mass
+below. All the rest of the street was empty and shut up. And still hung
+the showy rag, red and white and green, up aloft.
+
+Suddenly there was a lull--then shouts, half-encouraging, half-derisive.
+And Aaron saw a smallish-black figure of a youth, fair-haired, not more
+than seventeen years old, clinging like a monkey to the front of the
+house, and by the help of the heavy drain-pipe and the stone-work
+ornamentation climbing up to the stone ledge that ran under ground-floor
+windows, up like a sudden cat on to the projecting footing. He did not
+stop there, but continued his race like some frantic lizard running up
+the great wall-front, working away from the noise below, as if in sheer
+fright. It was one unending wriggling movement, sheer up the front of
+the impassive, heavy stone house.
+
+The flag hung from a pole under one of the windows of the top
+storey--the third floor. Up went the wriggling figure of the possessed
+youth. The cries of the crowd below were now wild, ragged ejaculations
+of excitement and encouragement. The youth seemed to be lifted up,
+almost magically on the intense upreaching excitement of the massed men
+below. He passed the ledge of the first floor, like a lizard he wriggled
+up and passed the ledge or coping of the second floor, and there he was,
+like an upward-climbing shadow, scrambling on to the coping of the third
+floor. The crowd was for a second electrically still as the boy rose
+there erect, cleaving to the wall with the tips of his fingers.
+
+But he did not hesitate for one breath. He was on his feet and running
+along the narrow coping that went across the house under the third floor
+windows, running there on that narrow footing away above the street,
+straight to the flag. He had got it--he had clutched it in his hand, a
+handful of it. Exactly like a great flame rose the simultaneous yell of
+the crowd as the boy jerked and got the flag loose. He had torn it
+down. A tremendous prolonged yell, touched with a snarl of triumph, and
+searing like a puff of flame, sounded as the boy remained for one moment
+with the flag in his hand looking down at the crowd below. His face was
+odd and elated and still. Then with the slightest gesture he threw the
+flag from him, and Aaron watched the gaudy remnant falling towards the
+many faces, whilst the noise of yelling rose up unheard.
+
+There was a great clutch and hiss in the crowd. The boy still stood
+unmoved, holding by one hand behind him, looking down from above, from
+his dangerous elevation, in a sort of abstraction.
+
+And the next thing Aaron was conscious of was the sound of trumpets. A
+sudden startling challenge of trumpets, and out of nowhere a sudden rush
+of grey-green carabinieri battering the crowd wildly with truncheons. It
+was so sudden that Aaron _heard_ nothing any more. He only saw.
+
+In utmost amazement he saw the greeny-grey uniformed carabinieri rushing
+thick and wild and indiscriminate on the crowd: a sudden new excited
+crowd in uniforms attacking the black crowd, beating them wildly with
+truncheons. There was a seething moment in the street below. And almost
+instantaneously the original crowd burst into a terror of frenzy. The
+mob broke as if something had exploded inside it. A few black-hatted men
+fought furiously to get themselves free of the hated soldiers; in the
+confusion bunches of men staggered, reeled, fell, and were struggling
+among the legs of their comrades and of the carabinieri. But the bulk of
+the crowd just burst and fled--in every direction. Like drops of water
+they seemed to fly up at the very walls themselves. They darted into
+any entry, any doorway. They sprang up the walls and clambered into the
+ground-floor windows. They sprang up the walls on to window-ledges, and
+then jumped down again, and ran--clambering, wriggling, darting, running
+in every direction; some cut, blood on their faces, terror or frenzy
+of flight in their hearts. Not so much terror as the frenzy of running
+away. In a breath the street was empty.
+
+And all the time, there above on the stone coping stood the long-faced,
+fair-haired boy, while four stout carabinieri in the street below stood
+with uplifted revolvers and covered him, shouting that if he moved they
+would shoot. So there he stood, still looking down, still holding with
+his left hand behind him, covered by the four revolvers. He was not so
+much afraid as twitchily self-conscious because of his false position.
+
+Meanwhile down below the crowd had dispersed--melted momentaneously. The
+carabinieri were busy arresting the men who had fallen and been trodden
+underfoot, or who had foolishly let themselves be taken; perhaps half a
+dozen men, half a dozen prisoners; less rather than more. The sergeant
+ordered these to be secured between soldiers. And last of all the youth
+up above, still covered by the revolvers, was ordered to come down. He
+turned quite quietly, and quite humbly, cautiously picked his way along
+the coping towards the drain-pipe. He reached this pipe and began, in
+humiliation, to climb down. It was a real climb down.
+
+Once in the street he was surrounded by the grey uniforms. The soldiers
+formed up. The sergeant gave the order. And away they marched, the
+dejected youth a prisoner between them.
+
+Then were heard a few scattered yells of derision and protest, a few
+shouts of anger and derision against the carabinieri. There were once
+more gangs of men and groups of youths along the street. They sent up an
+occasional shout. But always over their shoulders, and pretending it was
+not they who shouted. They were all cowed and hang-dog once more, and
+made not the slightest effort to save the youth. Nevertheless, they
+prowled and watched, ready for the next time.
+
+So, away went the prisoner and the grey-green soldiers, and the street
+was left to the little gangs and groups of hangdog, discontented men,
+all thoroughly out of countenance. The scene was ended.
+
+Aaron looked round, dazed. And then for the first time he noticed, on
+the next balcony to his own, two young men: young gentlemen, he would
+have said. The one was tall and handsome and well-coloured, might be
+Italian. But the other with his pale thin face and his rimless monocle
+in his eye, he was surely an Englishman. He was surely one of the
+young officers shattered by the war. A look of strange, arch, bird-like
+pleasure was on his face at this moment: if one could imagine the
+gleaming smile of a white owl over the events that had just passed, this
+was the impression produced on Aaron by the face of the young man with
+the monocle. The other youth, the ruddy, handsome one, had knitted his
+brows in mock distress, and was glancing with a look of shrewd curiosity
+at Aaron, and with a look of almost self-satisfied excitement first to
+one end of the street, then to the other.
+
+"But imagine, Angus, it's all over!" he said, laying his hand on the arm
+of the monocled young man, and making great eyes--not without a shrewd
+glance in Aaron's direction.
+
+"Did you see him fall!" replied Angus, with another strange gleam.
+
+"Yes. But was he HURT--?"
+
+"I don't know. I should think so. He fell right back out of that on to
+those stones!"
+
+"But how perfectly AWFUL! Did you ever see anything like it?"
+
+"No. It's one of the funniest things I ever did see. I saw nothing quite
+like it, even in the war--"
+
+Here Aaron withdrew into his room. His mind and soul were in a whirl. He
+sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while. When
+he did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what. But strange,
+strange his soul passed into his instrument. Or passed half into his
+instrument. There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or to ferment
+into gold old wine of wisdom.
+
+He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the
+chamber-maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the
+restaurant. The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young
+Englishmen seated at a table in a corner just behind him. Their hair was
+brushed straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head
+bright and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in
+cameo. Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking
+round the room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some
+bird-creature, and seeming to see nothing. He had evidently been very
+ill: was still very ill. His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken,
+almost withered. He forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it.
+Probably the latter.
+
+"What do you think, Francis," he said, "of making a plan to see Florence
+and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going straight
+to Rome?" He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated words, in a
+public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South Wales.
+
+"Why, Angus," came the graceful voice of Francis, "I thought we had
+settled to go straight through via Pisa." Francis was graceful in
+everything--in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
+head, in the modulation of his voice.
+
+"Yes, but I see we can go either way--either Pisa or Florence. And I
+thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto.
+I believe they're very lovely," came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
+ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words "very lovely," as if it
+were a new experience to him to be using them.
+
+"I'm SURE they're marvellous. I'm quite sure they're marvellously
+beautiful," said Francis, in his assured, elegant way. "Well, then,
+Angus--suppose we do that, then?--When shall we start?"
+
+Angus was the nervous insister. Francis was quite occupied with his own
+thoughts and calculations and curiosity. For he was very curious, not
+to say inquisitive. And at the present moment he had a new subject to
+ponder.
+
+This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple, and
+who, with his fine sharp ears, caught every word that they said. Aaron's
+back was broad enough, and his shoulders square, and his head rather
+small and fairish and well-shaped--and Francis was intrigued. He wanted
+to know, was the man English. He _looked_ so English--yet he might
+be--he might perhaps be Danish, Scandinavian, or Dutch. Therefore, the
+elegant young man watched and listened with all his ears.
+
+The waiter who had brought Aaron his soup now came very free and easy,
+to ask for further orders.
+
+"What would you like to drink? Wine? Chianti? Or white wine? Or
+beer?"--The old-fashioned "Sir" was dropped. It is too old-fashioned
+now, since the war.
+
+"What SHOULD I drink?" said Aaron, whose acquaintance with wines was not
+very large.
+
+"Half-litre of Chianti: that is very good," said the waiter, with the
+air of a man who knew only too well how to bring up his betters, and
+train them in the way they should go.
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the
+waiter most desired. "All right! Yes! All Right!" This is the pith, the
+marrow, the sum and essence of the English language to a southerner. Of
+course it is not _all right_. It is _Or-rye_--and one word at that. The
+blow that would be given to most foreign waiters, if they were forced
+to realize that the famous _orye_ was really composed of two words, and
+spelt _all right_, would be too cruel, perhaps.
+
+"Half litre Chianti. Orye," said the waiter. And we'll let him say it.
+
+"ENGLISH!" whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. "I
+THOUGHT so. The flautist."
+
+Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of
+Aaron, without apparently seeing anything. "Yes. Obviously English,"
+said Angus, pursing like a bird.
+
+"Oh, but I heard him," whispered Francis emphatically. "Quite," said
+Angus. "But quite inoffensive."
+
+"Oh, but Angus, my dear--he's the FLAUTIST. Don't you remember? The
+divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin.--But
+PERFECTLY DIVINE!!! I adore the flute above all things--" And Francis
+placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes--Lay this to the
+credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like.
+
+"Yes. So do I," said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle,
+and seeing nothing. "I wonder what he's doing here."
+
+"Don't you think we might ASK him?" said Francis, in a vehement whisper.
+"After all, we are the only three English people in the place."
+
+"For the moment, apparently we are," said Angus. "But the English are
+all over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in the
+street. Don't forget that, Francesco."
+
+"No, Angus, I don't. The point is, his flute is PERFECTLY DIVINE--and he
+seems quite attractive in himself. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Oh, quite," said Angus, whose observations had got no further than the
+black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket. That there was a man inside
+he had not yet paused to consider.
+
+"Quite a musician," said Francis.
+
+"The hired sort," said Angus, "most probably."
+
+"But he PLAYS--he plays most marvellously. THAT you can't get away from,
+Angus."
+
+"I quite agree," said Angus.
+
+"Well, then? Don't you think we might hear him again? Don't you think we
+might get him to play for us?--But I should love it more than anything."
+
+"Yes, I should, too," said Angus. "You might ask him to coffee and a
+liqueur."
+
+"I should like to--most awfully. But do you think I might?"
+
+"Oh, yes. He won't mind being offered a coffee and liqueur. We can give
+him something decent--Where's the waiter?" Angus lifted his pinched,
+ugly bare face and looked round with weird command for the waiter. The
+waiter, having not much to do, and feeling ready to draw these two weird
+young birds, allowed himself to be summoned.
+
+"Where's the wine list? What liqueurs have you got?" demanded Angus
+abruptly.
+
+The waiter rattled off a list, beginning with Strega and ending with
+cherry brandy.
+
+"Grand Marnier," said Angus. "And leave the bottle."
+
+Then he looked with arch triumph at Francis, like a wicked bird. Francis
+bit his finger moodily, and glowered with handsome, dark-blue uncertain
+eyes at Mr. Aaron, who was just surveying the _Frutte_, which consisted
+of two rather old pomegranates and various pale yellow apples, with a
+sprinkling of withered dried figs. At the moment, they all looked like a
+_Natura Morta_ arrangement.
+
+"But do you think I might--?" said Francis moodily. Angus pursed his
+lips with a reckless brightness.
+
+"Why not? I see no reason why you shouldn't," he said. Whereupon Francis
+cleared his throat, disposed of his serviette, and rose to his feet,
+slowly but gracefully. Then he composed himself, and took on the air he
+wished to assume at the moment. It was a nice degage air, half naive and
+half enthusiastic. Then he crossed to Aaron's table, and stood on one
+lounging hip, gracefully, and bent forward in a confidential manner, and
+said:
+
+"Do excuse me. But I MUST ask you if it was you we heard playing the
+flute so perfectly wonderfully, just before dinner."
+
+The voice was confidential and ingratiating. Aaron, relieved from the
+world's stress and seeing life anew in the rosy glow of half a litre of
+good old Chianti--the war was so near but gone by--looked up at the dark
+blue, ingenuous, well-adapted eyes of our friend Francis, and smiling,
+said:
+
+"Yes, I saw you on the balcony as well."
+
+"Oh, did you notice us?" plunged Francis. "But wasn't it an
+extraordinary affair?"
+
+"Very," said Aaron. "I couldn't make it out, could you?"
+
+"Oh," cried Francis. "I never try. It's all much too new and complicated
+for me.--But perhaps you know Italy?"
+
+"No, I don't," said Aaron.
+
+"Neither do we. And we feel rather stunned. We had only just
+arrived--and then--Oh!" Francis put up his hand to his comely brow and
+rolled his eyes. "I feel perfectly overwhelmed with it still."
+
+He here allowed himself to sink friendlily into the vacant chair
+opposite Aaron's.
+
+"Yes, I thought it was a bit exciting," said Aaron. "I wonder what will
+become of him--"
+
+"--Of the one who climbed for the flag, you mean? No!--But wasn't it
+perfectly marvellous! Oh, incredible, quite incredible!--And then your
+flute to finish it all! Oh! I felt it only wanted that.--I haven't got
+over it yet. But your playing was MARVELLOUS, really marvellous. Do you
+know, I can't forget it. You are a professional musician, of course."
+
+"If you mean I play for a living," said Aaron. "I have played in
+orchestras in London."
+
+"Of course! Of course! I knew you must be a professional. But don't you
+give private recitals, too?"
+
+"No, I never have."
+
+"Oh!" cried Francis, catching his breath. "I can't believe it. But you
+play MARVELLOUSLY! Oh, I just loved it, it simply swept me away, after
+that scene in the street. It seemed to sum it all up, you know."
+
+"Did it," said Aaron, rather grimly.
+
+"But won't you come and have coffee with us at our table?" said Francis.
+"We should like it most awfully if you would."
+
+"Yes, thank you," said Aaron, half-rising.
+
+"But you haven't had your dessert," said Francis, laying a fatherly
+detaining hand on the arm of the other man. Aaron looked at the
+detaining hand.
+
+"The dessert isn't much to stop for," he said. "I can take with me what
+I want." And he picked out a handful of dried figs.
+
+The two went across to Angus' table.
+
+"We're going to take coffee together," said Francis complacently,
+playing the host with a suave assurance that was rather amusing and
+charming in him.
+
+"Yes. I'm very glad," said Angus. Let us give the show away: he was
+being wilfully nice. But he _was_ quite glad; to be able to be so nice.
+Anything to have a bit of life going: especially a bit of pleased life.
+He looked at Aaron's comely, wine-warmed face with gratification.
+
+"Have a Grand Marnier," he said. "I don't know how bad it is. Everything
+is bad now. They lay it down to the war as well. It used to be quite
+a decent drink. What the war had got to do with bad liqueurs, I don't
+know."
+
+Aaron sat down in a chair at their table.
+
+"But let us introduce ourselves," said Francis. "I am Francis--or really
+Franz Dekker--And this is Angus Guest, my friend."
+
+"And my name is Aaron Sisson."
+
+"What! What did you say?" said Francis, leaning forward. He, too, had
+sharp ears.
+
+"Aaron Sisson."
+
+"Aaron Sisson! Oh, but how amusing! What a nice name!"
+
+"No better than yours, is it?"
+
+"Mine! Franz Dekker! Oh, much more amusing, _I_ think," said Francis
+archly.
+
+"Oh, well, it's a matter of opinion. You're the double decker, not me."
+
+"The double decker!" said Francis archly. "Why, what do you mean!--"
+He rolled his eyes significantly. "But may I introduce my friend Angus
+Guest."
+
+"You've introduced me already, Francesco," said Angus.
+
+"So sorry," said Francis.
+
+"Guest!" said Aaron.
+
+Francis suddenly began to laugh.
+
+"May he not be Guest?" he asked, fatherly.
+
+"Very likely," said Aaron. "Not that I was ever good at guessing."
+
+Francis tilted his eyebrows. Fortunately the waiter arrived with the
+coffee.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis, "will you have your coffee black, or with
+milk?" He was determined to restore a tone of sobriety.
+
+The coffee was sipped in sober solemnity.
+
+"Is music your line as well, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, we're painters. We're going to work in Rome."
+
+"To earn your living?"
+
+"Not yet."
+
+The amount of discretion, modesty, and reserve which Francis put into
+these two syllables gave Aaron to think that he had two real young
+swells to deal with.
+
+"No," continued Francis. "I was only JUST down from Oxford when the
+war came--and Angus had been about ten months at the Slade--But I have
+always painted.--So now we are going to work, really hard, in Rome, to
+make up for lost time.--Oh, one has lost so much time, in the war. And
+such PRECIOUS time! I don't know if ever one will even be able to make
+it up again." Francis tilted his handsome eyebrows and put his head on
+one side with a wise-distressed look.
+
+"No," said Angus. "One will never be able to make it up. What is
+more, one will never be able to start again where one left off. We're
+shattered old men, now, in one sense. And in another sense, we're just
+pre-war babies."
+
+The speech was uttered with an odd abruptness and didacticism which made
+Aaron open his eyes. Angus had that peculiar manner: he seemed to be
+haranguing himself in the circle of his own thoughts, not addressing
+himself to his listener.
+
+So his listener listened on the outside edge of the young fellow's
+crowded thoughts. Francis put on a distressed air, and let his attention
+wander. Angus pursed his lips and his eyes were stretched wide with a
+kind of pleasure, like a wicked owl which has just joyfully hooted an
+ill omen.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis to Aaron. "Where were YOU all the time during
+the war?"
+
+"I was doing my job," said Aaron. Which led to his explaining his
+origins.
+
+"Really! So your music is quite new! But how interesting!" cried
+Francis.
+
+Aaron explained further.
+
+"And so the war hardly affected you? But what did you FEEL about it,
+privately?"
+
+"I didn't feel much. I didn't know what to feel. Other folks did such a
+lot of feeling, I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut."
+
+"Yes, quite!" said Angus. "Everybody had such a lot of feelings on
+somebody else's behalf, that nobody ever had time to realise what they
+felt themselves. I know I was like that. The feelings all came on to me
+from the outside: like flies settling on meat. Before I knew where I
+was I was eaten up with a swarm of feelings, and I found myself in the
+trenches. God knows what for. And ever since then I've been trying to
+get out of my swarm of feelings, which buzz in and out of me and have
+nothing to do with me. I realised it in hospital. It's exactly like
+trying to get out of a swarm of nasty dirty flies. And every one you
+kill makes you sick, but doesn't make the swarm any less."
+
+Again Angus pursed and bridled and looked like a pleased, wicked white
+owl. Then he polished his monocle on a very choice silk handkerchief,
+and fixed it unseeing in his left eye.
+
+But Francis was not interested in his friend's experiences. For Francis
+had had a job in the War Office--whereas Angus was a war-hero with
+shattered nerves. And let him depreciate his own experiences as much as
+he liked, the young man with the monocle kept tight hold on his prestige
+as a war hero. Only for himself, though. He by no means insisted that
+anyone else should be war-bitten.
+
+Francis was one of those men who, like women, can set up the sympathetic
+flow and make a fellow give himself away without realising what he is
+doing. So there sat our friend Aaron, amusingly unbosoming himself
+of all his history and experiences, drawn out by the arch, subtle
+attentiveness of the handsome Francis. Angus listened, too, with pleased
+amusedness on his pale, emaciated face, pursing his shrunken jaw. And
+Aaron sipped various glasses of the liqueur, and told all his tale as if
+it was a comedy. A comedy it seemed, too, at that hour. And a comedy no
+doubt it was. But mixed, like most things in this life. Mixed.
+
+It was quite late before this seance broke up: and the waiter itching to
+get rid of the fellows.
+
+"Well, now," said Francis, as he rose from the table and settled his
+elegant waist, resting on one hip, as usual. "We shall see you in the
+morning, I hope. You say you are going to Venice. Why? Have you some
+engagement in Venice?"
+
+"No," said Aaron. "I only was going to look for a friend--Rawdon Lilly."
+
+"Rawdon Lilly! Why, is he in Venice? Oh, I've heard SUCH a lot about
+him. I should like so much to meet him. But I heard he was in Germany--"
+
+"I don't know where he is."
+
+"Angus! Didn't we hear that Lilly was in Germany?"
+
+"Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe it was."
+
+Aaron looked rather blank.
+
+"But have you anything to take you to Venice? It's such a bad climate in
+the winter. Why not come with us to Florence?" said Francis.
+
+Aaron wavered. He really did not know what to do.
+
+"Think about it," said Francis, laying his hand on Aaron's arm. "Think
+about it tonight. And we'll meet in the morning. At what time?"
+
+"Any time," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, say eleven. We'll meet in the lounge here at eleven. Will that
+suit you? All right, then. It's so awfully nice meeting you. That
+marvellous flute.--And think about Florence. But do come. Don't
+disappoint us."
+
+The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+
+
+The next day but one, the three set off for Florence. Aaron had made
+an excursion from Milan with the two young heroes, and dined with them
+subsequently at the most expensive restaurant in the town. Then they
+had all gone home--and had sat in the young men's bedroom drinking
+tea, whilst Aaron played the flute. Francis was really musical, and
+enchanted. Angus enjoyed the novelty, and the moderate patronage he
+was able to confer. And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he was
+paying for his treat.
+
+So behold them setting off for Florence in the early morning. Angus and
+Francis had first-class tickets: Aaron took a third-class.
+
+"Come and have lunch with us on the train," said Angus. "I'll order
+three places, and we can lunch together."
+
+"Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station," said Aaron.
+
+"No, come and lunch with us. It will be much nicer. And we shall enjoy
+it as well," said Angus.
+
+"Of course! Ever so much nicer! Of course!" cried Francis. "Yes, why
+not, indeed! Why should you hesitate?"
+
+"All right, then," said Aaron, not without some feeling of constraint.
+
+So they separated. The young men settled themselves amidst the red plush
+and crochet-work, looking, with their hair plastered smoothly back,
+quite as first class as you could wish, creating quite the right
+impression on the porters and the travelling Italians. Aaron went to his
+third-class, further up the train.
+
+"Well, then, _au revoir_, till luncheon," cried Francis.
+
+The train was fairly full in the third and second classes. However,
+Aaron got his seat, and the porter brought on his bags, after disposing
+of the young men's luggage. Aaron gave the tip uneasily. He always hated
+tipping--it seemed humiliating both ways. And the airy aplomb of the
+two young cavaliers, as they settled down among the red plush and the
+obsequiousness, and said "Well, then, _au revoir_ till luncheon," was
+peculiarly unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
+
+"The porter thinks I'm their servant--their valet," said Aaron to
+himself, and a curious half-amused, half-contemptuous look flickered on
+his face. It annoyed him. The falsity occasioned by the difference in
+the price of the tickets was really humiliating. Aaron had lived long
+enough to know that as far as manhood and intellect went--nay, even
+education--he was not the inferior of the two young "gentlemen." He knew
+quite well that, as far as intrinsic nature went, they did not imagine
+him an inferior: rather the contrary. They had rather an exaggerated
+respect for him and his life-power, and even his origin. And yet--they
+had the inestimable cash advantage--and they were going to keep it. They
+knew it was nothing more than an artificial cash superiority. But they
+gripped it all the more intensely. They were the upper middle classes.
+They were Eton and Oxford. And they were going to hang on to their
+privileges. In these days, it is a fool who abdicates before he's forced
+to. And therefore:
+
+"Well, then--_au revoir_ till luncheon."
+
+They were being so awfully nice. And inwardly they were not
+condescending. But socially, they just had to be. The world is made like
+that. It wasn't their own private fault. It was no fault at all. It was
+just the mode in which they were educated, the style of their living.
+And as we know, _le style, c'est l'homme_.
+
+Angus came of very wealthy iron people near Merthyr. Already he had a
+very fair income of his own. As soon as the law-business concerning his
+father's and his grandfather's will was settled, he would be well off.
+And he knew it, and valued himself accordingly. Francis was the son of a
+highly-esteemed barrister and politician of Sydney, and in his day would
+inherit his father's lately-won baronetcy. But Francis had not very much
+money: and was much more class-flexible than Angus. Angus had been born
+in a house with a park, and of awful, hard-willed, money-bound people.
+Francis came of a much more adventurous, loose, excitable family, he had
+the colonial newness and adaptability. He knew, for his own part, that
+class superiority was just a trick, nowadays. Still, it was a trick that
+paid. And a trick he was going to play as long as it did pay.
+
+While Aaron sat, a little pale at the gills, immobile, ruminating these
+matters, a not very pleasant look about his nose-end, he heard a voice:
+
+"Oh, there you ARE! I thought I'd better come and see, so that we can
+fetch you at lunch time.--You've got a seat? Are you quite comfortable?
+Is there anything I could get you? Why, you're in a non-smoker!--But
+that doesn't matter, everybody will smoke. Are you sure you have
+everything? Oh, but wait just one moment--"
+
+It was Francis, long and elegant, with his straight shoulders and his
+coat buttoned to show his waist, and his face so well-formed and so
+modern. So modern, altogether. His voice was pleasantly modulated, and
+never hurried. He now looked as if a thought had struck him. He put a
+finger to his brow, and hastened back to his own carriage. In a minute,
+he returned with a new London literary magazine.
+
+"Something to read--I shall have to FLY--See you at lunch," and he had
+turned and elegantly hastened, but not too fast, back to his carriage.
+The porter was holding the door for him. So Francis looked pleasantly
+hurried, but by no means rushed. Oh, dear, no. He took his time. It was
+not for him to bolt and scramble like a mere Italian.
+
+The people in Aaron's carriage had watched the apparition of the elegant
+youth intently. For them, he was a being from another sphere--no doubt
+a young milordo with power wealth, and glamorous life behind him. Which
+was just what Francis intended to convey. So handsome--so very, very
+impressive in all his elegant calm showiness. He made such a _bella
+figura_. It was just what the Italians loved. Those in the first class
+regions thought he might even be an Italian, he was so attractive.
+
+The train in motion, the many Italian eyes in the carriage studied
+Aaron. He, too, was good-looking. But by no means as fascinating as
+the young milordo. Not half as sympathetic. No good at all at playing a
+role. Probably a servant of the young signori.
+
+Aaron stared out of the window, and played the one single British role
+left to him, that of ignoring his neighbours, isolating himself in
+their midst, and minding his own business. Upon this insular trick our
+greatness and our predominance depends--such as it is. Yes, they might
+look at him. They might think him a servant or what they liked. But he
+was inaccessible to them. He isolated himself upon himself, and there
+remained.
+
+It was a lovely day, a lovely, lovely day of early autumn. Over the
+great plain of Lombardy a magnificent blue sky glowed like mid-summer,
+the sun shone strong. The great plain, with its great stripes of
+cultivation--without hedges or boundaries---how beautiful it was!
+Sometimes he saw oxen ploughing. Sometimes. Oh, so beautiful, teams
+of eight, or ten, even of twelve pale, great soft oxen in procession,
+ploughing the dark velvety earth, a driver with a great whip at their
+head, a man far behind holding the plough-shafts. Beautiful the soft,
+soft plunging motion of oxen moving forwards. Beautiful the strange,
+snaky lifting of the muzzles, the swaying of the sharp horns. And the
+soft, soft crawling motion of a team of oxen, so invisible, almost, yet
+so inevitable. Now and again straight canals of water flashed blue. Now
+and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars rose and made avenues
+or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain. Their top boughs were
+spangled with gold and green leaf. Sometimes the vine-leaves were gold
+and red, a patterning. And the great square farm-homesteads, white,
+red-roofed, with their out-buildings, stood naked amid the lands,
+without screen or softening. There was something big and exposed about
+it all. No more the cosy English ambushed life, no longer the cosy
+littleness of the landscape. A bigness--and nothing to shelter the
+unshrinking spirit. It was all exposed, exposed to the sweep of plain,
+to the high, strong sky, and to human gaze. A kind of boldness, an
+indifference. Aaron was impressed and fascinated. He looked with
+new interest at the Italians in the carriage with him--for this same
+boldness and indifference and exposed gesture. And he found it in them,
+too. And again it fascinated him. It seemed so much bigger, as if the
+walls of life had fallen. Nay, the walls of English life will have to
+fall.
+
+Sitting there in the third-class carriage, he became happy again. The
+_presence_ of his fellow-passengers was not so hampering as in England.
+In England, everybody seems held tight and gripped, nothing is left
+free. Every passenger seems like a parcel holding his string as fast as
+he can about him, lest one corner of the wrapper should come undone
+and reveal what is inside. And every other passenger is forced, by
+the public will, to hold himself as tight-bound also. Which in the end
+becomes a sort of self-conscious madness.
+
+But here, in the third class carriage, there was no tight string round
+every man. They were not all trussed with self-conscious string as tight
+as capons. They had a sufficient amount of callousness and indifference
+and natural equanimity. True, one of them spat continually on the floor,
+in large spits. And another sat with his boots all unlaced and his
+collar off, and various important buttons undone. They did not seem to
+care if bits of themselves did show, through the gaps in the wrapping.
+Aaron winced--but he preferred it to English tightness. He was pleased,
+he was happy with the Italians. He thought how generous and natural they
+were.
+
+So the towns passed by, and the hours, and he seemed at last to have got
+outside himself and his old conditions. It seemed like a great escape.
+There was magic again in life--real magic. Was it illusion, or was it
+genuine? He thought it was genuine, and opened his soul a if there was
+no danger.
+
+Lunch-time came. Francis summoned Aaron down the rocking tram. The
+three men had a table to themselves, and all felt they were enjoying
+themselves very much indeed. Of course Francis and Angus made a great
+impression again. But in the dining car were mostly middle-class,
+well-to-do Italians. And these did not look upon our two young heroes as
+two young wonders. No, rather with some criticism, and some class-envy.
+But they were impressed. Oh, they were impressed! How should they not
+be, when our young gentlemen had such an air! Aaron was conscious all
+the time that the fellow-diners were being properly impressed by
+the flower of civilisation and the salt of the earth, namely, young,
+well-to-do Englishmen. And he had a faint premonition, based on
+experience perhaps, that fellow-passengers in the end never forgive the
+man who has "impressed" them. Mankind loves being impressed. It asks to
+be impressed. It almost forces those whom it can force to play a role
+and to make an impression. And afterwards, never forgives.
+
+When the train ran into Bologna Station, they were still in the
+restaurant car. Nor did they go at once to their seats. Angus had paid
+the bill. There was three-quarters-of-an-hour's wait in Bologna.
+
+"You may as well come down and sit with us," said Francis. "We've got
+nobody in our carriage, so why shouldn't we all stay together during the
+wait. You kept your own seat, I suppose."
+
+No, he had forgotten. So when he went to look for it, it was occupied
+by a stout man who was just taking off his collar and wrapping a white
+kerchief round his neck. The third class carriages were packed. For
+those were early days after the war, while men still had pre-war
+notions and were poor. Ten months would steal imperceptibly by, and the
+mysterious revolution would be effected. Then, the second class and the
+first class would be packed, indescribably packed, crowded, on all
+great trains: and the third class carriages, lo and behold, would be
+comparatively empty. Oh, marvellous days of bankruptcy, when nobody will
+condescend to travel third!
+
+However, these were still modest, sombre months immediately after the
+peace. So a large man with a fat neck and a white kerchief, and his
+collar over his knee, sat in Aaron's seat. Aaron looked at the man,
+and at his own luggage overhead. The fat man saw him looking and stared
+back: then stared also at the luggage overhead: and with his almost
+invisible north-Italian gesture said much plainer than words would have
+said it: "Go to hell. I'm here and I'm going to stop here."
+
+There was something insolent and unbearable about the look--and about
+the rocky fixity of the large man. He sat as if he had insolently taken
+root in his seat. Aaron flushed slightly. Francis and Angus strolled
+along the train, outside, for the corridor was already blocked with the
+mad Bologna rush, and the baggage belonging. They joined Aaron as he
+stood on the platform.
+
+"But where is YOUR SEAT?" cried Francis, peering into the packed and
+jammed compartments of the third class.
+
+"That man's sitting in it."
+
+"Which?" cried Francis, indignant.
+
+"The fat one there--with the collar on his knee."
+
+"But it was your seat--!"
+
+Francis' gorge rose in indignation. He mounted into the corridor. And in
+the doorway of the compartment he bridled like an angry horse rearing,
+bridling his head. Poising himself on one hip, he stared fixedly at the
+man with the collar on his knee, then at the baggage aloft. He looked
+down at the fat man as a bird looks down from the eaves of a house. But
+the man looked back with a solid, rock-like impudence, before which an
+Englishman quails: a jeering, immovable insolence, with a sneer round
+the nose and a solid-seated posterior.
+
+"But," said Francis in English--none of them had any Italian yet. "But,"
+said Francis, turning round to Aaron, "that was YOUR SEAT?" and he flung
+his long fore-finger in the direction of the fat man's thighs.
+
+"Yes!" said Aaron.
+
+"And he's TAKEN it--!" cried Francis in indignation.
+
+"And knows it, too," said Aaron.
+
+"But--!" and Francis looked round imperiously, as if to summon his
+bodyguard. But bodyguards are no longer forthcoming, and train-guards
+are far from satisfactory. The fat man sat on, with a sneer-grin,
+very faint but very effective, round his nose, and a solidly-planted
+posterior. He quite enjoyed the pantomime of the young foreigners. The
+other passengers said something to him, and he answered laconic. Then
+they all had the faint sneer-grin round their noses. A woman in the
+corner grinned jeeringly straight in Francis' face. His charm failed
+entirely this time: and as for his commandingness, that was ineffectual
+indeed. Rage came up in him.
+
+"Oh well--something must be done," said he decisively. "But didn't you
+put something in the seat to RESERVE it?"
+
+"Only that _New Statesman_--but he's moved it."
+
+The man still sat with the invisible sneer-grin on his face, and that
+peculiar and immovable plant of his Italian posterior.
+
+"Mais--cette place etait RESERVEE--" said Francis, moving to the direct
+attack.
+
+The man turned aside and ignored him utterly--then said something to the
+men opposite, and they all began to show their teeth in a grin.
+
+Francis was not so easily foiled. He touched the man on the arm. The man
+looked round threateningly, as if he had been struck.
+
+"Cette place est reservee--par ce Monsieur--" said Francis with hauteur,
+though still in an explanatory tone, and pointing to Aaron.
+
+The Italian looked him, not in the eyes, but between the eyes, and
+sneered full in his face. Then he looked with contempt at Aaron. And
+then he said, in Italian, that there was room for such snobs in the
+first class, and that they had not any right to come occupying the place
+of honest men in the third.
+
+"Gia! Gia!" barked the other passengers in the carriage.
+
+"Loro possono andare prima classa--PRIMA CLASSA!" said the woman in the
+corner, in a very high voice, as if talking to deaf people, and pointing
+to Aaron's luggage, then along the train to the first class carriages.
+
+"C'e posto la," said one of the men, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+There was a jeering quality in the hard insolence which made Francis go
+very red and Augus very white. Angus stared like a death's-head behind
+his monocle, with death-blue eyes.
+
+"Oh, never mind. Come along to the first class. I'll pay the difference.
+We shall be much better all together. Get the luggage down, Francis.
+It wouldn't be possible to travel with this lot, even if he gave up the
+seat. There's plenty of room in our carriage--and I'll pay the extra,"
+said Angus.
+
+He knew there was one solution--and only one--Money.
+
+But Francis bit his finger. He felt almost beside himself--and quite
+powerless. For he knew the guard of the train would jeer too. It is
+not so easy to interfere with honest third-class Bolognesi in Bologna
+station, even if they _have_ taken another man's seat. Powerless,
+his brow knitted, and looking just like Mephistopheles with his high
+forehead and slightly arched nose, Mephistopheles in a rage, he hauled
+down Aaron's bag and handed it to Angus. So they transferred themselves
+to the first-class carriage, while the fat man and his party in the
+third-class watched in jeering, triumphant silence. Solid, planted,
+immovable, in static triumph.
+
+So Aaron sat with the others amid the red plush, whilst the train
+began its long slow climb of the Apennines, stinking sulphurous through
+tunnels innumerable. Wonderful the steep slopes, the great chestnut
+woods, and then the great distances glimpsed between the heights,
+Firenzuola away and beneath, Turneresque hills far off, built of
+heaven-bloom, not of earth. It was cold at the summit-station, ice and
+snow in the air, fierce. Our travellers shrank into the carriage again,
+and wrapped themselves round.
+
+Then the train began its long slither downhill, still through a whole
+necklace of tunnels, which fortunately no longer stank. So down and
+down, till the plain appears in sight once more, the Arno valley. But
+then began the inevitable hitch that always happens in Italian travel.
+The train began to hesitate--to falter to a halt, whistling shrilly
+as if in protest: whistling pip-pip-pip in expostulation as it stood
+forlorn among the fields: then stealing forward again and stealthily
+making pace, gathering speed, till it had got up a regular spurt: then
+suddenly the brakes came on with a jerk, more faltering to a halt,
+more whistling and pip-pip-pipping, as the engine stood jingling with
+impatience: after which another creak and splash, and another choking
+off. So on till they landed in Prato station: and there they sat. A
+fellow passenger told them, there was an hour to wait here: an hour.
+Something had happened up the line.
+
+"Then I propose we make tea," said Angus, beaming.
+
+"Why not! Of course. Let us make tea. And I will look for water."
+
+So Aaron and Francis went to the restaurant bar and filled the little
+pan at the tap. Angus got down the red picnic case, of which he was so
+fond, and spread out the various arrangements on the floor of the coupe.
+He soon had the spirit-lamp burning, the water heating. Francis proposed
+that he and Aaron should dash into Prato and see what could be bought,
+whilst the tea was in preparation. So off they went, leaving Angus like
+a busy old wizard manipulating his arrangements on the floor of the
+carriage, his monocle beaming with bliss. The one fat fellow--passenger
+with a lurid striped rug over his knees watched with acute interest.
+Everybody who passed the doorway stood to contemplate the scene with
+pleasure. Officials came and studied the situation with appreciation.
+Then Francis and Aaron returned with a large supply of roast chestnuts,
+piping hot, and hard dried plums, and good dried figs, and rather stale
+rusks. They found the water just boiling, Angus just throwing in the
+tea-egg, and the fellow-passenger just poking his nose right in, he was
+so thrilled.
+
+Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of
+civilisation. The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs
+and rusks were spread out: Francis flew for salt to the man at the
+bar, and came back with a little paper of rock-salt: the brown tea was
+dispensed in the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-case:
+and the picnic was in full swing. Angus, being in the height of his
+happiness, now sat on the seat cross-legged, with his feet under him, in
+the authentic Buddha fashion, and on his face the queer rapt alert look,
+half a smile, also somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass of brown
+tea in his hand. He was as rapt and immobile as if he really were in
+a mystic state. Yet it was only his delight in the tea-party. The
+fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and said in broken French, was it
+good. In equally fragmentary French Francis said very good, and offered
+the fat passenger some. He, however, held up his hand in protest, as if
+to say not for any money would he swallow the hot-watery stuff. And he
+pulled out a flask of wine. But a handful of chestnuts he accepted.
+
+The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who
+protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively. The fellow
+passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began to
+smile good-naturedly. Then the fellow-passenger--he was stout and fifty
+and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees--pointed out the
+Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled again.
+And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too. So he put aside his
+rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes in his hands,
+and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him. But his knees
+were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril, and he could no
+more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself. So he desisted
+suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and official heads in
+the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their teeth and teasing
+him. But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes with admiration. They
+loved the novelty and the fun. And on the thin, elegant Angus in his new
+London clothes, they looked really puzzled, as he sat there immobile,
+gleaming through his monocle like some Buddha going wicked, perched
+cross-legged and ecstatic on the red velvet seat. They marvelled that
+the lower half of him could so double up, like a foot-rule. So they
+stared till they had seen enough. When they suddenly said "Buon
+'appetito," withdrew their heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and
+departed.
+
+Then the train set off also--and shortly after six arrived in Florence.
+It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence. The young men had
+engaged a room at Bertolini's hotel, on the Lungarno. Bertolini's was
+not expensive--but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure
+hotel life. However, he went along with the other two, trusting to find
+a cheaper place on the morrow.
+
+It was growing quite dark as they drove to the hotel, but still was
+light enough to show the river rustling, the Ponte Vecchio spanning its
+little storeys across the flood, on its low, heavy piers: and some sort
+of magic of the darkening, varied houses facing, on the other side of
+the stream. Of course they were all enchanted.
+
+"I knew," said Francis, "we should love it."
+
+Aaron was told he could have a little back room and pension terms for
+fifteen lire a day, if he stayed at least fifteen days. The exchange
+was then at forty-five. So fifteen lire meant just six-shillings-and-six
+pence a day, without extras. Extras meant wine, tea, butter, and light.
+It was decided he should look for something cheaper next day.
+
+By the tone of the young men, he now gathered that they would prefer it
+if he took himself off to a cheaper place. They wished to be on their
+own.
+
+"Well, then," said Francis, "you will be in to lunch here, won't you?
+Then we'll see you at lunch."
+
+It was as if both the young men had drawn in their feelers now. They
+were afraid of finding the new man an incubus. They wanted to wash their
+hands of him. Aaron's brow darkened.
+
+
+             "Perhaps it was right your love to dissemble
+              But why did you kick me down stairs?..."
+
+
+Then morning found him out early, before his friends had arisen. It was
+sunny again. The magic of Florence at once overcame him, and he forgot
+the bore of limited means and hotel costs. He went straight out of the
+hotel door, across the road, and leaned on the river parapet. There ran
+the Arno: not such a flood after all, but a green stream with shoals of
+pebbles in its course. Across, and in the delicate shadow of the early
+sun, stood the opposite Lungarno, the old flat houses, pink, or white,
+or grey stone, with their green shutters, some closed, some opened. It
+had a flowery effect, the skyline irregular against the morning light.
+To the right the delicate Trinita bridge, to the left, the old bridge
+with its little shops over the river. Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses
+of green, sky-bloomed country: Tuscany.
+
+There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows over
+the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and shouldering
+one another affectionately, drawing a load of country produce, then
+horses in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid palls, slowly
+pulling the long narrow carts of the district: and men hu-huing!--and
+people calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise of Florence.
+
+"Oh, Angus! Do come and look! OH, so lovely!"
+
+Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-silk
+pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the river
+towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if to catch
+there his cry of delight. The whole pose was classic and effective: and
+very amusing. How the Italians would love it!
+
+Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
+towards the Ponte Vecchio. He passed the bridge--and passed the
+Uffizi--watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato. Then he
+noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana--male
+and physical and melodramatic--and then the corner house. It was a big
+old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves. There was
+a notice plate by the door--"Pension Nardini."
+
+He came to a full stop. He stared at the notice-plate, stared at the
+glass door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead soldier
+on the arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; _Mentana_--and
+the date! Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was. Then at last
+he summoned his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the first
+stairs.
+
+He waited some time before anybody appeared. Then a maid-servant.
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into
+a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic
+grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour.
+Arrived at length a stout young lady--handsome, with big dark-blue
+Italian eyes--but anaemic and too stout.
+
+"Oh!" she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Good-morning," said Aaron awkwardly.
+
+"Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you
+know, to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady.
+Will you sit?"
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+"A room! Yes, you can."
+
+"What terms?"
+
+"Terms! Oh! Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension--if you stay--How
+long will you stay?"
+
+"At least a month, I expect."
+
+"A month! Oh yes. Yes, ten francs a day."
+
+"For everything?"
+
+"Everything. Yes, everything. Coffee, bread, honey or jam in the
+morning: lunch at half-past twelve; tea in the drawing-room, half-past
+four: dinner at half-past seven: all very nice. And a warm room with the
+sun--Would you like to see?"
+
+So Aaron was led up the big, rambling old house to the top floor--then
+along a long old corridor--and at last into a big bedroom with two
+beds and a red tiled floor--a little dreary, as ever--but the sun just
+beginning to come in, and a lovely view on to the river, towards the
+Ponte Vecchio, and at the hills with their pines and villas and verdure
+opposite.
+
+Here he would settle. The signorina would send a man for his bags, at
+half past two in the afternoon.
+
+At luncheon Aaron found the two friends, and told them of his move.
+
+"How very nice for you! Ten francs a day--but that is nothing. I am so
+pleased you've found something. And when will you be moving in?" said
+Francis.
+
+"At half-past two."
+
+"Oh, so soon. Yes, just as well.--But we shall see you from time to
+time, of course. What did you say the address was? Oh, yes--just near
+the awful statue. Very well. We can look you up any time--and you will
+find us here. Leave a message if we should happen not to be in--we've
+got lots of engagements--"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. FLORENCE
+
+
+The very afternoon after Aaron's arrival in Florence the sky became
+dark, the wind cold, and rain began steadily to fall. He sat in his big,
+bleak room above the river, and watched the pale green water fused with
+yellow, the many-threaded streams fuse into one, as swiftly the surface
+flood came down from the hills. Across, the dark green hills looked
+darker in the wet, the umbrella pines held up in vain above the villas.
+But away below, on the Lungarno, traffic rattled as ever.
+
+Aaron went down at five o'clock to tea, and found himself alone next a
+group of women, mostly Swedes or Danish or Dutch, drinking a peculiar
+brown herb-brew which tasted like nothing else on earth, and eating two
+thick bits of darkish bread smeared with a brown smear which hoped
+it was jam, but hoped in vain. Unhappily he sat in the gilt and red,
+massively ornate room, while the foreign women eyed him. Oh, bitter to
+be a male under such circumstances.
+
+He escaped as soon as possible back to his far-off regions, lonely and
+cheerless, away above. But he rather liked the far-off remoteness in
+the big old Florentine house: he did not mind the peculiar dark, uncosy
+dreariness. It was not really dreary: only indifferent. Indifferent
+to comfort, indifferent to all homeliness and cosiness. The over-big
+furniture trying to be impressive, but never to be pretty or bright
+or cheerful. There it stood, ugly and apart. And there let it
+stand.--Neither did he mind the lack of fire, the cold sombreness of his
+big bedroom. At home, in England, the bright grate and the ruddy fire,
+the thick hearth-rug and the man's arm-chair, these had been inevitable.
+And now he was glad to get away from it all. He was glad not to have a
+cosy hearth, and his own arm-chair. He was glad to feel the cold, and to
+breathe the unwarmed air. He preferred the Italian way of no fires, no
+heating. If the day was cold, he was willing to be cold too. If it was
+dark, he was willing to be dark. The cosy brightness of a real home--it
+had stifled him till he felt his lungs would burst. The horrors of real
+domesticity. No, the Italian brutal way was better.
+
+So he put his overcoat over his knee, and studied some music he had
+bought in Milan: some Pergolesi and the Scarlatti he liked, and some
+Corelli. He preferred frail, sensitive, abstract music, with not much
+feeling in it, but a certain limpidity and purity. Night fell as he sat
+reading the scores. He would have liked to try certain pieces on his
+flute. But his flute was too sensitive, it winced from the new strange
+surroundings, and would not blossom.
+
+Dinner sounded at last--at eight o'clock, or something after. He had to
+learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late. Down he went, down
+the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases. The dining room was
+right downstairs. But he had a little table to himself near the door,
+the elderly women were at some little distance. The only other men were
+Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife and child
+and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway down the
+room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
+
+However, the food was good enough, and sufficient, and the waiter and
+the maid-servant cheerful and bustling. Everything felt happy-go-lucky
+and informal, there was no particular atmosphere. Nobody put on any
+airs, because nobody in the Nardini took any notice if they did. The
+little ducal dog yapped, the ducal son shouted, the waiter dropped half
+a dozen spoons, the old women knitted during the waits, and all went
+off so badly that it was quite pleasant. Yes, Aaron preferred it to
+Bertolini's, which was trying to be efficient and correct: though not
+making any strenuous effort. Still, Bertolini's was much more up to
+the scratch, there was the tension of proper standards. Whereas here at
+Nardini's, nothing mattered very much.
+
+It was November. When he got up to his far-off room again, Aaron felt
+almost as if he were in a castle with the drawbridge drawn up. Through
+the open window came the sound of the swelling Arno, as it rushed and
+rustled along over its gravel-shoals. Lights spangled the opposite side.
+Traffic sounded deep below. The room was not really cold, for the summer
+sun so soaks into these thick old buildings, that it takes a month or
+two of winter to soak it out.--The rain still fell.
+
+In the morning it was still November, and the dawn came slowly. And
+through the open window was the sound of the river's rushing. But the
+traffic started before dawn, with a bang and a rattle of carts, and
+a bang and jingle of tram-cars over the not-distant bridge. Oh, noisy
+Florence! At half-past seven Aaron rang for his coffee: and got it at a
+few minutes past eight. The signorina had told him to take his coffee in
+bed.
+
+Rain was still falling. But towards nine o'clock it lifted, and he
+decided to go out. A wet, wet world. Carriages going by, with huge wet
+shiny umbrellas, black and with many points, erected to cover the driver
+and the tail of the horse and the box-seat. The hood of the carriage
+covered the fare. Clatter-clatter through the rain. Peasants with long
+wagons and slow oxen, and pale-green huge umbrellas erected for the
+driver to walk beneath. Men tripping along in cloaks, shawls, umbrellas,
+anything, quite unconcerned. A man loading gravel in the river-bed, in
+spite of the wet. And innumerable bells ringing: but innumerable bells.
+The great soft trembling of the cathedral bell felt in all the air.
+
+Anyhow it was a new world. Aaron went along close to the tall thick
+houses, following his nose. And suddenly he caught sight of the long
+slim neck of the Palazzo Vecchio up above, in the air. And in another
+minute he was passing between massive buildings, out into the Piazza
+della Signoria. There he stood still and looked round him in real
+surprise, and real joy. The flat empty square with its stone paving was
+all wet. The great buildings rose dark. The dark, sheer front of the
+Palazzo Vecchio went up like a cliff, to the battlements, and the slim
+tower soared dark and hawk-like, crested, high above. And at the foot
+of the cliff stood the great naked David, white and stripped in the wet,
+white against the dark, warm-dark cliff of the building--and near, the
+heavy naked men of Bandinelli.
+
+The first thing he had seen, as he turned into the square, was the back
+of one of these Bandinelli statues: a great naked man of marble, with a
+heavy back and strong naked flanks over which the water was trickling.
+And then to come immediately upon the David, so much whiter, glistening
+skin-white in the wet, standing a little forward, and shrinking.
+
+He may be ugly, too naturalistic, too big, and anything else you like.
+But the David in the Piazza della Signoria, there under the dark great
+palace, in the position Michelangelo chose for him, there, standing
+forward stripped and exposed and eternally half-shrinking, half--wishing
+to expose himself, he is the genius of Florence. The adolescent, the
+white, self-conscious, physical adolescent: enormous, in keeping with
+the stark, grim, enormous palace, which is dark and bare as he is white
+and bare. And behind, the big, lumpy Bandinelli men are in keeping too.
+They may be ugly--but they are there in their place, and they have their
+own lumpy reality. And this morning in the rain, standing unbroken, with
+the water trickling down their flanks and along the inner side of their
+great thighs, they were real enough, representing the undaunted physical
+nature of the heavier Florentines.
+
+Aaron looked and looked at the three great naked men. David so much
+white, and standing forward, self-conscious: then at the great splendid
+front of the Palazzo Vecchio: and at the fountain splashing water
+upon its wet, wet figures; and the distant equestrian statue; and the
+stone-flagged space of the grim square. And he felt that here he was in
+one of the world's living centres, here, in the Piazza della Signoria.
+The sense of having arrived--of having reached a perfect centre of the
+human world: this he had.
+
+And so, satisfied, he turned round to look at the bronze Perseus which
+rose just above him. Benvenuto Cellini's dark hero looked female, with
+his plump hips and his waist, female and rather insignificant: graceful,
+and rather vulgar. The clownish Bandinellis were somehow more to the
+point.--Then all the statuary in the Loggia! But that is a mistake. It
+looks too much like the yard of a monumental mason.
+
+The great, naked men in the rain, under the dark-grey November sky, in
+the dark, strong inviolable square! The wonderful hawk-head of the old
+palace. The physical, self-conscious adolescent, Michelangelo's David,
+shrinking and exposing himself, with his white, slack limbs! Florence,
+passionate, fearless Florence had spoken herself out.--Aaron was
+fascinated by the Piazza della Signoria. He never went into the town,
+nor returned from it to his lodging, without contriving to pass through
+the square. And he never passed through it without satisfaction. Here
+men had been at their intensest, most naked pitch, here, at the end of
+the old world and the beginning of the new. Since then, always rather
+puling and apologetic.
+
+Aaron felt a new self, a new life-urge rising inside himself. Florence
+seemed to start a new man in him. It was a town of men. On Friday
+morning, so early, he heard the traffic. Early, he watched the rather
+low, two-wheeled traps of the peasants spanking recklessly over the
+bridge, coming in to town. And then, when he went out, he found the
+Piazza della Signoria packed with men: but all, all men. And all
+farmers, land-owners and land-workers. The curious, fine-nosed Tuscan
+farmers, with their half-sardonic, amber-coloured eyes. Their curious
+individuality, their clothes worn so easy and reckless, their hats with
+the personal twist. Their curious full oval cheeks, their tendency to be
+too fat, to have a belly and heavy limbs. Their close-sitting dark hair.
+And above all, their sharp, almost acrid, mocking expression, the silent
+curl of the nose, the eternal challenge, the rock-bottom unbelief,
+and the subtle fearlessness. The dangerous, subtle, never-dying
+fearlessness, and the acrid unbelief. But men! Men! A town of men, in
+spite of everything. The one manly quality, undying, acrid fearlessness.
+The eternal challenge of the un-quenched human soul. Perhaps too acrid
+and challenging today, when there is nothing left to challenge. But
+men--who existed without apology and without justification. Men who
+would neither justify themselves nor apologize for themselves. Just men.
+The rarest thing left in our sweet Christendom.
+
+Altogether Aaron was pleased with himself, for being in Florence. Those
+were early days after the war, when as yet very few foreigners had
+returned, and the place had the native sombreness and intensity. So that
+our friend did not mind being alone.
+
+The third day, however, Francis called on him. There was a tap at the
+bedroom door, and the young man entered, all eyes of curiosity.
+
+"Oh, there you ARE!" he cried, flinging his hand and twisting his waist
+and then laying his hand on his breast. "Such a LONG way up to you! But
+miles--! Well, how are you? Are you quite all right here? You are?
+I'm so glad--we've been so rushed, seeing people that we haven't had a
+MINUTE. But not a MINUTE! People! People! People! Isn't it amazing how
+many there are, and how many one knows, and gets to know! But amazing!
+Endless acquaintances!--Oh, and such quaint people here! so ODD! So MORE
+than odd! Oh, extraordinary--!" Francis chuckled to himself over the
+extraordinariness. Then he seated himself gracefully at Aaron's table.
+"Oh, MUSIC! What? Corelli! So interesting! So very CLEVER, these people,
+weren't they!--Corelli and the younger Scarlatti and all that crowd."
+Here he closed the score again. "But now--LOOK! Do you want to know
+anybody here, or don't you? I've told them about you, and of course
+they're dying to meet you and hear you play. But I thought it best not
+to mention anything about--about your being hard-up, and all that. I
+said you were just here on a visit. You see with this kind of people I'm
+sure it's much the best not to let them start off by thinking you will
+need them at all--or that you MIGHT need them. Why give yourself away,
+anyhow? Just meet them and take them for what they're worth--and then
+you can see. If they like to give you an engagement to play at some
+show or other--well, you can decide when the time comes whether you
+will accept. Much better that these kind of people shouldn't get it into
+their heads at once that they can hire your services. It doesn't do.
+They haven't enough discrimination for that. Much best make rather
+a favour of it, than sort of ask them to hire you.--Don't you agree?
+Perhaps I'm wrong."
+
+Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine
+kindness of the young _beau_. And more still, he wondered at the
+profound social disillusionment. This handsome collie dog was something
+of a social wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment. But with genuine
+kindheartedness for another wolf. Aaron was touched.
+
+"Yes, I think that's the best way," he said.
+
+"You do! Yes, so do I. Oh, they are such queer people! Why is it, do
+you think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER--so
+ultra-English--INCREDIBLE!--and at the same time so perfectly
+impossible? But impossible! Pathological, I assure you.--And as for
+their sexual behaviour--oh, dear, don't mention it. I assure you it
+doesn't bear mention.--And all quite flagrant, quite unabashed--under
+the cover of this fanatical Englishness. But I couldn't begin to TELL
+you all the things. It's just incredible."
+
+Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and bear
+witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days. But a little
+gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry you anywhere.
+
+"Well now," said Francis. "What are you doing today?"
+
+Aaron was not doing anything in particular.
+
+"Then will you come and have dinner with us--?"
+
+Francis fixed up the time and the place--a small restaurant at the other
+end of the town. Then he leaned out of the window.
+
+"Fascinating place! Oh, fascinating place!" he said, soliloquy. "And
+you've got a superb view. Almost better than ours, I think.--Well then,
+half-past seven. We're meeting a few other people, mostly residents or
+people staying some time. We're not inviting them. Just dropping in,
+you know--a little restaurant. We shall see you then! Well then, _a
+rivederci_ till this evening.--So glad you like Florence! I'm simply
+loving it--revelling. And the pictures!--Oh--"
+
+The party that evening consisted all of men: Francis and Angus, and a
+writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee, and
+deaf Walter Rosen. They all snapped and rattled at one another, and
+were rather spiteful but rather amusing. Francis and Angus had to leave
+early. They had another appointment. And James Argyle got quite tipsy,
+and said to Aaron:
+
+"But, my boy, don't let yourself be led astray by the talk of such
+people as Algy. Beware of them, my boy, if you've a soul to save. If
+you've a soul to save!" And he swallowed the remains of his litre.
+
+Algy's nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked. "And if you've
+a soul to LOSE," he said, "I would warn you very earnestly against
+Argyle." Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide, that
+Aaron was almost scared. "Quite right, my boy. Ha! Ha! Never a truer
+thing said! Ha-ha-ha." Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy laugh.
+"They'll teach you to save. Never was such a lot of ripe old savers!
+Save their old trouser-buttons! Go to them if you want to learn to
+save. Oh, yes, I advise it seriously. You'll lose nothing--not even a
+reputation.--You may lose a SOUL, of course. But that's a detail, among
+such a hoard of banknotes and trouser-buttons. Ha-ha! What's a soul, to
+them--?"
+
+"What is it to you, is perhaps the more pertinent question," said Algy,
+flapping his eyelids like some crazy owl. "It is you who specialise in
+the matter of soul, and we who are in need of enlightenment--"
+
+"Yes, very true, you ARE! You ARE in need of enlightenment. A set of
+benighted wise virgins. Ha-ha-ha! That's good, that--benighted wise
+virgins! What--" Argyle put his red face near to Aaron's, and made a
+_moue_, narrowing his eyes quizzically as he peered up from under his
+level grey eyebrows. "Sit in the dark to save the lamp-oil--And all no
+good to them.--When the bridegroom cometh--! Ha-ha! Good that! Good,
+my boy!--The bridegroom--" he giggled to himself. "What about the
+bridegroom, Algy, my boy? Eh? What about him? Better trim your wick, old
+man, if it's not too late--"
+
+"We were talking of souls, not wicks, Argyle," said Algy.
+
+"Same thing. Upon my soul it all amounts to the same thing. Where's the
+soul in a man that hasn't got a bedfellow--eh?--answer me that! Can't be
+done you know. Might as well ask a virgin chicken to lay you an egg."
+
+"Then there ought to be a good deal of it about," said Algy.
+
+"Of what? Of soul? There ought to be a good deal of soul about?--Ah,
+because there's a good deal of--, you mean.--Ah, I wish it were so. I
+wish it were so. But, believe me, there's far more damned chastity in
+the world, than anything else. Even in this town.--Call it chastity, if
+you like. I see nothing in it but sterility. It takes a rat to praise
+long tails. Impotence set up the praise of chastity--believe me
+or not--but that's the bottom of it. The virtue is made out of the
+necessity.--Ha-ha-ha!--Like them! Like them! Ha-ha! Saving their souls!
+Why they'd save the waste matter of their bodies if they could. Grieves
+them to part with it.--Ha! ha!--ha!"
+
+There was a pause. Argyle was in his cups, which left no more to be
+said. Algy, quivering and angry, looked disconcertingly round the
+room as if he were quite calm and collected. The deaf Jewish Rosen was
+smiling down his nose and saying: "What was that last? I didn't catch
+that last," cupping his ear with his hand in the frantic hope that
+someone would answer. No one paid any heed.
+
+"I shall be going," said Algy, looking round. Then to Aaron he said,
+"You play the flute, I hear. May we hear you some time?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, non-committal.
+
+"Well, look here--come to tea tomorrow. I shall have some friends, and
+Del Torre will play the piano. Come to tea tomorrow, will you?"
+
+"Thank you, I will."
+
+"And perhaps you'll bring your flute along."
+
+"Don't you do any such thing, my boy. Make them entertain YOU, for
+once.--They're always squeezing an entertainment out of somebody--"
+and Argyle desperately emptied the remains of Algy's wine into his
+own glass: whilst Algy stood as if listening to something far off, and
+blinking terribly.
+
+"Anyhow," he said at length, "you'll come, won't you? And bring the
+flute if you feel like it."
+
+"Don't you take that flute, my boy," persisted Argyle. "Don't think of
+such a thing. If they want a concert, let them buy their tickets and go
+to the Teatro Diana. Or to Marchesa del Torre's Saturday morning. She
+can afford to treat them." Algy looked at Argyle, and blinked. "Well,"
+he said. "I hope you'll get home all right, Argyle."
+
+"Thank you for your courtesy, Algy. Won't you lend me your arm?"
+
+As Algy was small and frail, somewhat shaky, and as Argyle was a finely
+built, heavy man of fifty or more, the slap was unkind.
+
+"Afraid I can't tonight. Good-night--"
+
+Algy departed, so did little Mee, who had sat with a little delighted
+disapproval on his tiny, bird-like face, without saying anything. And
+even the Jew Rosen put away his deaf-machine and began awkwardly to take
+his leave. His long nose was smiling to itself complacently at all the
+things Argyle had been saying.
+
+When he, too, had gone, Argyle arched his brows at Aaron, saying:
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, what a lot they are!--Little Mee--looking like an
+innocent little boy. He's over seventy if he's a day. Well over seventy.
+Well, you don't believe me. Ask his mother--ask his mother. She's
+ninety-five. Old lady of ninety-five--" Argyle even laughed himself at
+his own preposterousness.
+
+"And then Algy--Algy's not a fool, you know. Oh, he can be most
+entertaining, most witty, and amusing. But he's out of place here. He
+should be in Kensington, dandling round the ladies' drawing rooms and
+making his _mots_. They're rich, you know, the pair of them. Little Mee
+used to boast that he lived on eleven-and-three-pence a week. Had to,
+poor chap. But then what does a white mouse like that need? Makes a
+heavy meal on a cheese-paring. Luck, you know--but of course he's
+come into money as well. Rich as Croesus, and still lives on
+nineteen-and-two-pence a week. Though it's nearly double, of course,
+what it used to be. No wonder he looks anxious. They disapprove of
+me--oh, quite right, quite right from their own point of view. Where
+would their money be otherwise? It wouldn't last long if I laid hands
+on it--" he made a devilish quizzing face. "But you know, they get on
+my nerves. Little old maids, you know, little old maids. I'm sure I'm
+surprised at their patience with me.--But when people are patient
+with you, you want to spit gall at them. Don't you? Ha-ha-ha! Poor old
+Algy.--Did I lay it on him tonight, or did I miss him?"
+
+"I think you got him," said Aaron.
+
+"He'll never forgive me. Depend on it, he'll never forgive me. Ha-ha! I
+like to be unforgiven. It adds ZEST to one's intercourse with people, to
+know that they'll never forgive one. Ha-ha-ha! Little old maids, who do
+their knitting with their tongues. Poor old Algy--he drops his stitches
+now. Ha-ha-ha!--Must be eighty, I should say."
+
+Aaron laughed. He had never met a man like Argyle before--and he could
+not help being charmed. The other man had a certain wicked whimsicality
+that was very attractive, when levelled against someone else, and not
+against oneself. He must have been very handsome in his day, with his
+natural dignity, and his clean-shaven strong square face. But now his
+face was all red and softened and inflamed, his eyes had gone small and
+wicked under his bushy grey brows. Still he had a presence. And his grey
+hair, almost gone white, was still handsome.
+
+"And what are you going to do in Florence?" asked Argyle.
+
+Aaron explained.
+
+"Well," said Argyle. "Make what you can out of them, and then go. Go
+before they have time to do the dirty on you. If they think you want
+anything from them, they'll treat you like a dog, like a dog. Oh,
+they're very frightened of anybody who wants anything of them:
+frightened to death. I see nothing of them.--Live by myself--see nobody.
+Can't stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties--simply can't
+stand it. No, I live alone--and shall die alone.--At least, I sincerely
+hope so. I should be sorry to have any of them hanging round."
+
+The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter--he had of course
+contracted malaria during the war--was looking purple round the eyes.
+But Argyle callously sat on. Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
+
+"Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming," said Argyle.
+
+He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat:
+and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he
+took his stick.
+
+"Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow," said Argyle. "I am frayed
+at the wrists--look here!" He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just
+frayed through. "I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only
+somebody would bring it out to me.--Ready then! _Avanti!_"
+
+And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the
+very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his
+hotel door.
+
+"But come and see me," said Argyle. "Call for me at twelve o'clock--or
+just before twelve--and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that
+all right?--Yes, come just before twelve.--When?--Tomorrow? Tomorrow
+morning? Will you come tomorrow?"
+
+Aaron said he would on Monday.
+
+"Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't
+you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. _I_ shan't forget.--Just
+before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In
+Paradise, as the porter always says. _Siamo nel paradiso_. But he's
+a _cretin_. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
+summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now--Monday, twelve
+o'clock."
+
+And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps
+to his hotel door.
+
+The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a very pleasant flat
+indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any woman's
+flat was kept. So today, with its bowls of flowers and its pictures and
+books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed, fluttering and
+blinking and making really a charming host, it was all very delightful
+to the little mob of visitors. They were a curious lot, it is true:
+everybody rather exceptional. Which though it may be startling, is so
+very much better fun than everybody all alike. Aaron talked to an old,
+old Italian elegant in side-curls, who peeled off his grey gloves and
+studied his formalities with a delightful Mid-Victorian dash, and told
+stories about a _plaint_ which Lady Surry had against Lord Marsh, and
+was quite incomprehensible. Out rolled the English words, like plums out
+of a burst bag, and all completely unintelligible. But the old _beau_
+was supremely satisfied. He loved talking English, and holding his
+listeners spell-bound.
+
+Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre, an American woman
+from the Southern States, who had lived most of her life in Europe. She
+was about forty years of age, handsome, well-dressed, and quiet in the
+buzz of the tea-party. It was evident she was one of Algy's lionesses.
+Now she sat by Aaron, eating nothing, but taking a cup of tea and
+keeping still. She seemed sad--or not well perhaps. Her eyes were
+heavy. But she was very carefully made up, and very well dressed, though
+simply: and sitting there, full-bosomed, rather sad, remote-seeming, she
+suggested to Aaron a modern Cleopatra brooding, Anthony-less.
+
+Her husband, the Marchese, was a little intense Italian in a colonel's
+grey uniform, cavalry, leather gaiters. He had blue eyes, his hair was
+cut very short, his head looked hard and rather military: he would have
+been taken for an Austrian officer, or even a German, had it not been
+for the peculiar Italian sprightliness and touch of grimace in his
+mobile countenance. He was rather like a gnome--not ugly, but odd.
+
+Now he came and stood opposite to Signor di Lanti, and quizzed him
+in Italian. But it was evident, in quizzing the old buck, the little
+Marchese was hovering near his wife, in ear-shot. Algy came up with
+cigarettes, and she at once began to smoke, with that peculiar heavy
+intensity of a nervous woman.
+
+Aaron did not say anything--did not know what to say. He was peculiarly
+conscious of the woman sitting next to him, her arm near his. She smoked
+heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of cloud on her level,
+dark brows. Her hair was dark, but a softish brown, not black, and her
+skin was fair. Her bosom would be white.--Why Aaron should have had this
+thought, he could not for the life of him say.
+
+Manfredi, her husband, rolled his blue eyes and grimaced as he laughed
+at old Lanti. But it was obvious that his attention was diverted
+sideways, towards his wife. Aaron, who was tired of nursing a tea-cup,
+placed in on a table and resumed his seat in silence. But suddenly the
+little Marchese whipped out his cigarette-case, and making a little bow,
+presented it to Aaron, saying:
+
+"Won't you smoke?"
+
+"Thank you," said Aaron.
+
+"Turkish that side--Virginia there--you see."
+
+"Thank you, Turkish," said Aaron.
+
+The little officer in his dove-grey and yellow uniform snapped his box
+shut again, and presented a light.
+
+"You are new in Florence?" he said, as he presented the match.
+
+"Four days," said Aaron.
+
+"And I hear you are musical."
+
+"I play the flute--no more."
+
+"Ah, yes--but then you play it as an artist, not as an accomplishment."
+
+"But how do you know?" laughed Aaron.
+
+"I was told so--and I believe it."
+
+"That's nice of you, anyhow--But you are a musician too."
+
+"Yes--we are both musicians--my wife and I."
+
+Manfredi looked at his wife. She flicked the ash off her cigarette.
+
+"What sort?" said Aaron.
+
+"Why, how do you mean, what sort? We are dilettanti, I suppose."
+
+"No--what is your instrument? The piano?"
+
+"Yes--the pianoforte. And my wife sings. But we are very much out of
+practice. I have been at the war four years, and we have had our home
+in Paris. My wife was in Paris, she did not wish to stay in Italy alone.
+And so--you see--everything goes--"
+
+"But you will begin again?"
+
+"Yes. We have begun already. We have music on Saturday mornings. Next
+Saturday a string quartette, and violin solos by a young Florentine
+woman--a friend--very good indeed, daughter of our Professor Tortoli,
+who composes--as you may know--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you care to come and hear--?"
+
+"Awfully nice if you would--" suddenly said the wife, quite simply, as
+if she had merely been tired, and not talking before.
+
+"I should like to very much--"
+
+"Do come then."
+
+While they were making the arrangements, Algy came up in his blandest
+manner.
+
+"Now Marchesa--might we hope for a song?"
+
+"No--I don't sing any more," came the slow, contralto reply.
+
+"Oh, but you can't mean you say that deliberately--"
+
+"Yes, quite deliberately--" She threw away her cigarette and opened her
+little gold case to take another.
+
+"But what can have brought you to such a disastrous decision?"
+
+"I can't say," she replied, with a little laugh. "The war, probably."
+
+"Oh, but don't let the war deprive us of this, as of everything else."
+
+"Can't be helped," she said. "I have no choice in the matter. The bird
+has flown--" She spoke with a certain heavy languor.
+
+"You mean the bird of your voice? Oh, but that is quite impossible. One
+can hear it calling out of the leaves every time you speak."
+
+"I'm afraid you can't get him to do any more than call out of the
+leaves."
+
+"But--but--pardon me--is it because you don't intend there should be any
+more song? Is that your intention?"
+
+"That I couldn't say," said the Marchesa, smoking, smoking.
+
+"Yes," said Manfredi. "At the present time it is because she WILL
+not--not because she cannot. It is her will, as you say."
+
+"Dear me! Dear me!" said Algy. "But this is really another disaster
+added to the war list.--But--but--will none of us ever be able to
+persuade you?" He smiled half cajoling, half pathetic, with a prodigious
+flapping of his eyes.
+
+"I don't know," said she. "That will be as it must be."
+
+"Then can't we say it must be SONG once more?"
+
+To this sally she merely laughed, and pressed out her half-smoked
+cigarette.
+
+"How very disappointing! How very cruel of--of fate--and the
+war--and--and all the sum total of evils," said Algy.
+
+"Perhaps--" here the little and piquant host turned to Aaron.
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Sisson, your flute might call out the bird of song. As
+thrushes call each other into challenge, you know. Don't you think that
+is very probable?"
+
+"I have no idea," said Aaron.
+
+"But you, Marchesa. Won't you give us hope that it might be so?"
+
+"I've no idea, either," said she. "But I should very much like to hear
+Mr. Sisson's flute. It's an instrument I like extremely."
+
+"There now. You see you may work the miracle, Mr. Sisson. Won't you play
+to us?"
+
+"I'm afraid I didn't bring my flute along," said Aaron "I didn't want to
+arrive with a little bag."
+
+"Quite!" said Algy. "What a pity it wouldn't go in your pocket."
+
+"Not music and all," said Aaron.
+
+"Dear me! What a _comble_ of disappointment. I never felt so strongly,
+Marchesa, that the old life and the old world had collapsed.--Really--I
+shall soon have to try to give up being cheerful at all."
+
+"Don't do that," said the Marchesa. "It isn't worth the effort."
+
+"Ah! I'm glad you find it so. Then I have hope."
+
+She merely smiled, indifferent.
+
+The teaparty began to break up--Aaron found himself going down the
+stairs with the Marchesa and her husband. They descended all three in
+silence, husband and wife in front. Once outside the door, the husband
+asked:
+
+"How shall we go home, dear? Tram or carriage--?" It was evident he was
+economical.
+
+"Walk," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Aaron. "We are all going
+the same way, I believe."
+
+Aaron said where he lived. They were just across the river. And so all
+three proceeded to walk through the town.
+
+"You are sure it won't be too much for you--too far?" said the little
+officer, taking his wife's arm solicitously. She was taller than he. But
+he was a spirited fellow.
+
+"No, I feel like walking."
+
+"So long as you don't have to pay for it afterwards."
+
+Aaron gathered that she was not well. Yet she did not look ill--unless
+it were nerves. She had that peculiar heavy remote quality of
+pre-occupation and neurosis.
+
+The streets of Florence were very full this Sunday evening, almost
+impassable, crowded particularly with gangs of grey-green soldiers. The
+three made their way brokenly, and with difficulty. The Italian was in a
+constant state of returning salutes. The grey-green, sturdy, unsoldierly
+soldiers looked at the woman as she passed.
+
+"I am sure you had better take a carriage," said Manfredi.
+
+"No--I don't mind it."
+
+"Do you feel at home in Florence?" Aaron asked her.
+
+"Yes--as much as anywhere. Oh, yes--quite at home."
+
+"Do you like it as well as anywhere?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--for a time. Paris for the most part."
+
+"Never America?"
+
+"No, never America. I came when I was quite a little girl to
+Europe--Madrid--Constantinople--Paris. I hardly knew America at all."
+
+Aaron remembered that Francis had told him, the Marchesa's father had
+been ambassador to Paris.
+
+"So you feel you have no country of your own?"
+
+"I have Italy. I am Italian now, you know."
+
+Aaron wondered why she spoke so muted, so numbed. Manfredi seemed really
+attached to her--and she to him. They were so simple with one another.
+
+They came towards the bridge where they should part.
+
+"Won't you come and have a cocktail?" she said.
+
+"Now?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes. This is the right time for a cocktail. What time is it, Manfredi?"
+
+"Half past six. Do come and have one with us," said the Italian. "We
+always take one about this time."
+
+Aaron continued with them over the bridge. They had the first floor of
+an old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill. A man-servant opened
+the door.
+
+"If only it will be warm," she said. "The apartment is almost impossible
+to keep warm. We will sit in the little room."
+
+Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a
+mixture of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort. The
+Marchesa went away to take off her wraps, and the Marchese chatted with
+Aaron. The little officer was amiable and kind, and it was evident he
+liked his guest.
+
+"Would you like to see the room where we have music?" he said. "It is
+a fine room for the purpose--we used before the war to have music
+every Saturday morning, from ten to twelve: and all friends might come.
+Usually we had fifteen or twenty people. Now we are starting again. I
+myself enjoy it so much. I am afraid my wife isn't so enthusiastic as
+she used to be. I wish something would rouse her up, you know. The war
+seemed to take her life away. Here in Florence are so many amateurs.
+Very good indeed. We can have very good chamber-music indeed. I hope it
+will cheer her up and make her quite herself again. I was away for such
+long periods, at the front.--And it was not good for her to be alone.--I
+am hoping now all will be better."
+
+So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the
+long salon. It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire
+period--beautiful old faded tapestry panels--reddish--and some ormolu
+furniture--and other things mixed in--rather conglomerate, but pleasing,
+all the more pleasing. It was big, not too empty, and seemed to belong
+to human life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing
+it.
+
+"Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this," he said. "But
+I prefer this. I prefer it here." There was a certain wistfulness as he
+looked round, then began to switch off the lights.
+
+They returned to the little salotta. The Marchesa was seated in a low
+chair. She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her
+throat. She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout.
+
+"Make the cocktails then, Manfredi," she said. "Do you find this room
+very cold?" she asked of Aaron.
+
+"Not a bit cold," he said.
+
+"The stove goes all the time," she said, "but without much effect."
+
+"You wear such thin clothes," he said.
+
+"Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough. Do sit down. Will you smoke?
+There are cigarettes--and cigars, if you prefer them."
+
+"No, I've got my own, thanks."
+
+She took her own cigarette from her gold case.
+
+"It is a fine room, for music, the big room," said he.
+
+"Yes, quite. Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?"
+
+"Do you want me to? I mean does it interest you?"
+
+"What--the flute?"
+
+"No--music altogether--"
+
+"Music altogether--! Well! I used to love it. Now--I'm not sure.
+Manfredi lives for it, almost."
+
+"For that and nothing else?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, no! No, no! Other things as well."
+
+"But you don't like it much any more?"
+
+"I don't know. Perhaps I don't. I'm not sure."
+
+"You don't look forward to the Saturday mornings?" he asked.
+
+"Perhaps I don't--but for Manfredi's sake, of course, I do. But for his
+sake more than my own, I admit. And I think he knows it."
+
+"A crowd of people in one's house--" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, the people. But it's not only that. It's the music itself--I think
+I can't stand it any more. I don't know."
+
+"Too emotional? Too much feeling for you?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps. But no. What I can't stand is chords, you know:
+harmonies. A number of sounds all sounding together. It just makes me
+ill. It makes me feel so sick."
+
+"What--do you want discords?--dissonances?"
+
+"No--they are nearly as bad. No, it's just when any number of musical
+notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords. Even a
+single chord struck on the piano. It makes me feel sick. I just feel as
+if I should retch. Isn't it strange? Of course, I don't tell Manfredi.
+It would be too cruel to him. It would cut his life in two."
+
+"But then why do you have the music--the Saturdays--then?"
+
+"Oh, I just keep out of the way as much as possible. I'm sure you feel
+there is something wrong with me, that I take it as I do," she added, as
+if anxious: but half ironical.
+
+"No--I was just wondering--I believe I feel something the same myself. I
+know orchestra makes me blind with hate or I don't know what. But I want
+to throw bombs."
+
+"There now. It does that to me, too. Only now it has fairly got me down,
+and I feel nothing but helpless nausea. You know, like when you are
+seasick."
+
+Her dark-blue, heavy, haunted-looking eyes were resting on him as if
+she hoped for something. He watched her face steadily, a curious
+intelligence flickering on his own.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I understand it. And I know, at the bottom, I'm like
+that. But I keep myself from realising, don't you know? Else perhaps,
+where should I be? Because I make my life and my living at it, as well."
+
+"At music! Do you! But how bad for you. But perhaps the flute is
+different. I have a feeling that it is. I can think of one single
+pipe-note--yes, I can think of it quite, quite calmly. And I can't even
+think of the piano, or of the violin with its tremolo, or of orchestra,
+or of a string quartette--or even a military band--I can't think of
+it without a shudder. I can only bear drum-and-fife. Isn't it crazy of
+me--but from the other, from what we call music proper, I've endured too
+much. But bring your flute one day. Bring it, will you? And let me hear
+it quite alone. Quite, quite alone. I think it might do me an awful lot
+of good. I do, really. I can imagine it." She closed her eyes and her
+strange, sing-song lapsing voice came to an end. She spoke almost like
+one in a trance--or a sleep-walker.
+
+"I've got it now in my overcoat pocket," he said, "if you like."
+
+"Have you? Yes!" She was never hurried: always slow and resonant, so
+that the echoes of her voice seemed to linger. "Yes--do get it. Do get
+it. And play in the other room--quite--quite without accompaniment.
+Do--and try me."
+
+"And you will tell me what you feel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron went out to his overcoat. When he returned with his flute, which
+he was screwing together, Manfredi had come with the tray and the three
+cocktails. The Marchesa took her glass.
+
+"Listen, Manfredi," she said. "Mr. Sisson is going to play, quite alone
+in the sala. And I am going to sit here and listen."
+
+"Very well," said Manfredi. "Drink your cocktail first. Are you going to
+play without music?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll just put on the lights for you."
+
+"No--leave it dark. Enough light will come in from here."
+
+"Sure?" said Manfredi.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The little soldier was an intruder at the moment. Both the others felt
+it so. But they bore him no grudge. They knew it was they who were
+exceptional, not he. Aaron swallowed his drink, and looked towards the
+door.
+
+"Sit down, Manfredi. Sit still," said the Marchesa.
+
+"Won't you let me try some accompaniment?" said the soldier.
+
+"No. I shall just play a little thing from memory," said Aaron.
+
+"Sit down, dear. Sit down," said the Marchesa to her husband.
+
+He seated himself obediently. The flash of bright yellow on the grey of
+his uniform seemed to make him like a chaffinch or a gnome.
+
+Aaron retired to the other room, and waited awhile, to get back the
+spell which connected him with the woman, and gave the two of them this
+strange isolation, beyond the bounds of life, as it seemed.
+
+He caught it again. And there, in the darkness of the big room, he put
+his flute to his lips, and began to play. It was a clear, sharp, lilted
+run-and-fall of notes, not a tune in any sense of the word, and yet
+a melody, a bright, quick sound of pure animation, a bright, quick,
+animate noise, running and pausing. It was like a bird's singing, in
+that it had no human emotion or passion or intention or meaning--a
+ripple and poise of animate sound. But it was unlike a bird's singing,
+in that the notes followed clear and single one after the other, in
+their subtle gallop. A nightingale is rather like that--a wild sound.
+To read all the human pathos into nightingales' singing is nonsense.
+A wild, savage, non-human lurch and squander of sound, beautiful, but
+entirely unaesthetic.
+
+What Aaron was playing was not of his own invention. It was a bit of
+mediaeval phrasing written for the pipe and the viol. It made the piano
+seem a ponderous, nerve-wracking steam-roller of noise, and the violin,
+as we know it, a hateful wire-drawn nerve-torturer.
+
+After a little while, when he entered the smaller room again, the
+Marchesa looked full into his face.
+
+"Good!" she said. "Good!"
+
+And a gleam almost of happiness seemed to light her up. She seemed like
+one who had been kept in a horrible enchanted castle--for years and
+years. Oh, a horrible enchanted castle, with wet walls of emotions and
+ponderous chains of feelings and a ghastly atmosphere of must-be. She
+felt she had seen through the opening door a crack of sunshine, and
+thin, pure, light outside air, outside, beyond this dank and
+beastly dungeon of feelings and moral necessity. Ugh!--she shuddered
+convulsively at what had been. She looked at her little husband. Chains
+of necessity all round him: a little jailor. Yet she was fond of him.
+If only he would throw away the castle keys. He was a little gnome. What
+did he clutch the castle-keys so tight for?
+
+Aaron looked at her. He knew that they understood one another, he and
+she. Without any moral necessity or any other necessity. Outside--they
+had got outside the castle of so-called human life. Outside the
+horrible, stinking human castle Of life. A bit of true, limpid freedom.
+Just a glimpse.
+
+"Charming!" said the Marchese. "Truly charming! But what was it you
+played?"
+
+Aaron told him.
+
+"But truly delightful. I say, won't you play for us one of these
+Saturdays? And won't you let me take the accompaniment? I should be
+charmed, charmed if you would."
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+"Do drink another cocktail," said his hostess.
+
+He did so. And then he rose to leave.
+
+"Will you stay to dinner?" said the Marchesa. "We have two people
+coming--two Italian relatives of my husband. But--"
+
+No, Aaron declined to stay to dinner.
+
+"Then won't you come on--let me see--on Wednesday? Do come on Wednesday.
+We are alone. And do bring the flute. Come at half-past six, as today,
+will you? Yes?"
+
+Aaron promised--and then he found himself in the street. It was
+half-past seven. Instead of returning straight home, he crossed the
+Ponte Vecchio and walked straight into the crowd. The night was fine
+now. He had his overcoat over his arm, and in a sort of trance or
+frenzy, whirled away by his evening's experience, and by the woman, he
+strode swiftly forward, hardly heeding anything, but rushing blindly on
+through all the crowd, carried away by his own feelings, as much as if
+he had been alone, and all these many people merely trees.
+
+Leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele a gang of soldiers suddenly rushed
+round him, buffeting him in one direction, whilst another gang, swinging
+round the corner, threw him back helpless again into the midst of the
+first gang. For some moments he struggled among the rude, brutal little
+mob of grey-green coarse uniforms that smelt so strong of soldiers.
+Then, irritated, he found himself free again, shaking himself and
+passing on towards the cathedral. Irritated, he now put on his overcoat
+and buttoned it to the throat, closing himself in, as it were, from the
+brutal insolence of the Sunday night mob of men. Before, he had been
+walking through them in a rush of naked feeling, all exposed to their
+tender mercies. He now gathered himself together.
+
+As he was going home, suddenly, just as he was passing the Bargello,
+he stopped. He stopped, and put his hand to his breast pocket. His
+letter-case was gone. He had been robbed. It was as if lightning ran
+through him at that moment, as if a fluid electricity rushed down his
+limbs, through the sluice of his knees, and out at his feet, leaving
+him standing there almost unconscious. For a moment unconscious and
+superconscious he stood there. He had been robbed. They had put their
+hand in his breast and robbed him. If they had stabbed him, it could
+hardly have had a greater effect on him.
+
+And he had known it. He had known it. When the soldiers jostled him so
+evilly they robbed him. And he knew it. He had known it as if it were
+fate. Even as if it were fated beforehand.
+
+Feeling quite weak and faint, as if he had really been struck by some
+evil electric fluid, he walked on. And as soon as he began to walk, he
+began to reason. Perhaps his letter-case was in his other coat. Perhaps
+he had not had it with him at all. Perhaps he was feeling all this, just
+for nothing. Perhaps it was all folly.
+
+He hurried forward. He wanted to make sure. He wanted relief. It was
+as if the power of evil had suddenly seized him and thrown him, and he
+wanted to say it was not so, that he had imagined it all, conjured it
+up. He did not want to admit the power of evil--particularly at that
+moment. For surely a very ugly evil spirit had struck him, in the midst
+of that gang of Italian soldiers. He knew it--it had pierced him. It had
+_got_ him.
+
+But he wanted to say it was not so. Reaching the house, he hastened
+upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors. Once
+in his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a
+sensation like fear at his heart. Then he searched his other pockets. He
+looked everywhere. In vain.
+
+In vain, truly enough. For he _knew_ the thing was stolen. He had known
+it all along. The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had deliberately
+rushed him and taken his purse. They must have watched him previously.
+They must have grinned, and jeered at him.
+
+He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock. The pocket-book
+contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various
+letters and private effects. Well, these were lost. But it was not so
+much the loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel
+so stricken. He felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they
+jostled him.
+
+And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: "Yes--and if I
+hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if
+I hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
+through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened. I
+gave myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave. I
+gave myself away. It is my own fault. I should have been on my guard.
+I should be always on my guard: always, always. With God and the devil
+both, I should be on my guard. Godly or devilish, I should hold fast to
+my reserve and keep on the watch. And if I don't, I deserve what I get."
+
+But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed. One part of his
+soul was saying emphatically: It serves you right. It is nothing but
+right. It serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the
+street, and trusts implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as if
+mankind and the life-spirit were a playground for enkindled individuals.
+It serves you right. You have paid about twelve pounds sterling for your
+lesson. Fool, you might have known beforehand, and then you needn't have
+paid at all. You can ill afford twelve pounds sterling, you fool. But
+since paid you have, then mind, mind the lesson is learned. Never
+again. Never expose yourself again. Never again absolute trust. It is
+a blasphemy against life, is absolute trust. Has a wild creature ever
+absolute trust? It minds itself. Sleeping or waking it is on its guard.
+And so must you be, or you'll go under. Sleeping or waking, man or
+woman, God or the devil, keep your guard over yourself. Keep your guard
+over yourself, lest worse befall you. No man is robbed unless he incites
+a robber. No man is murdered unless he attracts a murderer. Then be not
+robbed: it lies within your own power. And be not murdered. Or if you
+are, you deserve it. Keep your guard over yourself, now, always and
+forever. Yes, against God quite as hard as against the devil. He's fully
+as dangerous to you....
+
+Thus thinking, not in his mind but in his soul, his active, living soul,
+he gathered his equanimity once more, and accepted the fact. So he rose
+and tidied himself for dinner. His face was now set, and still. His
+heart also was still--and fearless. Because its sentinel was stationed.
+Stationed, stationed for ever.
+
+And Aaron never forgot. After this, it became essential to him to feel
+that the sentinel stood guard in his own heart. He felt a strange unease
+the moment he was off his guard. Asleep or awake, in the midst of the
+deepest passion or the suddenest love, or in the throes of greatest
+excitement or bewilderment, somewhere, some corner of himself was awake
+to the fact that the sentinel of the soul must not sleep, no, never, not
+for one instant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+
+
+Aaron and Lilly sat in Argyle's little loggia, high up under the eaves
+of the small hotel, a sort of long attic-terrace just under the roof,
+where no one would have suspected it. It was level with the grey conical
+roof of the Baptistery. Here sat Aaron and Lilly in the afternoon, in
+the last of the lovely autumn sunshine. Below, the square was
+already cold in shadow, the pink and white and green Baptistery rose
+lantern-shaped as from some sea-shore, cool, cold and wan now the sun
+was gone. Black figures, innumerable black figures, curious because they
+were all on end, up on end--Aaron could not say why he expected them to
+be horizontal--little black figures upon end, like fishes that swim on
+their tails, wiggled endlessly across the piazza, little carriages on
+natural all-fours rattled tinily across, the yellow little tram-cars,
+like dogs slipped round the corner. The balcony was so high up, that
+the sound was ineffectual. The upper space, above the houses, was
+nearer than the under-currents of the noisy town. Sunlight, lovely full
+sunlight, lingered warm and still on the balcony. It caught the facade
+of the cathedral sideways, like the tips of a flower, and sideways lit
+up the stem of Giotto's tower, like a lily stem, or a long, lovely pale
+pink and white and green pistil of the lily of the cathedral. Florence,
+the flowery town. Firenze--Fiorenze--the flowery town: the red lilies.
+The Fiorentini, the flower-souled. Flowers with good roots in the mud
+and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms in air, like the cathedral
+and the tower and the David.
+
+"I love it," said Lilly. "I love this place, I love the cathedral and
+the tower. I love its pinkness and its paleness. The Gothic souls find
+fault with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap. But I love
+it, it is delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they should be,
+like the tiger marks on a pink lily. It's a lily, not a rose; a pinky
+white lily with dark tigery marks. And heavy, too, in its own substance:
+earth-substance, risen from earth into the air: and never forgetting
+the dark, black-fierce earth--I reckon here men for a moment were
+themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment completely itself.
+Then it goes off. As Florence has gone off. No flowers now. But it HAS
+flowered. And I don't see why a race should be like an aloe tree, flower
+once and die. Why should it? Why not flower again? Why not?"
+
+"If it's going to, it will," said Aaron. "Our deciding about it won't
+alter it."
+
+"The decision is part of the business."
+
+Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of
+the windows. He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.
+
+"Do you think you're wise now," he said, "to sit in that sun?"
+
+"In November?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month," said Argyle.
+"Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' _I_ say. I'm frightened of it. I've been
+in the South, I know what it is. I tell you I'm frightened of it. But if
+you think you can stand it--well--"
+
+"It won't last much longer, anyhow," said Lilly.
+
+"Too long for me, my boy. I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the word,
+in all senses of the word.--Now are you comfortable? What? Have another
+cushion? A rug for your knees? You're quite sure now? Well, wait just
+one moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and you shall have a
+whiskey and soda. Precious--oh, yes, very precious these days--like
+drinking gold. Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!" Argyle pulled a long
+face, and made a noise with his lips. "But I had this bottle given me,
+and luckily you've come while there's a drop left. Very glad you have!
+Very glad you have."
+
+Here he poked a little table through the window, and put a bottle and
+two glasses, one a tooth-glass, upon it. Then he withdrew again to
+finish shaving. The waiter presently hobbled up with the syphon and
+third glass. Argyle pushed his head through the window, that was only
+a little higher than the balcony. He was soon neatly shaved, and was
+brushing his hair.
+
+"Go ahead, my boys, go ahead with that whiskey!" he said.
+
+"We'll wait for you," said Lilly.
+
+"No, no, don't think of it. However, if you will, I shall be one minute
+only--one minute only. I'll put on the water for the tea now. Oh, damned
+bad methylated spirit they sell now! And six francs a litre! Six francs
+a litre! I don't know what I'm going to do, the air I breathe costs
+money nowadays--Just one moment and I'll be with you! Just one moment--"
+
+In a very little while he came from the tiny attic bedroom, through
+the tiniest cupboard of a sitting-room under the eaves, where his
+books were, and where he had hung his old red India tapestries--or silk
+embroideries--and he emerged there up above the world on the loggia.
+
+"Now then--_siamo nel paradiso_, eh? Paradisal enough for you, is it?"
+
+"The devil looking over Lincoln," said Lilly laughing, glancing up into
+Argyle's face.
+
+"The devil looking over Florence would feel sad," said Argyle. "The
+place is fast growing respectable--Oh, piety makes the devil chuckle.
+But respectability, my boy, argues a serious diminution of spunk. And
+when the spunk diminishes we-ell--it's enough to make the most sturdy
+devil look sick. What? No doubt about it, no doubt whatever--There--!"
+he had just finished settling his tie and buttoning his waistcoat. "How
+do I look, eh? Presentable?--I've just had this suit turned. Clever
+little tailor across the way there. But he charged me a hundred and
+twenty francs." Argyle pulled a face, and made the little trumping noise
+with his lips. "However--not bad, is it?--He had to let in a bit at the
+back of the waistcoat, and a gusset, my boy, a gusset--in the trousers
+back. Seems I've grown in the arsal region. Well, well, might do
+worse.--Is it all right?"
+
+Lilly eyed the suit.
+
+"Very nice. Very nice indeed. Such a good cloth! That makes all the
+difference."
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference! This suit is eleven years
+old--eleven years old. But beautiful English cloth--before the war,
+before the war!"
+
+"It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now," said Lilly.
+
+"Expensive and smart, eh! Ha-ha-ha! Well, it cost me a hundred and
+twenty francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough.
+Well, now, come--" here Argyle's voice took on a new gay cheer. "A
+whiskey and soda, Lilly? Say when! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! You're going
+to have double that. You're no lily of the valley here, remember. Not
+with me. Not likely. _Siamo nel paradiso_, remember."
+
+"But why should we drink your whiskey? Tea would do for us just as
+well."
+
+"Not likely! Not likely! When I have the pleasure of your company, my
+boy, we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped. Say
+when, Aaron."
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair. The sun had left
+the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto's tower and the top of the
+cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red-tiled dome.
+
+"Look at my little red monthly rose," said Argyle. "Wonderful little
+fellow! I wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world. Oh, a
+bacchic little chap. I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his hair.
+Very becoming they were, very.--Oh, I've had a charming show of flowers.
+Wonderful creatures sunflowers are." They got up and put their heads
+over the balcony, looking down on the square below. "Oh, great fun,
+great fun.--Yes, I had a charming show of flowers, charming.--Zinnias,
+petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks--oh, charming. Look at
+that bit of honeysuckle. You see the berries where his flowers were!
+Delicious scent, I assure you."
+
+Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red-tiled pots, all
+round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst in a
+corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood-drops. Argyle was
+as tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he were a
+first-rate sea-man on a yacht. Lilly remarked on this.
+
+"Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me? Oh, I don't doubt
+it. I don't doubt it. We all end that way. Age makes old maids of us
+all. And Tanny is all right, you say? Bring her to see me. Why didn't
+she come today?"
+
+"You know you don't like people unless you expect them."
+
+"Oh, but my dear fellow!--You and Tanny; you'd be welcome if you came
+at my busiest moment. Of course you would. I'd be glad to see you if you
+interrupted me at any crucial moment.--I am alone now till August. Then
+we shall go away together somewhere. But you and Tanny; why, there's the
+world, and there's Lilly: that's how I put it, my boy."
+
+"All right, Argyle.--Hoflichkeiten."
+
+"What? Gar keine Hoflichkeiten. Wahrhaftiger Kerl bin ich.--When am I
+going to see Tanny? When are you coming to dine with me?"
+
+"After you've dined with us--say the day after tomorrow."
+
+"Right you are. Delighted--. Let me look if that water's boiling."
+He got up and poked half himself inside the bedroom. "Not yet. Damned
+filthy methylated spirit they sell."
+
+"Look," said Lilly. "There's Del Torre!"
+
+"Like some sort of midge, in that damned grey-and-yellow uniform. I
+can't stand it, I tell you. I can't stand the sight of any more of these
+uniforms. Like a blight on the human landscape. Like a blight. Like
+green-flies on rose-trees, smother-flies. Europe's got the smother-fly
+in these infernal shoddy militarists."
+
+"Del Torre's coming out of it as soon as he can," said Lilly.
+
+"I should think so, too."
+
+"I like him myself--very much. Look, he's seen us! He wants to come up,
+Argyle."
+
+"What, in that uniform! I'll see him in his grandmother's crinoline
+first."
+
+"Don't be fanatical, it's bad taste. Let him come up a minute."
+
+"Not for my sake. But for yours, he shall," Argyle stood at the parapet
+of the balcony and waved his arm. "Yes, come up," he said, "come up, you
+little mistkafer--what the Americans call a bug. Come up and be damned."
+
+Of course Del Torre was too far off to hear this exhortation. Lilly also
+waved to him--and watched him pass into the doorway far below.
+
+"I'll rinse one of these glasses for him," said Argyle.
+
+The Marchese's step was heard on the stone stairs: then his knock.
+
+"Come in! Come in!" cried Argyle from the bedroom, where he was rinsing
+the glass. The Marchese entered, grinning with his curious, half
+courteous greeting. "Go through--go through," cried Argyle. "Go on to
+the loggia--and mind your head. Good heavens, mind your head in that
+doorway."
+
+The Marchese just missed the top of the doorway as he climbed the abrupt
+steps on to the loggia.--There he greeted Lilly and Aaron with hearty
+handshakes.
+
+"Very glad to see you--very glad, indeed!" he cried, grinning with
+excited courtesy and pleasure, and covering Lilly's hand with both his
+own gloved hands. "When did you come to Florence?"
+
+There was a little explanation. Argyle shoved the last chair--it was a
+luggage stool--through the window.
+
+"All I can do for you in the way of a chair," he said.
+
+"Ah, that is all right," said the Marchese. "Well, it is very nice
+up here--and very nice company. Of the very best, the very best in
+Florence."
+
+"The highest, anyhow," said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the glass.
+"Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre. It's the bottom of the bottle, as
+you see."
+
+"The bottom of the bottle! Then I start with the tail-end, yes!" He
+stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and grinned
+a wide, gnome-like grin.
+
+"You made that start long ago, my dear fellow. Don't play the _ingenue_
+with me, you know it won't work. Say when, my man, say when!"
+
+"Yes, when," said Del Torre. "When did I make that start, then?"
+
+"At some unmentionably young age. Chickens such as you soon learn to
+cheep."
+
+"Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap," repeated Del Torre, pleased
+with the verbal play. "What is cheap, please? What is TO CHEAP?"
+
+"Cheep! Cheep!" squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian,
+who was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool. "It's what chickens
+say when they're poking their little noses into new adventures--naughty
+ones."
+
+"Are chickens naughty? Oh! I thought they could only be good!"
+
+"Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy."
+
+"Oh, as for featherless--then there is no saying what they will do.--"
+And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable
+question to Lilly:
+
+"Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?"
+
+Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.
+
+"Good! Then you will come and see us at once...."
+
+Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea. He shoved a lump of
+cake--or rather panetone, good currant loaf--through the window, with a
+knife to cut it.
+
+"Help yourselves to the panetone," he said. "Eat it up. The tea is
+coming at once. You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only
+one old cup."
+
+The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces. The two men took and ate.
+
+"So you have already found Mr. Sisson!" said Del Torre to Lilly.
+
+"Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence. We are all already
+acquainted: also with the flute. That is a great pleasure."
+
+"So I think.--Does your wife like it, too?"
+
+"Very much, indeed! She is quite _eprise_. I, too, shall have to learn
+to play it."
+
+"And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth--like Alcibiades."
+
+"Is there a risk? Yes! Then I shan't play it. My mouth is too
+beautiful.--But Mr. Sisson has not spoilt his mouth."
+
+"Not yet," said Lilly. "Give him time."
+
+"Is he also afraid--like Alcibiades?"
+
+"Are you, Aaron?" said Lilly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Afraid of spoiling your beauty by screwing your mouth to the flute?"
+
+"I look a fool, do I, when I'm playing?" said Aaron.
+
+"Only the least little bit in the world," said Lilly. "The way you
+prance your head, you know, like a horse."
+
+"Ah, well," said Aaron. "I've nothing to lose."
+
+"And were you surprised, Lilly, to find your friend here?" asked Del
+Torre.
+
+"I ought to have been. But I wasn't really."
+
+"Then you expected him?"
+
+"No. It came naturally, though.--But why did you come, Aaron? What
+exactly brought you?"
+
+"Accident," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah, no! No! There is no such thing as accident," said the Italian. "A
+man is drawn by his fate, where he goes."
+
+"You are right," said Argyle, who came now with the teapot. "A man is
+drawn--or driven. Driven, I've found it. Ah, my dear fellow, what is
+life but a search for a friend? A search for a friend--that sums it up."
+
+"Or a lover," said the Marchese, grinning.
+
+"Same thing. Same thing. My hair is white--but that is the sum of my
+whole experience. The search for a friend." There was something at once
+real and sentimental in Argyle's tone.
+
+"And never finding?" said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Oh, what would you? Often finding. Often finding. And losing, of
+course.--A life's history. Give me your glass. Miserable tea, but nobody
+has sent me any from England--"
+
+"And you will go on till you die, Argyle?" said Lilly. "Always seeking a
+friend--and always a new one?"
+
+"If I lose the friend I've got. Ah, my dear fellow, in that case I shall
+go on seeking. I hope so, I assure you. Something will be very wrong
+with me, if ever I sit friendless and make no search."
+
+"But, Argyle, there is a time to leave off."
+
+"To leave off what, to leave off what?"
+
+"Having friends: or a friend, rather: or seeking to have one."
+
+"Oh, no! Not at all, my friend. Not at all! Only death can make an end
+of that, my friend. Only death. And I should say, not even death. Not
+even death ends a man's search for a friend. That is my belief. You may
+hang me for it, but I shall never alter."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly. "There is a time to love, and a time to leave off
+loving."
+
+"All I can say to that is that my time to leave off hasn't come yet,"
+said Argyle, with obstinate feeling.
+
+"Ah, yes, it has. It is only a habit and an idea you stick to."
+
+"Indeed, it is no such thing. Indeed, it is no such thing. It is a
+profound desire and necessity: and what is more, a belief."
+
+"An obstinate persistency, you mean," said Lilly.
+
+"Well, call it so if it pleases you. It is by no means so to me." There
+was a brief pause. The sun had left the cathedral dome and the tower,
+the sky was full of light, the square swimming in shadow.
+
+"But can a man live," said the Marchese, "without having something he
+lives for: something he wishes for, or longs for, and tries that he may
+get?"
+
+"Impossible! Completely impossible!" said Argyle. "Man is a seeker, and
+except as such, he has no significance, no importance."
+
+"He bores me with his seeking," said Lilly. "He should learn to possess
+himself--to be himself--and keep still."
+
+"Ay, perhaps so," said Aaron. "Only--"
+
+"But my dear boy, believe me, a man is never himself save in the supreme
+state of love: or perhaps hate, too, which amounts to the same thing.
+Never really himself.--Apart from this he is a tram-driver or a
+money-shoveller or an idea-machine. Only in the state of love is he
+really a man, and really himself. I say so, because I know," said
+Argyle.
+
+"Ah, yes. That is one side of the truth. It is quite true, also. But it
+is just as true to say, that a man is never less himself, than in the
+supreme state of love. Never less himself, than then."
+
+"Maybe! Maybe! But what could be better? What could be better than to
+lose oneself with someone you love, entirely, and so find yourself. Ah,
+my dear fellow, that is my creed, that is my creed, and you can't shake
+me in it. Never in that. Never in that."
+
+"Yes, Argyle," said Lilly. "I know you're an obstinate love-apostle."
+
+"I am! I am! And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals
+which I never transgress. Never transgress. And never abandon."
+
+"All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker."
+
+"Pray God I am," said Argyle.
+
+"Yes," said the Marchese. "Perhaps we are all so. What else do you give?
+Would you have us make money? Or do you give the centre of your spirit
+to your work? How is it to be?"
+
+"I don't vitally care either about money or my work or--" Lilly
+faltered.
+
+"Or what, then?"
+
+"Or anything. I don't really care about anything. Except that--"
+
+"You don't care about anything? But what is that for a life?" cried the
+Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
+
+"What do YOU care for?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Me? I care for several things. I care for my wife. I care for love. And
+I care to be loved. And I care for some pleasures. And I care for music.
+And I care for Italy."
+
+"You are well off for cares," said Lilly.
+
+"And you seem to me so very poor," said Del Torre.
+
+"I should say so--if he cares for nothing," interjaculated Argyle. Then
+he clapped Lilly on the shoulder with a laugh. "Ha! Ha! Ha!--But he only
+says it to tease us," he cried, shaking Lilly's shoulder. "He cares more
+than we do for his own way of loving. Come along, don't try and take
+us in. We are old birds, old birds," said Argyle. But at that moment he
+seemed a bit doddering.
+
+"A man can't live," said the Italian, "without an object."
+
+"Well--and that object?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--it may be many things. Mostly it is two things.--love, and money.
+But it may be many things: ambition, patriotism, science, art--many
+things. But it is some objective. Something outside the self. Perhaps
+many things outside the self."
+
+"I have had only one objective all my life," said Argyle. "And that was
+love. For that I have spent my life."
+
+"And the lives of a number of other people, too," said Lilly.
+
+"Admitted. Oh, admitted. It takes two to make love: unless you're a
+miserable--"
+
+"Don't you think," said Aaron, turning to Lilly, "that however you try
+to get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself
+into a job--you've got to, you've got to try and find something
+else--somebody else--somebody. You can't really be alone."
+
+"No matter how many mistakes you've made--you can't really be alone--?"
+asked Lilly.
+
+"You can be alone for a minute. You can be alone just in that minute
+when you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone,
+because the other thing wasn't to be borne. But you can't keep on being
+alone. No matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel, thank God
+to be alone (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh air and be
+alone), no matter how many times you've felt this--it wears off every
+time, and you begin to look again--and you begin to roam round. And
+even if you won't admit it to yourself, still you are seeking--seeking.
+Aren't you? Aren't you yourself seeking?"
+
+"Oh, that's another matter," put in Argyle. "Lilly is happily married
+and on the shelf. With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think
+so--RATHER! But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case.
+As for me, I made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent me
+to hell. But I didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and woman.
+Not by ANY means."
+
+"Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?" asked the Marchese. "Do you seek
+nothing?"
+
+"We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek
+anything?" said Lilly. "Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss with
+the wonderful women who honour us as wives?"
+
+"Ah, yes, yes!" said the Marchese. "But now we are not speaking to the
+world. Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre of our
+hearts."
+
+"And what have we there?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--shall I say? We have unrest. We have another need. We have
+something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside. Do I speak the
+truth?"
+
+"Yes. But what is the something?"
+
+"I don't know. I don't know. But it is something in love, I think. It is
+love itself which gnaws us inside, like a cancer," said the Italian.
+
+"But why should it? Is that the nature of love?" said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know. Truly. I don't know.--But perhaps it is in the nature of
+love--I don't know.--But I tell you, I love my wife--she is very dear
+to me. I admire her, I trust her, I believe her. She is to me much more
+than any woman, more even than my mother.--And so, I am very happy. I am
+very happy, she is very happy, in our love and our marriage.--But wait.
+Nothing has changed--the love has not changed: it is the same.--And yet
+we are NOT happy. No, we are not happy. I know she is not happy, I know
+I am not--"
+
+"Why should you be?" said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--and it is not even happiness," said the Marchese, screwing up his
+face in a painful effort of confession. "It is not even happiness. No,
+I do not ask to be happy. Why should I? It is childish--but there is for
+both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which eats us within,
+and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know where. But it drives
+us, and eats away the life--and yet we love each other, and we must not
+separate--Do you know what I mean? Do you understand me at all in what I
+say? I speak what is true."
+
+"Yes, I understand. I'm in the same dilemma myself.--But what I want to
+hear, is WHY you think it is so. Why is it?"
+
+"Shall I say what I think? Yes? And you can tell me if it is foolish to
+you.--Shall I tell you? Well. Because a woman, she now first wants the
+man, and he must go to her because he is wanted. Do you understand?--You
+know--supposing I go to a woman--supposing she is my wife--and I go to
+her, yes, with my blood all ready, because it is I who want. Then she
+puts me off. Then she says, not now, not now, I am tired, I am not well.
+I do not feel like it. She puts me off--till I am angry or sorry or
+whatever I am--but till my blood has gone down again, you understand,
+and I don't want her any more. And then she puts her arms round me, and
+caresses me, and makes love to me--till she rouses me once more. So, and
+so she rouses me--and so I come to her. And I love her, it is very good,
+very good. But it was she who began, it was her initiative, you know.--I
+do not think, in all my life, my wife has loved me from my initiative,
+you know. She will yield to me--because I insist, or because she wants
+to be a good submissive wife who loves me. So she will yield to me. But
+ah, what is it, you know? What is it a woman who allows me, and who has
+no answer? It is something worse than nothing--worse than nothing. And
+so it makes me very discontented and unbelieving.--If I say to her, she
+says it is not true--not at all true. Then she says, all she wants is
+that I should desire her, that I should love her and desire her. But
+even that is putting her will first. And if I come to her so, if I come
+to her of my own desire, then she puts me off. She puts me off, or she
+only allows me to come to her. Even now it is the same after ten years,
+as it was at first. But now I know, and for many years I did not know--"
+
+The little man was intense. His face was strained, his blue eyes so
+stretched that they showed the whites all round. He gazed into Lilly's
+face.
+
+"But does it matter?" said Lilly slowly, "in which of you the desire
+initiates? Isn't the result the same?"
+
+"It matters. It matters--" cried the Marchese.
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, how MUCH it matters--" interrupted Argyle sagely.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron.
+
+The Marchese looked from one to the other of them.
+
+"It matters!" he cried. "It matters life or death. It used to be, that
+desire started in the man, and the woman answered. It used to be so for
+a long time in Italy. For this reason the women were kept away from the
+men. For this reason our Catholic religion tried to keep the young girls
+in convents, and innocent, before marriage. So that with their minds
+they should not know, and should not start this terrible thing, this
+woman's desire over a man, beforehand. This desire which starts in a
+woman's head, when she knows, and which takes a man for her use, for her
+service. This is Eve. Ah, I hate Eve. I hate her, when she knows, and
+when she WILLS. I hate her when she will make of me that which serves
+her desire.--She may love me, she may be soft and kind to me, she may
+give her life for me. But why? Only because I am HERS. I am that thing
+which does her most intimate service. She can see no other in me. And I
+may be no other to her--"
+
+"Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?" said Lilly.
+
+"Because I cannot. I cannot. I would. But I cannot. The Borghesia--the
+citizens--the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can. Oh, yes. The
+bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and their
+wives love them. They are the marital maquereaux--the husband-maquereau,
+you know. Their wives are so stout and happy, and they dote on their
+husbands and always betray them. So it is with the bourgeoise. She loves
+her husband so much, and is always seeking to betray him. Or she is a
+Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal. But the bourgeois husband, he goes
+on being the same. He is the horse, and she the driver. And when she
+says gee-up, you know--then he comes ready, like a hired maquereau. Only
+he feels so good, like a good little boy at her breast. And then there
+are the nice little children. And so they keep the world going.--But for
+me--" he spat suddenly and with frenzy on the floor.
+
+"You are quite right, my boy," said Argyle. "You are quite right.
+They've got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when
+they say gee-up. I--oh, I went through it all. But I broke the shafts
+and smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't care
+whether I smashed her up along with it or not. I didn't care one single
+bit, I assure you.--And here I am. And she is dead and buried these
+dozen years. Well--well! Life, you know, life. And women oh, they are
+the very hottest hell once they get the start of you. There's NOTHING
+they won't do to you, once they've got you. Nothing they won't do to
+you. Especially if they love you. Then you may as well give up the
+ghost: or smash the cart behind you, and her in it. Otherwise she will
+just harry you into submission, and make a dog of you, and cuckold you
+under your nose. And you'll submit. Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling
+her my darling. Or else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you. Your
+only chance is to smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart. Or
+she'll do for you. For a woman has an uncanny, hellish strength--she's
+a she-bear and a wolf, is a woman when she's got the start of you. Oh,
+it's a terrible experience, if you're not a bourgeois, and not one of
+the knuckling-under money-making sort."
+
+"Knuckling-under sort. Yes. That is it," said the Marchese.
+
+"But can't there be a balancing of wills?" said Lilly.
+
+"My dear boy, the balance lies in that, that when one goes up, the other
+goes down. One acts, the other takes. It is the only way in love--And
+the women are nowadays the active party. Oh, yes, not a shadow of doubt
+about it. They take the initiative, and the man plays up. That's how it
+is. The man just plays up.--Nice manly proceeding, what!" cried Argyle.
+
+"But why can't man accept it as the natural order of things?" said
+Lilly. "Science makes it the natural order."
+
+"All my ---- to science," said Argyle. "No man with one drop of real
+spunk in him can stand it long."
+
+"Yes! Yes! Yes!" cried the Italian. "Most men want it so. Most men want
+only, that a woman shall want them, and they shall then play up to her
+when she has roused them. Most men want only this: that a woman shall
+choose one man out, to be her man, and he shall worship her and come
+up when she shall provoke him. Otherwise he is to keep still. And the
+woman, she is quite sure of her part. She must be loved and adored, and
+above all, obeyed, particularly in her sex desire. There she must not
+be thwarted, or she becomes a devil. And if she is obeyed, she becomes a
+misunderstood woman with nerves, looking round for the next man whom she
+can bring under. So it is."
+
+"Well," said Lilly. "And then what?"
+
+"Nay," interrupted Aaron. "But do you think it's true what he says?
+Have you found it like that? You're married. Has your experience been
+different, or the same?"
+
+"What was yours?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Mine was the same. Mine was the same, if ever it was," said Aaron.
+
+"And mine was EXTREMELY similar," said Argyle with a grimace.
+
+"And yours, Lilly?" asked the Marchese anxiously.
+
+"Not very different," said Lilly.
+
+"Ah!" cried Del Torre, jerking up erect as if he had found something.
+
+"And what's your way out?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"I'm not out--so I won't holloa," said Lilly. "But Del Torre puts it
+best.--What do you say is the way out, Del Torre?"
+
+"The way out is that it should change: that the man should be the asker
+and the woman the answerer. It must change."
+
+"But it doesn't. Prrr!" Argyle made his trumpeting noise.
+
+"Does it?" asked Lilly of the Marchese.
+
+"No. I think it does not."
+
+"And will it ever again?"
+
+"Perhaps never."
+
+"And then what?"
+
+"Then? Why then man seeks a _pis-aller_. Then he seeks something which
+will give him answer, and which will not only draw him, draw him, with a
+terrible sexual will.--So he seeks young girls, who know nothing, and so
+cannot force him. He thinks he will possess them while they are young,
+and they will be soft and responding to his wishes.--But in this, too,
+he is mistaken. Because now a baby of one year, if it be a female, is
+like a woman of forty, so is its will made up, so it will force a man."
+
+"And so young girls are no good, even as a _pis-aller_."
+
+"No good--because they are all modern women. Every one, a modern woman.
+Not one who isn't."
+
+"Terrible thing, the modern woman," put in Argyle.
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"Then man seeks other forms of loves, always seeking the loving
+response, you know, of one gentler and tenderer than himself, who will
+wait till the man desires, and then will answer with full love.--But it
+is all _pis-aller_, you know."
+
+"Not by any means, my boy," cried Argyle.
+
+"And then a man naturally loves his own wife, too, even if it is not
+bearable to love her."
+
+"Or one leaves her, like Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+"And seeks another woman, so," said the Marchese.
+
+"Does he seek another woman?" said Lilly. "Do you, Aaron?"
+
+"I don't WANT to," said Aaron. "But--I can't stand by myself in the
+middle of the world and in the middle of people, and know I am quite by
+myself, and nowhere to go, and nothing to hold on to. I can for a day
+or two--But then, it becomes unbearable as well. You get frightened. You
+feel you might go funny--as you would if you stood on this balcony wall
+with all the space beneath you."
+
+"Can't one be alone--quite alone?" said Lilly.
+
+"But no--it is absurd. Like Saint Simeon Stylites on a pillar. But it is
+absurd!" cried the Italian.
+
+"I don't mean like Simeon Stylites. I mean can't one live with one's
+wife, and be fond of her: and with one's friends, and enjoy their
+company: and with the world and everything, pleasantly: and yet KNOW
+that one is alone? Essentially, at the very core of me, alone. Eternally
+alone. And choosing to be alone. Not sentimental or LONELY. Alone,
+choosing to be alone, because by one's own nature one is alone. The
+being with another person is secondary," said Lilly.
+
+"One is alone," said Argyle, "in all but love. In all but love, my dear
+fellow. And then I agree with you."
+
+"No," said Lilly, "in love most intensely of all, alone."
+
+"Completely incomprehensible," said Argyle. "Amounts to nothing."
+
+"One man is but a part. How can he be so alone?" said the Marchese.
+
+"In so far as he is a single individual soul, he IS alone--ipso facto.
+In so far as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, in so far, I am
+inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to
+know it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my
+self-knowledge."
+
+"My dear boy, you are becoming metaphysical, and that is as bad as
+softening of the brain," said Argyle.
+
+"All right," said Lilly.
+
+"And," said the Marchese, "it may be so by REASON. But in the heart--?
+Can the heart ever beat quite alone? Plop! Plop!--Can the heart beat
+quite alone, alone in all the atmosphere, all the space of the universe?
+Plop! Plop! Plop!--Quite alone in all the space?" A slow smile came over
+the Italian's face. "It is impossible. It may eat against the heart of
+other men, in anger, all in pressure against the others. It may beat
+hard, like iron, saying it is independent. But this is only beating
+against the heart of mankind, not alone.--But either with or against
+the heart of mankind, or the heart of someone, mother, wife, friend,
+children--so must the heart of every man beat. It is so."
+
+"It beats alone in its own silence," said Lilly.
+
+The Italian shook his head.
+
+"We'd better be going inside, anyhow," said Argyle. "Some of you will be
+taking cold."
+
+"Aaron," said Lilly. "Is it true for you?"
+
+"Nearly," said Aaron, looking into the quiet, half-amused, yet
+frightening eyes of the other man. "Or it has been."
+
+"A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Lilly, rising and picking up his
+chair to take it indoors. And the laughter of his voice was so like a
+simple, deliberate amiability, that Aaron's heart really stood still
+for a second. He knew that Lilly was alone--as far as he, Aaron, was
+concerned. Lilly was alone--and out of his isolation came his words,
+indifferent as to whether they came or not. And he left his friends
+utterly to their own choice. Utterly to their own choice. Aaron felt
+that Lilly was _there_, existing in life, yet neither asking for
+connection nor preventing any connection. He was present, he was the
+real centre of the group. And yet he asked nothing of them, and he
+imposed nothing. He left each to himself, and he himself remained just
+himself: neither more nor less. And there was a finality about it, which
+was at once maddening and fascinating. Aaron felt angry, as if he were
+half insulted by the other man's placing the gift of friendship or
+connection so quietly back in the giver's hands. Lilly would receive no
+gift of friendship in equality. Neither would he violently refuse it. He
+let it lie unmarked. And yet at the same time Aaron knew that he could
+depend on the other man for help, nay, almost for life itself--so long
+as it entailed no breaking of the intrinsic isolation of Lilly's
+soul. But this condition was also hateful. And there was also a great
+fascination in it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE MARCHESA
+
+
+So Aaron dined with the Marchesa and Manfredi. He was quite startled
+when his hostess came in: she seemed like somebody else. She seemed like
+a demon, her hair on her brows, her terrible modern elegance. She wore
+a wonderful gown of thin blue velvet, of a lovely colour, with some kind
+of gauzy gold-threaded filament down the sides. It was terribly modern,
+short, and showed her legs and her shoulders and breast and all her
+beautiful white arms. Round her throat was a collar of dark-blue
+sapphires. Her hair was done low, almost to the brows, and heavy, like
+an Aubrey Beardsley drawing. She was most carefully made up--yet with
+that touch of exaggeration, lips slightly too red, which was quite
+intentional, and which frightened Aaron. He thought her wonderful, and
+sinister. She affected him with a touch of horror. She sat down opposite
+him, and her beautifully shapen legs, in frail, goldish stockings,
+seemed to glisten metallic naked, thrust from out of the wonderful,
+wonderful skin, like periwinkle-blue velvet. She had tapestry shoes,
+blue and gold: and almost one could see her toes: metallic naked. The
+gold-threaded gauze slipped at her side. Aaron could not help watching
+the naked-seeming arch of her foot. It was as if she were dusted with
+dark gold-dust upon her marvellous nudity.
+
+She must have seen his face, seen that he was _ebloui_.
+
+"You brought the flute?" she said, in that toneless, melancholy,
+unstriving voice of hers. Her voice alone was the same: direct and bare
+and quiet.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps I shall sing later on, if you'll accompany me. Will you?"
+
+"I thought you hated accompaniments."
+
+"Oh, no--not just unison. I don't mean accompaniment. I mean unison. I
+don't know how it will be. But will you try?"
+
+"Yes, I'll try."
+
+"Manfredi is just bringing the cocktails. Do you think you'd prefer
+orange in yours?"
+
+"Ill have mine as you have yours."
+
+"I don't take orange in mine. Won't you smoke?"
+
+The strange, naked, remote-seeming voice! And then the beautiful firm
+limbs thrust out in that dress, and nakedly dusky as with gold-dust. Her
+beautiful woman's legs, slightly glistening, duskily. His one abiding
+instinct was to touch them, to kiss them. He had never known a woman to
+exercise such power over him. It was a bare, occult force, something he
+could not cope with.
+
+Manfredi came in with the little tray. He was still in uniform.
+
+"Hello!" cried the little Italian. "Glad to see you--well, everything
+all right? Glad to hear it. How is the cocktail, Nan?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "All right."
+
+"One drop too much peach, eh?"
+
+"No, all right."
+
+"Ah," and the little officer seated himself, stretching his gaitered
+legs as if gaily. He had a curious smiling look on his face, that
+Aaron thought also diabolical--and almost handsome. Suddenly the odd,
+laughing, satanic beauty of the little man was visible.
+
+"Well, and what have you been doing with yourself?" said he. "What did
+you do yesterday?"
+
+"Yesterday?" said Aaron. "I went to the Uffizi."
+
+"To the Uffizi? Well! And what did you think of it?"
+
+"Very fine."
+
+"I think it is. I think it is. What pictures did you look at?"
+
+"I was with Dekker. We looked at most, I believe."
+
+"And what do you remember best?"
+
+"I remember Botticelli's Venus on the Shell."
+
+"Yes! Yes!--" said Manfredi. "I like her. But I like others better. You
+thought her a pretty woman, yes?"
+
+"No--not particularly pretty. But I like her body. And I like the fresh
+air. I like the fresh air, the summer sea-air all through it--through
+her as well."
+
+"And her face?" asked the Marchesa, with a slow, ironic smile.
+
+"Yes--she's a bit baby-faced," said Aaron.
+
+"Trying to be more innocent than her own common-sense will let her,"
+said the Marchesa.
+
+"I don't agree with you, Nan," said her husband. "I think it is just
+that wistfulness and innocence which makes her the true Venus: the
+true modern Venus. She chooses NOT to know too much. And that is her
+attraction. Don't you agree, Aaron? Excuse me, but everybody speaks of
+you as Aaron. It seems to come naturally. Most people speak of me as
+Manfredi, too, because it is easier, perhaps, than Del Torre. So if you
+find it easier, use it. Do you mind that I call you Aaron?"
+
+"Not at all. I hate Misters, always."
+
+"Yes, so do I. I like one name only."
+
+The little officer seemed very winning and delightful to Aaron this
+evening--and Aaron began to like him extremely. But the dominating
+consciousness in the room was the woman's.
+
+"DO you agree, Mr. Sisson?" said the Marchesa. "Do you agree that the
+mock-innocence and the sham-wistfulness of Botticelli's Venus are her
+great charms?"
+
+"I don't think she is at all charming, as a person," said Aaron. "As
+a particular woman, she makes no impression on me at all. But as a
+picture--and the fresh air, particularly the fresh air. She doesn't seem
+so much a woman, you know, as the kind of out-of-doors morning-feelings
+at the seaside."
+
+"Quite! A sort of sea-scape of a woman. With a perfectly sham innocence.
+Are you as keen on innocence as Manfredi is?"
+
+"Innocence?" said Aaron. "It's the sort of thing I don't have much
+feeling about."
+
+"Ah, I know you," laughed the soldier wickedly. "You are the sort of man
+who wants to be Anthony to Cleopatra. Ha-ha!"
+
+Aaron winced as if struck. Then he too smiled, flattered. Yet he felt
+he had been struck! Did he want to be Anthony to Cleopatra? Without
+knowing, he was watching the Marchesa. And she was looking away, but
+knew he was watching her. And at last she turned her eyes to his, with a
+slow, dark smile, full of pain and fuller still of knowledge. A strange,
+dark, silent look of knowledge she gave him: from so far away, it
+seemed. And he felt all the bonds that held him melting away. His eyes
+remained fixed and gloomy, but with his mouth he smiled back at her. And
+he was terrified. He knew he was sulking towards her--sulking towards
+her. And he was terrified. But at the back of his mind, also, he knew
+there was Lilly, whom he might depend on. And also he wanted to sink
+towards her. The flesh and blood of him simply melted out, in desire
+towards her. Cost what may, he must come to her. And yet he knew at the
+same time that, cost what may, he must keep the power to recover himself
+from her. He must have his cake and eat it.
+
+And she became Cleopatra to him. "Age cannot wither, nor custom stale--"
+To his instinctive, unwilled fancy, she was Cleopatra.
+
+They went in to dinner, and he sat on her right hand. It was a smallish
+table, with a very few daisy-flowers: everything rather frail, and
+sparse. The food the same--nothing very heavy, all rather exquisite.
+They drank hock. And he was aware of her beautiful arms, and her bosom;
+her low-crowded, thick hair, parted in the centre: the sapphires on her
+throat, the heavy rings on her fingers: and the paint on her lips,
+the fard. Something deep, deep at the bottom of him hovered upon her,
+cleaved to her. Yet he was as if sightless, in a stupor. Who was she,
+what was she? He had lost all his grasp. Only he sat there, with his
+face turned to hers, or to her, all the time. And she talked to him. But
+she never looked at him.
+
+Indeed she said little. It was the husband who talked. His manner
+towards Aaron was almost caressive. And Aaron liked it. The woman was
+silent mostly, and seemed remote. And Aaron felt his life ebb towards
+her. He felt the marvellousness, the rich beauty of her arms and breast.
+And the thought of her gold-dusted smooth limbs beneath the table made
+him feel almost an idiot.
+
+The second wine was a gold-coloured Moselle, very soft and rich and
+beautiful. She drank this with pleasure, as one who understands. And for
+dessert there was a dish of cacchi--that orange-coloured, pulpy Japanese
+fruit--persimmons. Aaron had never eaten these before. Soft, almost
+slimy, of a wonderful colour, and of a flavour that had sunk from harsh
+astringency down to that first decay-sweetness which is all autumn-rich.
+The Marchese loved them, and scooped them out with his spoon. But she
+ate none.
+
+Aaron did not know what they talked about, what was said. If someone had
+taken his mind away altogether, and left him with nothing but a body and
+a spinal consciousness, it would have been the same.
+
+But at coffee the talk turned to Manfredi's duties. He would not be free
+from the army for some time yet. On the morrow, for example, he had to
+be out and away before it was day. He said he hated it, and wanted to
+be a free man once more. But it seemed to Aaron he would be a very bored
+man, once he was free. And then they drifted on to talk of the palazzo
+in which was their apartment.
+
+"We've got such a fine terrace--you can see it from your house where you
+are," said Manfredi. "Have you noticed it?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Near that tuft of palm-trees. Don't you know?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Let us go out and show it him," said the Marchesa.
+
+Manfredi fetched her a cloak, and they went through various doors, then
+up some steps. The terrace was broad and open. It looked straight across
+the river at the opposite Lungarno: and there was the thin-necked tower
+of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the great dome of the cathedral in the
+distance, in shadow-bulk in the cold-aired night of stars. Little trams
+were running brilliant over the flat new bridge on the right. And from a
+garden just below rose a tuft of palm-trees.
+
+"You see," said the Marchesa, coming and standing close to Aaron, so
+that she just touched him, "you can know the terrace, just by these palm
+trees. And you are in the Nardini just across there, are you? On the top
+floor, you said?"
+
+"Yes, the top floor--one of the middle windows, I think."
+
+"One that is always open now--and the others are shut. I have noticed
+it, not connecting it with you."
+
+"Yes, my window is always open."
+
+She was leaning very slightly against him, as he stood. And he knew,
+with the same kind of inevitability with which he knew he would one
+day die, that he would be the lover of this woman. Nay, that he was her
+lover already.
+
+"Don't take cold," said Manfredi.
+
+She turned at once indoors. Aaron caught a faint whiff of perfume from
+the little orange trees in tubs round the wall.
+
+"Will you get the flute?" she said as they entered.
+
+"And will you sing?" he answered.
+
+"Play first," she said.
+
+He did as she wished. As the other night, he went into the big
+music-room to play. And the stream of sound came out with the quick wild
+imperiousness of the pipe. It had an immediate effect on her. She seemed
+to relax the peculiar, drug-like tension which was upon her at all
+ordinary times. She seemed to go still, and yielding. Her red mouth
+looked as if it might moan with relief. She sat with her chin dropped
+on her breast, listening. And she did not move. But she sat softly,
+breathing rather quick, like one who has been hurt, and is soothed. A
+certain womanly naturalness seemed to soften her.
+
+And the music of the flute came quick, rather brilliant like a
+call-note, or like a long quick message, half command. To her it was
+like a pure male voice--as a blackbird's when he calls: a pure male
+voice, not only calling, but telling her something, telling her
+something, and soothing her soul to sleep. It was like the fire-music
+putting Brunnhilde to sleep. But the pipe did not flicker and sink. It
+seemed to cause a natural relaxation in her soul, a peace. Perhaps it
+was more like waking to a sweet, morning awakening, after a night of
+tormented, painful tense sleep. Perhaps more like that.
+
+When Aaron came in, she looked at him with a gentle, fresh smile that
+seemed to make the fard on her face look like a curious tiredness, which
+now she might recover from. And as the last time, it was difficult for
+her to identify this man with the voice of the flute. It was rather
+difficult. Except that, perhaps, between his brows was something of a
+doubt, and in his bearing an aloofness that made her dread he might go
+away and not come back. She could see it in him, that he might go away
+and not come back.
+
+She said nothing to him, only just smiled. And the look of knowledge in
+her eyes seemed, for the moment, to be contained in another look: a look
+of faith, and at last happiness. Aaron's heart stood still. No, in her
+moment's mood of faith and at last peace, life-trust, he was perhaps
+more terrified of her than in her previous sinister elegance. His spirit
+started and shrank. What was she going to ask of him?
+
+"I am so anxious that you should come to play one Saturday morning,"
+said Manfredi. "With an accompaniment, you know. I should like so much
+to hear you with piano accompaniment."
+
+"Very well," said Aaron.
+
+"Will you really come? And will you practise with me, so that I can
+accompany you?" said Manfredi eagerly.
+
+"Yes. I will," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, good! Oh, good! Look here, come in on Friday morning and let us
+both look through the music."
+
+"If Mr. Sisson plays for the public," said the Marchesa, "he must not do
+it for charity. He must have the proper fee."
+
+"No, I don't want it," said Aaron.
+
+"But you must earn money, mustn't you?" said she.
+
+"I must," said Aaron. "But I can do it somewhere else."
+
+"No. If you play for the public, you must have your earnings. When you
+play for me, it is different."
+
+"Of course," said Manfredi. "Every man must have his wage. I have mine
+from the Italian government---"
+
+After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing.
+
+"Shall I?" she said.
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+"Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it--I
+shall be like Trilby--I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I
+daren't. So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song. Though
+not Malbrouck, and without a Svengali to keep me in tune."
+
+She went near the door, and stood with heir hands by her side. There was
+something wistful, almost pathetic now, in her elegance.
+
+
+                    "Derriere chez mon pere
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Derriere chez mon pere
+                     Il y a un pommier doux.
+                       _Tout doux, et iou
+                        Et iou, tout doux.
+                        Il y a unpommier doux_.
+
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                     Sont assis dessous.
+                      _Tout doux, et iou
+                       Et iou, tout doux.
+                       Sont asses dessous._"
+
+
+She had a beautiful, strong, sweet voice. But it was faltering,
+stumbling and sometimes it seemed to drop almost to speech. After three
+verses she faltered to an end, bitterly chagrined.
+
+"No," she said. "It's no good. I can't sing." And she dropped in her
+chair.
+
+"A lovely little tune," said Aaron. "Haven't you got the music?"
+
+She rose, not answering, and found him a little book.
+
+"What do the words mean?" he asked her.
+
+She told him. And then he took his flute.
+
+"You don't mind if I play it, do you?" he said.
+
+So he played the tune. It was so simple. And he seemed to catch the lilt
+and the timbre of her voice.
+
+"Come and sing it while I play--" he said.
+
+"I can't sing," she said, shaking her head rather bitterly.
+
+"But let us try," said he, disappointed.
+
+"I know I can't," she said. But she rose.
+
+He remained sitting at the little table, the book propped up under the
+reading lamp. She stood at a little distance, unhappy.
+
+"I've always been like that," she said. "I could never sing music,
+unless I had a thing drilled into me, and then it wasn't singing any
+more."
+
+But Aaron wasn't heeding. His flute was at his mouth, he was watching
+her. He sounded the note, but she did not begin. She was twisting her
+handkerchief. So he played the melody alone. At the end of the verse,
+he looked up at her again, and a half mocking smile played in his
+eyes. Again he sounded the note, a challenge. And this time, as at his
+bidding, she began to sing. The flute instantly swung with a lovely soft
+firmness into the song, and she wavered only for a minute or two. Then
+her soul and her voice got free, and she sang--she sang as she wanted to
+sing, as she had always wanted to sing, without that awful scotch, that
+impediment inside her own soul, which prevented her.
+
+She sang free, with the flute gliding along with her. And oh, how
+beautiful it was for her! How beautiful it was to sing the little song
+in the sweetness of her own spirit. How sweet it was to move pure and
+unhampered at last in the music! The lovely ease and lilt of her own
+soul in its motion through the music! She wasn't aware of the flute. She
+didn't know there was anything except her own pure lovely song-drift.
+Her soul seemed to breathe as a butterfly breathes, as it rests on a
+leaf and slowly breathes its wings. For the first time! For the first
+time her soul drew its own deep breath. All her life, the breath had
+caught half-way. And now she breathed full, deep, to the deepest extent
+of her being.
+
+And oh, it was so wonderful, she was dazed. The song ended, she stood
+with a dazed, happy face, like one just coming awake. And the fard
+on her face seemed like the old night-crust, the bad sleep. New and
+luminous she looked out. And she looked at Aaron with a proud smile.
+
+"Bravo, Nan! That was what you wanted," said her husband.
+
+"It was, wasn't it?" she said, turning a wondering, glowing face to him.
+
+His face looked strange and withered and gnome-like, at the moment.
+
+She went and sat in her chair, quite silent, as if in a trance. The
+two men also sat quite still. And in the silence a little drama played
+itself between the three, of which they knew definitely nothing. But
+Manfredi knew that Aaron had done what he himself never could do, for
+this woman. And yet the woman was his own woman, not Aaron's. And so, he
+was displaced. Aaron, sitting there, glowed with a sort of triumph. He
+had performed a little miracle, and felt himself a little wonder-worker,
+to whom reverence was due. And as in a dream the woman sat, feeling what
+a joy it was to float and move like a swan in the high air, flying upon
+the wings of her own spirit. She was as a swan which never before could
+get its wings quite open, and so which never could get up into the open,
+where alone it can sing. For swans, and storks make their music only
+when they are high, high up in the air. Then they can give sound to
+their strange spirits. And so, she.
+
+Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and hardly
+spoke to one another. It was as if two invisible hands pushed their
+faces apart, away, averted. And Aaron's face glimmered with a little
+triumph, and a little grimace of obstinacy. And the Italian's face
+looked old, rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare
+bitterness. The woman looked wondering from one man to the
+other--wondering. The glimmer of the open flower, the wonder-look, still
+lasted. And Aaron said in his heart, what a goodly woman, what a woman
+to taste and enjoy. Ah, what a woman to enjoy! And was it not his
+privilege? Had he not gained it?
+
+His manhood, or rather his maleness, rose powerfully in him, in a sort
+of mastery. He felt his own power, he felt suddenly his own virile title
+to strength and reward. Suddenly, and newly flushed with his own male
+super-power, he was going to have his reward. The woman was his reward.
+So it was, in him. And he cast it over in his mind. He wanted her--ha,
+didn't he! But the husband sat there, like a soap-stone Chinese monkey,
+greyish-green. So, it would have to be another time.
+
+He rose, therefore, and took his leave.
+
+"But you'll let us do that again, won't you?" said she.
+
+"When you tell me, I'll come," said he.
+
+"Then I'll tell you soon," said she.
+
+So he left, and went home to his own place, and there to his own remote
+room. As he laid his flute on the table he looked at it and smiled. He
+remembered that Lilly had called it Aaron's Rod.
+
+"So you blossom, do you?--and thorn as well," said he.
+
+For such a long time he had been gripped inside himself, and withheld.
+For such a long time it had been hard and unyielding, so hard and
+unyielding. He had wanted nothing, his desire had kept itself back, fast
+back. For such a long time his desire for woman had withheld itself,
+hard and resistant. All his deep, desirous blood had been locked, he had
+wanted nobody, and nothing. And it had been hard to live, so. Without
+desire, without any movement of passionate love, only gripped back in
+recoil! That was an experience to endure.
+
+And now came his desire back. But strong, fierce as iron. Like the
+strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons. Something to
+glory in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant,
+royal, Jove's thunderbolt. Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming again
+with red Florentine lilies and fierce thorns. He moved about in the
+splendour of his own male lightning, invested in the thunder of the male
+passion-power. He had got it back, the male godliness, the male godhead.
+
+So he slept, and dreamed violent dreams of strange, black strife,
+something like the street-riot in Milan, but more terrible. In the
+morning, however, he cared nothing about his dreams. As soon as it was
+really light, he rose, and opened his window wide. It was a grey, slow
+morning. But he saw neither the morning nor the river nor the woman
+walking on the gravel river-bed with her goose nor the green hill up to
+San Miniato. He watched the tuft of palm-trees, and the terrace beside
+it. He could just distinguish the terrace clearly, among the green of
+foliage. So he stood at his window for a full hour, and did not move.
+Motionless, planted, he stood and watched that terrace across above the
+Arno. But like a statue.
+
+After an hour or so, he looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. So he
+rang for his coffee, and meanwhile still stood watching the terrace
+on the hill. He felt his turn had come. The phoenix had risen in fire
+again, out of the ashes.
+
+Therefore at ten o'clock he went over the bridge. He wrote on the back
+of his card a request, would she please let him have the little book of
+songs, that he might practise them over. The manservant went, and came
+back with the request that Aaron should wait. So Aaron entered, while
+the man took his hat.
+
+The manservant spoke only French and Spanish, no English. He was
+a Spaniard, with greyish hair and stooping shoulders, and dark,
+mute-seeming eyes. He spoke as little as possible. The Marchesa had
+inherited him from her father.
+
+Aaron sat in the little sitting-room and waited. After a rather long
+time the Marchesa came in--wearing a white, thin blouse and a blue
+skirt. She was hardly made up at all. She had an odd pleased, yet
+brooding look on her face as she gave Aaron her hand. Something brooded
+between her brows. And her voice was strange, with a strange, secret
+undertone, that he could not understand. He looked up at her. And his
+face was bright, and his knees, as he sat, were like the knees of the
+gods.
+
+"You wanted the book of _chansons_?" she said.
+
+"I wanted to learn your tunes," he replied.
+
+"Yes. Look--here it is!" And she brought him the little yellow book. It
+was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment. So
+she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something else,
+and standing as if with another meaning.
+
+He opened the leaves at random.
+
+"But I ought to know which ones you sing," said he, rising and standing
+by her side with the open book.
+
+"Yes," she said, looking over his arm. He turned the pages one by one.
+"_Trois jeunes tambours_," said she. "Yes, that.... Yes, _En passant
+par la Lorraine_.... _Aupres de ma blonde_.... Oh, I like that one so
+much--" He stood and went over the tune in his mind.
+
+"Would you like me to play it?" he said.
+
+"Very much," said she.
+
+So he got his flute, propped up the book against a vase, and played the
+tune, whilst she hummed it fragmentarily. But as he played, he felt that
+he did not cast the spell over her. There was no connection. She was in
+some mysterious way withstanding him. She was withstanding him, and
+his male super-power, and his thunderbolt desire. She was, in some
+indescribable way, throwing cold water over his phoenix newly risen from
+the ashes of its nest in flames.
+
+He realised that she did not want him to play. She did not want him to
+look at the songs. So he put the book away, and turned round, rather
+baffled, not quite sure what was happening, yet feeling she was
+withstanding him. He glanced at her face: it was inscrutable: it was
+her Cleopatra face once more, yet with something new and warm in it.
+He could not understand it. What was it in her face that puzzled him?
+Almost angered him? But she could not rob him of his male power, she
+could not divest him of his concentrated force.
+
+"Won't you take off your coat?" she said, looking at him with strange,
+large dark eyes. A strange woman, he could not understand her. Yet, as
+he sat down again, having removed his overcoat, he felt her looking at
+his limbs, his physical body. And this went against him, he did not want
+it. Yet quite fixed in him too was the desire for her, her beautiful
+white arms, her whole soft white body. And such desire he would not
+contradict nor allow to be contradicted. It was his will also. Her whole
+soft white body--to possess it in its entirety, its fulness.
+
+"What have you to do this morning?" she asked him.
+
+"Nothing," he said. "Have you?" He lifted his head and looked at her.
+
+"Nothing at all," said she.
+
+And then they sat in silence, he with his head dropped. Then again he
+looked at her.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" he said.
+
+She sat with her face averted, and did not answer. His heart struck
+heavily, but he did not relax.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" came his voice once more, with the faintest touch
+of irony.
+
+Her face gradually grew dusky. And he wondered very much to see it.
+
+"Yes," said she, still not looking at him. "If you wish."
+
+"I do wish," he said. And all the time he sat with his eyes fixed on her
+face, and she sat with her face averted.
+
+"Now?" he said. "And where?"
+
+Again she was silent for some moments, as if struggling with herself.
+Then she looked at him--a long, strange, dark look, incomprehensible,
+and which he did not like.
+
+"You don't want emotions? You don't want me to say things, do you?" he
+said.
+
+A faint ironic smile came on her face.
+
+"I know what all that is worth," she said, with curious calm equanimity.
+"No, I want none of that."
+
+"Then--?"
+
+But now she sat gazing on him with wide, heavy, incomprehensible eyes.
+It annoyed him.
+
+"What do you want to see in me?" he asked, with a smile, looking
+steadily back again.
+
+And now she turned aside her face once more, and once more the dusky
+colour came in her cheek. He waited.
+
+"Shall I go away?" he said at length.
+
+"Would you rather?" she said, keeping her face averted.
+
+"No," he said.
+
+Then again she was silent.
+
+"Where shall I come to you?" he said.
+
+She paused a moment still, then answered:
+
+"I'll go to my room."
+
+"I don't know which it is," he said.
+
+"I'll show it you," she said.
+
+"And then I shall come to you in ten minutes. In ten minutes," he
+reiterated.
+
+So she rose, and led the way out of the little salon. He walked with her
+to the door of her room, bowed his head as she looked at him, holding
+the door handle; and then he turned and went back to the drawing-room,
+glancing at his watch.
+
+In the drawing-room he stood quite still, with his feet apart, and
+waited. He stood with his hands behind him, and his feet apart, quite
+motionless, planted and firm. So the minutes went by unheeded. He looked
+at his watch. The ten minutes were just up. He had heard footsteps and
+doors. So he decided to give her another five minutes. He wished to be
+quite sure that she had had her own time for her own movements.
+
+Then at the end of the five minutes he went straight to her room,
+entered, and locked the door behind him. She was lying in bed, with her
+back to him.
+
+He found her strange, not as he had imagined her. Not powerful, as
+he had imagined her. Strange, in his arms she seemed almost small
+and childish, whilst in daily life she looked a full, womanly woman.
+Strange, the naked way she clung to him! Almost like a sister, a younger
+sister! Or like a child! It filled him with a curious wonder, almost a
+bewilderment. In the dark sightlessness of passion, she seemed almost
+like a clinging child in his arms. And yet like a child who in some deep
+and essential way mocked him. In some strange and incomprehensible way,
+as a girl-child blindly obstinate in her deepest nature, she was against
+him. He felt she was not his woman. Through him went the feeling, "This
+is not my woman."
+
+When, after a long sleep, he awoke and came fully to himself, with that
+click of awakeness which is the end, the first shades were closing on
+the afternoon. He got up and reached for his watch.
+
+"Quarter past four," he said.
+
+Her eyes stretched wide with surprise as she looked at him. But she
+said nothing. The same strange and wide, perhaps insatiable child-like
+curiosity was in her eyes as she watched him. He dressed very quickly.
+And her eyes were wide, and she said no single word.
+
+But when he was dressed, and bent over her to say goodbye, she put her
+arms round him, that seemed such frail and childish arms now, yet withal
+so deadly in power. Her soft arms round his neck, her tangle of hair
+over his face. And yet, even as he kissed her, he felt her deadly. He
+wanted to be gone. He wanted to get out of her arms and her clinging and
+her tangle of hair and her curiosity and her strange and hateful power.
+
+"You'll come again. We'll be like this again?" she whispered.
+
+And it was hard for him to realise that this was that other woman, who
+had sat so silently on the sofa, so darkly and reservedly, at the tea at
+Algy's.
+
+"Yes! I will! Goodbye now!" And he kissed her, and walked straight out
+of the room. Quickly he took his coat and his hat, quickly, and left the
+house. In his nostrils was still the scent with which the bed linen was
+faintly scented--he did not know what it was. But now he wiped his face
+and his mouth, to wipe it away.
+
+He had eaten nothing since coffee that morning, and was hungry,
+faint-feeling. And his face, and his mind, felt withered. Curiously he
+felt blasted as if blighted by some electricity. And he knew, he
+knew quite well he was only in possession of a tithe of his natural
+faculties. And in his male spirit he felt himself hating her: hating her
+deeply, damnably. But he said to himself: "No, I won't hate her. I won't
+hate her."
+
+So he went on, over the Ponte Vecchio, where the jeweller's windows on
+the bridge were already blazing with light, on into the town. He wanted
+to eat something, so he decided to go to a shop he knew, where one could
+stand and eat good tiny rolls split into truffle or salami sandwiches,
+and drink Marsala. So one after the other he ate little truffle rolls,
+and drank a few glasses of Marsala. And then he did not know what to do.
+He did not want to eat any more, he had had what he wanted. His hunger
+had been more nervous than sensual.
+
+So he went into the street. It was just growing dark and the town was
+lighting up. He felt curiously blazed, as if some flame or electric
+power had gone through him and withered his vital tissue. Blazed, as if
+some kind of electric flame had run over him and withered him. His brain
+felt withered, his mind had only one of its many-sighted eyes left open
+and unscorched. So many of the eyes of his mind were scorched now and
+sightless.
+
+Yet a restlessness was in his nerves. What should he do? He remembered
+he had a letter in his pocket from Sir William Franks. Sir William had
+still teased him about his fate and his providence, in which he, Aaron,
+was supposed to trust. "I shall be very glad to hear from you, and to
+know how your benevolent Providence--or was yours a Fate--has treated
+you since we saw you---"
+
+So, Aaron turned away, and walked to the post office. There he took
+paper, and sat down at one of the tables in the writing room, and wrote
+his answer. It was very strange, writing thus when most of his mind's
+eyes were scorched, and it seemed he could hardly see to hold the pen,
+to drive it straight across the paper. Yet write he must. And most of
+his faculties being quenched or blasted for the moment, he wrote perhaps
+his greatest, or his innermost, truth.--"I don't want my Fate or my
+Providence to treat me well. I don't want kindness or love. I don't
+believe in harmony and people loving one another. I believe in the fight
+and in nothing else. I believe in the fight which is in everything. And
+if it is a question of women, I believe in the fight of love, even if it
+blinds me. And if it is a question of the world, I believe in fighting
+it and in having it hate me, even if it breaks my legs. I want the world
+to hate me, because I can't bear the thought that it might love me. For
+of all things love is the most deadly to me, and especially from such a
+repulsive world as I think this is...."
+
+Well, here was a letter for a poor old man to receive. But, in the
+dryness of his withered mind, Aaron got it out of himself. When a man
+writes a letter to himself, it is a pity to post it to somebody else.
+Perhaps the same is true of a book.
+
+His letter written, however, he stamped it and sealed it and put it
+in the box. That made it final. Then he turned towards home. One fact
+remained unbroken in the debris of his consciousness: that in the town
+was Lilly: and that when he needed, he could go to Lilly: also, that
+in the world was Lottie, his wife: and that against Lottie, his heart
+burned with a deep, deep, almost unreachable bitterness.--Like a deep
+burn on his deepest soul, Lottie. And like a fate which he resented, yet
+which steadied him, Lilly.
+
+He went home and lay on his bed. He had enough self-command to hear the
+gong and go down to dinner. White and abstract-looking, he sat and ate
+his dinner. And then, thank God, he could go to bed, alone, in his own
+cold bed, alone, thank God. To be alone in the night! For this he was
+unspeakably thankful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+
+
+Aaron awoke in the morning feeling better, but still only a part
+himself. The night alone had restored him. And the need to be alone
+still was his greatest need. He felt an intense resentment against the
+Marchesa. He felt that somehow, she had given him a scorpion. And his
+instinct was to hate her. And yet he avoided hating her. He remembered
+Lilly--and the saying that one must possess oneself, and be alone in
+possession of oneself. And somehow, under the influence of Lilly, he
+refused to follow the reflex of his own passion. He refused to hate the
+Marchesa. He _did_ like her. He did _esteem_ her. And after all, she too
+was struggling with her fate. He had a genuine sympathy with her. Nay,
+he was not going to hate her.
+
+But he could not see her. He could not bear the thought that she might
+call and see him. So he took the tram to Settignano, and walked away all
+day into the country, having bread and sausage in his pocket. He sat for
+long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany. And never had any trees
+seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange, pregnant presences. He lay
+and watched tall cypresses breathing and communicating, faintly moving
+and as it were walking in the small wind. And his soul seemed to
+leave him and to go far away, far back, perhaps, to where life was
+all different and time passed otherwise than time passes now. As in
+clairvoyance he perceived it: that our life is only a fragment of the
+shell of life. That there has been and will be life, human life such as
+we do not begin to conceive. Much that is life has passed away from men,
+leaving us all mere bits. In the dark, mindful silence and inflection of
+the cypress trees, lost races, lost language, lost human ways of feeling
+and of knowing. Men have known as we can no more know, have felt as we
+can no more feel. Great life-realities gone into the darkness. But the
+cypresses commemorate. In the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising
+dark about him, like so many high visitants from an old, lost, lost
+subtle world, where men had the wonder of demons about them, the aura of
+demons, such as still clings to the cypresses, in Tuscany.
+
+All day, he did not make up his mind what he was going to do. His first
+impulse was never to see her again. And this was his intention all day.
+But as he went home in the tram he softened, and thought. Nay,
+that would not be fair. For how had she treated him, otherwise than
+generously.
+
+She had been generous, and the other thing, that he felt blasted
+afterwards, which was his experience, that was fate, and not her fault.
+So he must see her again. He must not act like a churl. But he would
+tell her--he would tell her that he was a married man, and that though
+he had left his wife, and though he had no dogma of fidelity, still,
+the years of marriage had made a married man of him, and any other woman
+than his wife was a strange woman to him, a violation. "I will tell
+her," he said to himself, "that at the bottom of my heart I love Lottie
+still, and that I can't help it. I believe that is true. It isn't love,
+perhaps. But it is marriage. I am married to Lottie. And that means I
+can't be married to another woman. It isn't my nature. And perhaps I
+can't bear to live with Lottie now, because I am married and not in
+love. When a man is married, he is not in love. A husband is not a
+lover. Lilly told me that: and I know it's true now. Lilly told me that
+a husband cannot be a lover, and a lover cannot be a husband. And that
+women will only have lovers now, and never a husband. Well, I am a
+husband, if I am anything. And I shall never be a lover again, not while
+I live. No, not to anybody. I haven't it in me. I'm a husband, and so it
+is finished with me as a lover. I can't be a lover any more, just as I
+can't be aged twenty any more. I am a man now, not an adolescent. And to
+my sorrow I am a husband to a woman who wants a lover: always a lover.
+But all women want lovers. And I can't be it any more. I don't want to.
+I have finished that. Finished for ever: unless I become senile---"
+
+Therefore next day he gathered up his courage. He would not have had
+courage unless he had known that he was not alone. The other man was
+in the town, and from this fact he derived his strength: the fact that
+Lilly was there. So at teatime he went over the river, and rang at her
+door. Yes, she was at home, and she had other visitors. She was wearing
+a beautiful soft afternoon dress, again of a blue like chicory-flowers,
+a pale, warm blue. And she had cornflowers in her belt: heaven knows
+where she had got them.
+
+She greeted Aaron with some of the childish shyness. He could tell that
+she was glad he had come, and that she had wondered at his not coming
+sooner. She introduced him to her visitors: two young ladies and one
+old lady and one elderly Italian count. The conversation was mostly in
+French or Italian, so Aaron was rather out of it.
+
+However, the visitors left fairly early, so Aaron stayed them out. When
+they had gone, he asked:
+
+"Where is Manfredi?"
+
+"He will come in soon. At about seven o'clock."
+
+Then there was a silence again.
+
+"You are dressed fine today," he said to her.
+
+"Am I?" she smiled.
+
+He was never able to make out quite what she felt, what she was feeling.
+But she had a quiet little air of proprietorship in him, which he did
+not like.
+
+"You will stay to dinner tonight, won't you?" she said.
+
+"No--not tonight," he said. And then, awkwardly, he added: "You know. I
+think it is better if we are friends--not lovers. You know--I don't feel
+free. I feel my wife, I suppose, somewhere inside me. And I can't help
+it---"
+
+She bent her head and was silent for some moments. Then she lifted her
+face and looked at him oddly.
+
+"Yes," she said. "I am sure you love your wife."
+
+The reply rather staggered him--and to tell the truth, annoyed him.
+
+"Well," he said. "I don't know about love. But when one has been married
+for ten years--and I did love her--then--some sort of bond or something
+grows. I think some sort of connection grows between us, you know. And
+it isn't natural, quite, to break it.--Do you know what I mean?"
+
+She paused a moment. Then, very softly, almost gently, she said:
+
+"Yes, I do. I know so well what you mean."
+
+He was really surprised at her soft acquiescence. What _did_ she mean?
+
+"But we can be friends, can't we?" he said.
+
+"Yes, I hope so. Why, yes! Goodness, yes! I should be sorry if we
+couldn't be friends."
+
+After which speech he felt that everything was all right--everything
+was A-one. And when Manfredi came home, the first sound he heard was the
+flute and his wife's singing.
+
+"I'm so glad you've come," his wife said to him. "Shall we go into the
+sala and have real music? Will you play?"
+
+"I should love to," replied the husband.
+
+Behold them then in the big drawing-room, and Aaron and the Marchese
+practising together, and the Marchesa singing an Italian folk-song
+while her husband accompanied her on the pianoforte. But her singing was
+rather strained and forced. Still, they were quite a little family, and
+it seemed quite nice. As soon as she could, the Marchesa left the two
+men together, whilst she sat apart. Aaron and Manfredi went through
+old Italian and old German music, tried one thing and then another, and
+seemed quite like brothers. They arranged a piece which they should play
+together on a Saturday morning, eight days hence.
+
+The next day, Saturday, Aaron went to one of the Del Torre music
+mornings. There was a string quartette--and a violin soloist--and the
+Marchese at the piano. The audience, some dozen or fourteen friends,
+sat at the near end of the room, or in the smaller salotta, whilst the
+musicians performed at the further end of the room. The Lillys were
+there, both Tanny and her husband. But apart from these, Aaron knew
+nobody, and felt uncomfortable. The Marchesa gave her guests little
+sandwiches and glasses of wine or Marsala or vermouth, as they chose.
+And she was quite the hostess: the well-bred and very simple, but still
+the conventional hostess. Aaron did not like it. And he could see that
+Lilly too was unhappy. In fact, the little man bolted the moment he
+could, dragging after him the indignant Tanny, who was so looking
+forward to the excellent little sandwiches. But no--Lilly just rudely
+bolted. Aaron followed as soon as he could.
+
+"Will you come to dinner tomorrow evening?" said his hostess to him as
+he was leaving. And he agreed. He had really resented seeing her as a
+conventional hostess, attending so charmingly to all the other people,
+and treating him so merely as one of the guests, among many others. So
+that when at the last moment she quietly invited him to dinner next day,
+he was flattered and accepted at once.
+
+The next day was Sunday--the seventh day after his coming together with
+the Marchesa--which had taken place on the Monday. And already he was
+feeling much less dramatic in his decision to keep himself apart from
+her, to be merely friends. Already the memory of the last time was
+fanning up in him, not as a warning but as a terrible incitement. Again
+the naked desire was getting hold of him, with that peculiar brutal
+powerfulness which startled him and also pleased him.
+
+So that by the time Sunday morning came, his recoil had exhausted
+itself, and he was ready again, eager again, but more wary this time.
+He sat in his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing over
+from memory the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she would get
+into unison in the evening. His flute, his Aaron's rod, would blossom
+once again with splendid scarlet flowers, the red Florentine lilies.
+It was curious, the passion he had for her: just unalloyed desire, and
+nothing else. Something he had not known in his life before. Previously
+there had been always _some_ personal quality, some sort of personal
+tenderness. But here, none. She did not seem to want it. She seemed
+to hate it, indeed. No, all he felt was stark, naked desire, without a
+single pretension. True enough, his last experience had been a warning
+to him. His desire and himself likewise had broken rather disastrously
+under the proving. But not finally broken. He was ready again. And with
+all the sheer powerful insolence of desire he looked forward to the
+evening. For he almost expected Manfredi would not be there. The
+officer had said something about having to go to Padua on the Saturday
+afternoon.
+
+So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock. Judge
+of his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an
+elderly, quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected English
+authoress. She was charming, in her white hair and dress of soft white
+wool and white lace, with a long chain of filigree gold beads, like
+bubbles. She was charming in her old-fashioned manner too, as if the
+world were still safe and stable, like a garden in which delightful
+culture, and choice ideas bloomed safe from wind and weather. Alas,
+never was Aaron more conscious of the crude collapse in the world than
+when he listened to this animated, young-seeming lady from the safe
+days of the seventies. All the old culture and choice ideas seemed like
+blowing bubbles. And dear old Corinna Wade, she seemed to be blowing
+bubbles still, as she sat there so charming in her soft white dress,
+and talked with her bright animation about the influence of woman
+in Parliament and the influence of woman in the Periclean day. Aaron
+listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles float round his head, and
+almost hearing them go pop.
+
+To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud
+of his not-very-important social standing than of his literature. In
+fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad.
+Perfectly well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face
+was the most well-dressed thing to be met in North Italy.
+
+"Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French. I didn't know you were in Florence
+again. You make that journey from Venice so often. I wonder you don't
+get tired of it," cried Corinna Wade.
+
+"No," he said. "So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I shall
+come to Florence. But I can LIVE in no town but Venice."
+
+"No, I suppose you can't. Well, there is something special about Venice:
+having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a gondola. I
+suppose it is all much more soothing."
+
+"Much less nerve-racking, yes. And then there is a quality in the
+whole life. Of course I see few English people in Venice--only the old
+Venetian families, as a rule."
+
+"Ah, yes. That must be very interesting. They are very exclusive still,
+the Venetian _noblesse_?" said Miss Wade.
+
+"Oh, very exclusive," said Mr. French. "That is one of the charms.
+Venice is really altogether exclusive. It excludes the world, really,
+and defies time and modern movement. Yes, in spite of the steamers on
+the canal, and the tourists."
+
+"That is so. That is so. Venice is a strange back-water. And the old
+families are very proud still, in these democratic days. They have a
+great opinion of themselves, I am told."
+
+"Well," said Mr. French. "Perhaps you know the rhyme:
+
+                     "'Veneziano gran' Signore
+                     Padovano buon' dotore.
+                     Vicenzese mangia il gatto
+                     Veronese tutto matto---'"
+
+"How very amusing!" said Miss Wade. "_Veneziana_ gran' Signore. The
+Venetian is a great gentleman! Yes, I know they are all convinced of it.
+Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days. To be born a Venetian,
+is to be born a great gentleman! But this outdoes divine right of king."
+
+"To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman," said
+Mr. French, rather fussily.
+
+"You seriously think so?" said Miss Wade. "Well now, what do you base
+your opinion on?"
+
+Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.
+
+"Yes--interesting. Very interesting. Rather like the
+Byzantines--lingering on into far other ages. Anna Comnena always
+charmed me very much. HOW she despised the flower of the north--even
+Tancred! And so the lingering Venetian families! And you, in your
+palazzo on the Grand Canal: you are a northern barbarian civilised into
+the old Venetian Signoria. But how very romantic a situation!"
+
+It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit
+out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor,
+how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
+
+But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it. He sat and
+listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam
+in his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion. He made
+the two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his democratic
+silence, Miss Wade might have said.
+
+However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early, to
+catch her tram. And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to accompany
+her, to see her safe on board. Which left Aaron and the Marchesa alone.
+
+"What time is Manfredi coming back?" said he.
+
+"Tomorrow," replied she.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Why do you have those people?" he asked.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Those two who were here this evening."
+
+"Miss Wade and Mr. French?--Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much. She is so
+refreshing."
+
+"Those old people," said Aaron. "They licked the sugar off the pill, and
+go on as if everything was toffee. And we've got to swallow the pill.
+It's easy to be refreshing---"
+
+"No, don't say anything against her. I like her so much."
+
+"And him?"
+
+"Mr. French!--Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt
+the pea through three feather-beds. But he can be quite witty, and an
+excellent conversationalist, too. Oh yes, I like him quite well."
+
+"Matter of taste," said Aaron.
+
+They had not much to say to one another. The time passed, in the pauses.
+He looked at his watch.
+
+"I shall have to go," he said.
+
+"Won't you stay?" she said, in a small, muted voice.
+
+"Stay all night?" he said.
+
+"Won't you?"
+
+"Yes," he said quietly. Did he not feel the strength of his desire on
+him.
+
+After which she said no more. Only she offered him whiskey and soda,
+which he accepted.
+
+"Go then," he said to her. "And I'll come to you.--Shall I come in
+fifteen minutes?"
+
+She looked at him with strange, slow dark eyes. And he could not
+understand.
+
+"Yes," she said. And she went.
+
+And again, this night as before, she seemed strangely small and clinging
+in his arms. And this night he felt his passion drawn from him as if
+a long, live nerve were drawn out from his body, a long live thread of
+electric fire, a long, living nerve finely extracted from him, from the
+very roots of his soul. A long fine discharge of pure, bluish fire,
+from the core of his soul. It was an excruciating, but also an intensely
+gratifying sensation.
+
+This night he slept with a deeper obliviousness than before. But ah, as
+it grew towards morning how he wished he could be alone.
+
+They must stay together till the day was light. And she seemed to love
+clinging to him and curling strangely on his breast. He could never
+reconcile it with her who was a hostess entertaining her guests. How
+could she now in a sort of little ecstasy curl herself and nestle
+herself on his, Aaron's breast, tangling his face all over with her
+hair. He verily believed that this was what she really wanted of him: to
+curl herself on his naked breast, to make herself small, small, to feel
+his arms around her, while he himself was remote, silent, in some
+way inaccessible. This seemed almost to make her beside herself with
+gratification. But why, why? Was it because he was one of her own race,
+and she, as it were, crept right home to him?
+
+He did not know. He only knew it had nothing to do with him: and that,
+save out of _complaisance_, he did not want it. It simply blasted his
+own central life. It simply blighted him.
+
+And she clung to him closer. Strange, she was afraid of him! Afraid of
+him as of a fetish! Fetish afraid, and fetish-fascinated! Or was her
+fear only a delightful game of cat and mouse? Or was the fear genuine,
+and the delight the greater: a sort of sacrilege? The fear, and the
+dangerous, sacrilegious power over that which she feared.
+
+In some way, she was not afraid of him at all. In some other way she
+used him as a mere magic implement, used him with the most amazing
+priestess-craft. Himself, the individual man which he was, this she
+treated with an indifference that was startling to him.
+
+He forgot, perhaps, that this was how he had treated her. His famous
+desire for her, what had it been but this same attempt to strike a magic
+fire out of her, for his own ecstasy. They were playing the same game
+of fire. In him, however, there was all the time something hard and
+reckless and defiant, which stood apart. She was absolutely gone in
+her own incantations. She was absolutely gone, like a priestess utterly
+involved in her terrible rites. And he was part of the ritual only, God
+and victim in one. God and victim! All the time, God and victim. When
+his aloof soul realised, amid the welter of incantation, how he was
+being used,--not as himself but as something quite different--God and
+victim--then he dilated with intense surprise, and his remote soul stood
+up tall and knew itself alone. He didn't want it, not at all. He knew
+he was apart. And he looked back over the whole mystery of their
+love-contact. Only his soul was apart.
+
+He was aware of the strength and beauty and godlikeness that his breast
+was then to her--the magic. But himself, he stood far off, like Moses'
+sister Miriam. She would drink the one drop of his innermost heart's
+blood, and he would be carrion. As Cleopatra killed her lovers in the
+morning. Surely they knew that death was their just climax. They had
+approached the climax. Accept then.
+
+But his soul stood apart, and could have nothing to do with it. If he
+had really been tempted, he would have gone on, and she might have had
+his central heart's blood. Yes, and thrown away the carrion. He would
+have been willing.
+
+But fatally, he was not tempted. His soul stood apart and decided. At
+the bottom of his soul he disliked her. Or if not her, then her whole
+motive. Her whole life-mode. He was neither God nor victim: neither
+greater nor less than himself. His soul, in its isolation as she lay on
+his breast, chose it so, with the soul's inevitability. So, there was no
+temptation.
+
+When it was sufficiently light, he kissed her and left her. Quietly he
+left the silent flat. He had some difficulty in unfastening the various
+locks and bars and catches of the massive door downstairs, and began, in
+irritation and anger, to feel he was a prisoner, that he was locked
+in. But suddenly the ponderous door came loose, and he was out in the
+street. The door shut heavily behind him, with a shudder. He was out in
+the morning streets of Florence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE BROKEN ROD
+
+
+The day was rainy. Aaron stayed indoors alone, and copied music and
+slept. He felt the same stunned, withered feeling as before, but less
+intensely, less disastrously, this time. He knew now, without argument
+or thought that he would never go again to the Marchesa: not as a lover.
+He would go away from it all. He did not dislike her. But he would never
+see her again. A great gulf had opened, leaving him alone on the far
+side.
+
+He did not go out till after dinner. When he got downstairs he found the
+heavy night-door closed. He wondered: then remembered the Signorina's
+fear of riots and disturbances. As again he fumbled with the catches,
+he felt that the doors of Florence were trying to prevent his egress.
+However, he got out.
+
+It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming. He
+was struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere.
+Yet he noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one
+with a torch: a long torch with naked flames. The men were stooping over
+something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too. It was a
+dark, weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence. Aaron lingered on his
+doorstep, watching. He could not see what they were doing. But now, the
+two were crouching down; over a long dark object on the ground, and the
+one with the torch bending also to look. What was it? They were just at
+the foot of the statue, a dark little group under the big pediment, the
+torch-flames weirdly flickering as the torch-bearer moved and stooped
+lower to the two crouching men, who seemed to be kneeling.
+
+Aaron felt his blood stir. There was something dark and mysterious,
+stealthy, in the little scene. It was obvious the men did not want to
+draw attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming. And an eerie
+instinct prevented Aaron's going nearer to look. Instead, he swerved
+on to the Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the
+little group in the centre. He walked the deserted dark-seeming street
+by the river, then turned inwards, into the city. He was going to the
+Piazza Vittoria Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre
+of Florence at night. There he could sit for an hour, and drink his
+vermouth and watch the Florentines.
+
+As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
+hurrying of feet behind him. Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
+coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him as
+he trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street. Aaron shrank under
+the wall. The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron perceived
+the other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily, bearing a
+stretcher on which a body was wrapped up, completely and darkly covered.
+The torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher passed too, hastily
+and stealthily, the flickering flames revealing them. They took no
+notice of Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted softly on towards
+the centre of the city. Their queer, quick footsteps echoed down the
+distance. Then Aaron too resumed his way.
+
+He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe. It was Sunday evening,
+and the place was full. Men, Florentines, many, many men sat in groups
+and in twos and threes at the little marble tables. They were mostly in
+dark clothes or black overcoats. They had mostly been drinking just a
+cup of coffee--others however had glasses of wine or liquor. But mostly
+it was just a little coffee-tray with a tiny coffee pot and a cup and
+saucer. There was a faint film of tobacco smoke. And the men were
+all talking: talking, talking with that peculiar intensity of
+the Florentines. Aaron felt the intense, compressed sound of many
+half-secret voices. For the little groups and couples abated their
+voices, none wished that others should hear what they said.
+
+Aaron was looking for a seat--there was no table to him-�when suddenly
+someone took him by the arm. It was Argyle.
+
+"Come along, now! Come and join us. Here, this way! Come along!"
+
+Aaron let himself be led away towards a corner. There sat Lilly and a
+strange man: called Levison. The room was warm. Aaron could never bear
+to be too hot. After sitting a minute, he rose and took off his coat,
+and hung it on a stand near the window. As he did so he felt the weight
+of his flute--it was still in his pocket. And he wondered if it was safe
+to leave it.
+
+"I suppose no one will steal from the overcoat pockets," he said, as he
+sat down.
+
+"My dear chap, they'd steal the gold filling out of your teeth, if you
+happened to yawn," said Argyle. "Why, have you left valuables in your
+overcoat?"
+
+"My flute," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, they won't steal that," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Lilly, "we should see anyone who touched it."
+
+And so they settled down to the vermouth.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "what have you been doing with yourself, eh? I
+haven't seen a glimpse of you for a week. Been going to the dogs, eh?"
+
+"Or the bitches," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but look here, that's bad! That's bad! I can see I shall have
+to take you in hand, and commence my work of reform. Oh, I'm a great
+reformer, a Zwingli and Savonarola in one. I couldn't count the number
+of people I've led into the right way. It takes some finding, you know.
+Strait is the gate--damned strait sometimes. A damned tight squeeze...."
+Argyle was somewhat intoxicated. He spoke with a slight slur, and
+laughed, really tickled at his own jokes. The man Levison smiled
+acquiescent. But Lilly was not listening. His brow was heavy and he
+seemed abstracted. He hardly noticed Aaron's arrival.
+
+"Did you see the row yesterday?" asked Levison.
+
+"No," said Aaron. "What was it?"
+
+It was the socialists. They were making a demonstration against the
+imprisonment of one of the railway-strikers. I was there. They went on
+all right, with a good bit of howling and gibing: a lot of young louts,
+you know. And the shop-keepers shut up shop, and nobody showed the
+Italian flag, of course. Well, when they came to the Via Benedetto
+Croce, there were a few mounted carabinieri. So they stopped the
+procession, and the sergeant said that the crowd could continue, could
+go on where they liked, but would they not go down the Via Verrocchio,
+because it was being repaired, the roadway was all up, and there were
+piles of cobble stones. These might prove a temptation and lead to
+trouble. So would the demonstrators not take that road--they might take
+any other they liked.--Well, the very moment he had finished, there
+was a revolver shot, he made a noise, and fell forward over his horse's
+nose. One of the anarchists had shot him. Then there was hell let loose,
+the carabinieri fired back, and people were bolting and fighting like
+devils. I cleared out, myself. But my God--what do you think of it?"
+
+"Seems pretty mean," said Aaron.
+
+"Mean!--He had just spoken them fair--they could go where they liked,
+only would they not go down the one road, because of the heap of stones.
+And they let him finish. And then shot him dead."
+
+"Was he dead?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes--killed outright, the Nazione says."
+
+There was a silence. The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk
+vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "if you let loose the dogs of war, you mustn't
+expect them to come to heel again in five minutes."
+
+"But there's no fair play about it, not a bit," said Levison.
+
+"Ah, my dear fellow, are you still so young and callow that you cherish
+the illusion of fair play?" said Argyle.
+
+"Yes, I am," said Levison.
+
+"Live longer and grow wiser," said Argyle, rather contemptuously.
+
+"Are you a socialist?" asked Levison.
+
+"Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella," said Argyle, in
+his musical, indifferent voice. "Yes, Bella's her name. And if you
+can tell me a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure you,
+attentively."
+
+"But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha," said Aaron.
+
+"Haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if not
+more."
+
+"They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?" said Levison.
+
+"Not the very least in the world--if it hadn't been that my elder Aunt
+Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella. I cut myself off from
+the family after that. Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not a family
+name on it. Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest."
+
+"You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,"
+said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Assiduously! Assiduously! I can't stand these little vermin. Oh, I
+am quite indifferent about swallowing a camel or two--or even a whole
+string of dromedaries. How charmingly Eastern that sounds! But gnats!
+Not for anything in the world would I swallow one."
+
+"You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?" persisted Levison, now
+turning to Lilly.
+
+"No," said Lilly. "I was."
+
+"And am no more," said Argyle sarcastically. "My dear fellow, the only
+hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery."
+
+"What kind of slavery?" asked Levison.
+
+"Slavery! SLAVERY! When I say SLAVERY I don't mean any of your damned
+modern reform cant. I mean solid sound slavery on which the Greek and
+the Roman world rested. FAR finer worlds than ours, my dear chap! Oh
+FAR finer! And can't be done without slavery. Simply can't be done.--Oh,
+they'll all come to realise it, when they've had a bit more of this
+democratic washer-women business."
+
+Levison was laughing, with a slight sneer down his nose. "Anyhow,
+there's no immediate danger--or hope, if you prefer it--of the
+re-instituting of classic slavery," he said.
+
+"Unfortunately no. We are all such fools," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Levison, "who would you make slaves of?"
+
+"Everybody, my dear chap: beginning with the idealists and the
+theorising Jews, and after them your nicely-bred gentlemen, and then
+perhaps, your profiteers and Rothschilds, and ALL politicians, and
+ending up with the proletariat," said Argyle.
+
+"Then who would be the masters?--the professional classes, doctors and
+lawyers and so on?"
+
+"What? Masters. They would be the sewerage slaves, as being those who
+had made most smells." There was a moment's silence.
+
+"The only fault I have to find with your system," said Levison, rather
+acidly, "is that there would be only one master, and everybody else
+slaves."
+
+"Do you call that a fault? What do you want with more than one
+master? Are you asking for several?--Well, perhaps there's cunning in
+THAT.--Cunning devils, cunning devils, these theorising slaves--" And
+Argyle pushed his face with a devilish leer into Aaron's face. "Cunning
+devils!" he reiterated, with a slight tipsy slur. "That be-fouled
+Epictetus wasn't the last of 'em--nor the first. Oh, not by any means,
+not by any means."
+
+Here Lilly could not avoid a slight spasm of amusement. "But returning
+to serious conversation," said Levison, turning his rather sallow face
+to Lilly. "I think you'll agree with me that socialism is the inevitable
+next step--"
+
+Lilly waited for some time without answering. Then he said, with
+unwilling attention to the question: "I suppose it's the logically
+inevitable next step."
+
+"Use logic as lavatory paper," cried Argyle harshly. "Yes--logically
+inevitable--and humanly inevitable at the same time. Some form of
+socialism is bound to come, no matter how you postpone it or try
+variations," said Levison.
+
+"All right, let it come," said Lilly. "It's not my affair, neither to
+help it nor to keep it back, or even to try varying it."
+
+"There I don't follow you," said Levison. "Suppose you were in Russia
+now--"
+
+"I watch it I'm not."
+
+"But you're in Italy, which isn't far off. Supposing a socialist
+revolution takes place all around you. Won't that force the problem on
+you?--It is every man's problem," persisted Levison.
+
+"Not mine," said Lilly.
+
+"How shall you escape it?" said Levison.
+
+"Because to me it is no problem. To Bolsh or not to Bolsh, as far as my
+mind goes, presents no problem. Not any more than to be or not to be. To
+be or not to be is simply no problem--"
+
+"No, I quite agree, that since you are already existing, and since death
+is ultimately inevitable, to be or not to be is no sound problem,"
+said Levison. "But the parallel isn't true of socialism. That is not a
+problem of existence, but of a certain mode of existence which centuries
+of thought and action on the part of Europe have now made logically
+inevitable for Europe. And therefore there is a problem. There is more
+than a problem, there is a dilemma. Either we must go to the logical
+conclusion--or--"
+
+"Somewhere else," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--yes. Precisely! But where ELSE? That's the one half of the
+problem: supposing you do not agree to a logical progression in human
+social activity. Because after all, human society through the course
+of ages only enacts, spasmodically but still inevitably, the logical
+development of a given idea."
+
+"Well, then, I tell you.--The idea and the ideal has for me gone
+dead--dead as carrion--"
+
+"Which idea, which ideal precisely?"
+
+"The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to receive,
+the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man, the ideal of
+the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call goodness, charity,
+benevolence, public spirited-ness, the ideal of sacrifice for a cause,
+the ideal of unity and unanimity--all the lot--all the whole beehive
+of ideals--has all got the modern bee-disease, and gone putrid,
+stinking.--And when the ideal is dead and putrid, the logical sequence
+is only stink.--Which, for me, is the truth concerning the ideal of
+good, peaceful, loving humanity and its logical sequence in socialism
+and equality, equal opportunity or whatever you like.--But this time he
+stinketh--and I'm sorry for any Christus who brings him to life again,
+to stink livingly for another thirty years: the beastly Lazarus of our
+idealism."
+
+"That may be true for you--"
+
+"But it's true for nobody else," said Lilly. "All the worse for them.
+Let them die of the bee-disease."
+
+"Not only that," persisted Levison, "but what is your alternative? Is it
+merely nihilism?"
+
+"My alternative," said Lilly, "is an alternative for no one but myself,
+so I'll keep my mouth shut about it."
+
+"That isn't fair."
+
+"I tell you, the ideal of fairness stinks with the rest.--I have no
+obligation to say what I think."
+
+"Yes, if you enter into conversation, you have--"
+
+"Bah, then I didn't enter into conversation.--The only thing is, I agree
+in the rough with Argyle. You've got to have a sort of slavery again.
+People are not MEN: they are insects and instruments, and their
+destiny is slavery. They are too many for me, and so what I think
+is ineffectual. But ultimately they will be brought to agree--after
+sufficient extermination--and then they will elect for themselves a
+proper and healthy and energetic slavery."
+
+"I should like to know what you mean by slavery. Because to me it is
+impossible that slavery should be healthy and energetic. You seem to
+have some other idea in your mind, and you merely use the word slavery
+out of exasperation--"
+
+"I mean it none the less. I mean a real committal of the life-issue of
+inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being."
+
+"It'll take a bit of knowing, who are the inferior and which is the
+superior," said Levison sarcastically.
+
+"Not a bit. It is written between a man's brows, which he is."
+
+"I'm afraid we shall all read differently."
+
+"So long as we're liars."
+
+"And putting that question aside: I presume that you mean that this
+committal of the life-issue of inferior beings to someone higher shall
+be made voluntarily--a sort of voluntary self-gift of the inferiors--"
+
+"Yes--more or less--and a voluntary acceptance. For it's no pretty gift,
+after all.--But once made it must be held fast by genuine power.
+Oh yes--no playing and fooling about with it. Permanent and very
+efficacious power."
+
+"You mean military power?"
+
+"I do, of course."
+
+Here Levison smiled a long, slow, subtle smile of ridicule. It all
+seemed to him the preposterous pretentiousness of a megalomaniac--one
+whom, after a while, humanity would probably have the satisfaction of
+putting into prison, or into a lunatic asylum. And Levison felt
+strong, overwhelmingly strong, in the huge social power with which
+he, insignificant as he was, was armed against such criminal-imbecile
+pretensions as those above set forth. Prison or the lunatic asylum.
+The face of the fellow gloated in these two inevitable engines of his
+disapproval.
+
+"It will take you some time before you'll get your doctrines accepted,"
+he said.
+
+"Accepted! I'd be sorry. I don't want a lot of swine snouting and
+sniffing at me with their acceptance.--Bah, Levison--one can easily make
+a fool of you. Do you take this as my gospel?"
+
+"I take it you are speaking seriously."
+
+Here Lilly broke into that peculiar, gay, whimsical smile.
+
+"But I should say the blank opposite with just as much fervour," he
+declared.
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't MEAN what you've been saying?" said
+Levison, now really looking angry.
+
+"Why, I'll tell you the real truth," said Lilly. "I think every man is a
+sacred and holy individual, NEVER to be violated; I think there is only
+one thing I hate to the verge of madness, and that is BULLYING. To see
+any living creature BULLIED, in any way, almost makes a murderer of me.
+That is true. Do you believe it--?"
+
+"Yes," said Levison unwillingly. "That may be true as well. You have no
+doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which--"
+
+C R A S H!
+
+There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in
+darkness.
+
+Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible
+sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the
+hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful
+gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
+
+He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos. Then as he began to
+recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some
+distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where tables and
+chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris of glass and
+breakage: he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody gone: he saw
+the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of debris: he
+saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious.
+And still he had no idea of what had happened. He thought perhaps
+something had broken down. He could not understand.
+
+Lilly began to look round. He caught Aaron's eye. And then Aaron began
+to approach his friend.
+
+"What is it?" he asked.
+
+"A bomb," said Lilly.
+
+The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now
+advanced to the place of debris. And now Aaron saw that a man was lying
+there--and horror, blood was running across the floor of the cafe. Men
+began now hastily to return to the place. Some seized their hats and
+departed again at once. But many began to crowd in--a black eager crowd
+of men pressing to where the bomb had burst--where the man was lying. It
+was rather dark, some of the lamps were broken--but enough still shone.
+Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has
+been an accident. Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat
+and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung. But Aaron looked in
+vain for his own hat. The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had
+hung it and his overcoat.
+
+"My hat and coat?" he said to Lilly.
+
+Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe. Then he climbed on a chair and
+looked round. Then he squeezed past the crowd.
+
+Aaron followed. On the other side of the crowd excited angry men
+were wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble
+table-top. Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the wall.
+He waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward to where
+the coats were. Someone had dragged out his, and it lay on the floor
+under many feet. He managed, with a struggle, to get it from under the
+feet of the crowd. He felt at once for his flute. But his trampled, torn
+coat had no flute in its pocket. He pushed and struggled, caught sight
+of a section, and picked it up. But it was split right down, two silver
+stops were torn out, and a long thin spelch of wood was curiously torn
+off. He looked at it, and his heart stood still. No need to look for the
+rest.
+
+He felt utterly, utterly overcome--as if he didn't care what became
+of him any further. He didn't care whether he were hit by a bomb, or
+whether he himself threw the next bomb, and hit somebody. He just didn't
+care any more about anything in life or death. It was as if the reins of
+his life slipped from his hands. And he would let everything run where
+it would, so long as it did run.
+
+Then he became aware of Lilly's eyes on him--and automatically he joined
+the little man.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And they pushed their way through the door. The police were just
+marching across the square. Aaron and Lilly walked in the opposite
+direction. Groups of people were watching. Suddenly Lilly swerved--in
+the middle of the road was a large black glisten of blood, trickling
+horribly. A wounded man had run from the blow and fallen here.
+
+Aaron did not know where he was going. But in the Via Tournabuoni Lilly
+turned towards the Arno, and soon they were on the Ponte Santa Trinita.
+
+"Who threw the bomb?" said Aaron.
+
+"I suppose an anarchist."
+
+"It's all the same," said Aaron.
+
+The two men, as if unable to walk any further, leaned on the broad
+parapet of the bridge and looked at the water in the darkness of the
+still, deserted night. Aaron still had his flute section in his hand,
+his overcoat over his arm.
+
+"Is that your flute?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Bit of it. Smashed."
+
+"Let me look."
+
+He looked, and gave it back.
+
+"No good," he said.
+
+"Oh, no," said Aaron.
+
+"Throw it in the river, Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron turned and looked at him.
+
+"Throw it in the river," repeated Lilly. "It's an end."
+
+Aaron nervelessly dropped the flute into the stream. The two men stood
+leaning on the bridge-parapet, as if unable to move.
+
+"We shall have to go home," said Lilly. "Tanny may hear of it and be
+anxious."
+
+Aaron was quite dumbfounded by the night's event: the loss of his
+flute. Here was a blow he had not expected. And the loss was for him
+symbolistic. It chimed with something in his soul: the bomb, the smashed
+flute, the end.
+
+"There goes Aaron's Rod, then," he said to Lilly.
+
+"It'll grow again. It's a reed, a water-plant--you can't kill it," said
+Lilly, unheeding.
+
+"And me?"
+
+"You'll have to live without a rod, meanwhile."
+
+To which pleasant remark Aaron made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. WORDS
+
+
+He went home to bed: and dreamed a strange dream. He dreamed that he was
+in a country with which he was not acquainted. Night was coming on, and
+he had nowhere to sleep. So he passed the mouth of a sort of cave or
+house, in which a woman, an old woman, sat. Therefore he entered, and
+though he could not understand the language, still his second self
+understood. The cave was a house: and men came home from work. His
+second self assumed that they were tin-miners.
+
+He wandered uneasily to and fro, no one taking any particular notice of
+him. And he realized that there was a whole vast country spreading, a
+sort of underworld country, spreading away beyond him. He wandered from
+vast apartment to apartment, down narrow corridors like the roads in a
+mine. In one of the great square rooms, the men were going to eat. And
+it seemed to him that what they were going to eat was a man, naked man.
+But his second self knew that what appeared to his eyes as a man was
+really a man's skin stuffed tight with prepared meat, as the skin of a
+Bologna sausage. This did not prevent his seeing the naked man who was
+to be eaten walk slowly and stiffly across the gangway and down the
+corridor. He saw him from behind. It was a big handsome man in the prime
+of life, quite naked and perhaps stupid. But of course he was only a
+skin stuffed with meat, whom the grey tin-miners were going to eat.
+
+Aaron, the dream-Aaron, turned another way, and strayed along the vast
+square rooms, cavern apartments. He came into one room where there were
+many children, all in white gowns. And they were all busily putting
+themselves to bed, in the many beds scattered about the room at
+haphazard. And each child went to bed with a wreath of flowers on its
+head, white flowers and pink, so it seemed. So there they all lay, in
+their flower-crowns in the vast space of the rooms. And Aaron went away.
+
+He could not remember the following part. Only he seemed to have passed
+through many grey domestic apartments, where were all women, all
+greyish in their clothes and appearance, being wives of the underground
+tin-miners. The men were away and the dream-Aaron remembered with fear
+the food they were to eat.
+
+The next thing he could recall was, that he was in a boat. And now he
+was most definitely two people. His invisible, _conscious_ self, what we
+have called his second self, hovered as it were before the prow of
+the boat, seeing and knowing, but unseen. His other self, the palpable
+Aaron, sat as a passenger in the boat, which was being rowed by the
+unknown people of this underworld. They stood up as they thrust the boat
+along. Other passengers were in the boat too, women as well, but all of
+them unknown people, and not noticeable.
+
+The boat was upon a great lake in the underworld country, a lake of dark
+blue water, but crystal clear and very beautiful in colour. The second
+or invisible Aaron sat in the prow and watched the fishes swimming
+suspended in the clear, beautiful dark-blue water. Some were pale fish,
+some frightening-looking, like centipedes swimming, and some were dark
+fish, of definite form, and delightful to watch.
+
+The palpable or visible Aaron sat at the side of the boat, on the end of
+the middle seat, with his naked right elbow leaning out over the side.
+And now the boat entered upon shallows. The impalpable Aaron in the bows
+saw the whitish clay of the bottom swirl up in clouds at each thrust of
+the oars, whitish-clayey clouds which would envelope the strange fishes
+in a sudden mist. And on the right hand of the course stakes stood up in
+the water, at intervals, to mark the course.
+
+The boat must pass very near these stakes, almost touching. And Aaron's
+naked elbow was leaning right over the side. As they approached the
+first stake, the boatmen all uttered a strange cry of warning, in a
+foreign language. The flesh-and-blood Aaron seemed not even to hear. The
+invisible Aaron heard, but did not comprehend the words of the cry.
+
+So the naked elbow struck smartly against the stake as the boat passed.
+
+The rowers rowed on. And still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat with his
+arm over the side. Another stake was nearing. "Will he heed, will he
+heed?" thought the anxious second self. The rowers gave the strange
+warning cry. He did not heed, and again the elbow struck against the
+stake as the boat passed. And yet the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on and
+made no sign. There were stakes all along this shallow part of the lake.
+Beyond was deep water again. The invisible Aaron was becoming anxious.
+"Will he never hear? Will he never heed? Will he never understand?"
+he thought. And he watched in pain for the next stake. But still the
+flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on, and though the rowers cried so acutely
+that the invisible Aaron almost understood their very language, still
+the Aaron seated at the side heard nothing, and his elbow struck against
+the third stake.
+
+This was almost too much. But after a few moments, as the boat rowed on,
+the palpable Aaron changed his position as he sat, and drew in his arm:
+though even now he was not aware of any need to do so. The invisible
+Aaron breathed with relief in the bows, the boat swung steadily on, into
+the deep, unfathomable water again.
+
+They were drawing near a city. A lake-city, like Mexico. They must have
+reached a city, because when Aaron woke up and tried to piece together
+the dream of which these are mere fragments, he could remember having
+just seen an idol. An Astarte he knew it as, seated by the road, and in
+her open lap, were some eggs: smallish hen's eggs, and one or two bigger
+eggs, like swan's, and one single little roll of bread. These lay in the
+lap of the roadside Astarte.... And then he could remember no more.
+
+He woke, and for a minute tried to remember what he had been dreaming,
+and what it all meant. But he quickly relinquished the effort. So he
+looked at his watch: it was only half-past three. He had one of those
+American watches with luminous, phosphorescent figures and fingers. And
+tonight he felt afraid of its eerily shining face.
+
+He was awake a long time in the dark--for two hours, thinking and
+not thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full
+wakefulness, and which is a painful strain. At length he went to sleep
+again, and did not wake till past eight o'clock. He did not ring for his
+coffee till nine.
+
+Outside was a bright day--but he hardly heeded it. He lay profitlessly
+thinking. With the breaking of the flute, that which was slowly breaking
+had finally shattered at last. And there was nothing ahead: no plan, no
+prospect. He knew quite well that people would help him: Francis Dekker
+or Angus Guest or the Marchese or Lilly. They would get him a new flute,
+and find him engagements. But what was the good? His flute was broken,
+and broken finally. The bomb had settled it. The bomb had settled it and
+everything. It was an end, no matter how he tried to patch things up.
+The only thing he felt was a thread of destiny attaching him to Lilly.
+The rest had all gone as bare and bald as the dead orb of the moon. So
+he made up his mind, if he could, to make some plan that would bring his
+life together with that of his evanescent friend.
+
+Lilly was a peculiar bird. Clever and attractive as he undoubtedly was,
+he was perhaps the most objectionable person to know. It was stamped on
+his peculiar face. Aaron thought of Lilly's dark, ugly face, which had
+something that lurked in it as a creature under leaves. Then he thought
+of the wide-apart eyes, with their curious candour and surety. The
+peculiar, half-veiled surety, as if nothing, nothing could overcome
+him. It made people angry, this look of silent, indifferent assurance.
+"Nothing can touch him on the quick, nothing can really GET at him,"
+they felt at last. And they felt it with resentment, almost with hate.
+They wanted to be able to get at him. For he was so open-seeming, so
+very outspoken. He gave himself away so much. And he had no money to
+fall back on. Yet he gave himself away so easily, paid such attention,
+almost deference to any chance friend. So they all thought: Here is
+a wise person who finds me the wonder which I really am.--And lo and
+behold, after he had given them the trial, and found their inevitable
+limitations, he departed and ceased to heed their wonderful existence.
+Which, to say the least of it, was fraudulent and damnable. It was then,
+after his departure, that they realised his basic indifference to them,
+and his silent arrogance. A silent arrogance that knew all their wisdom,
+and left them to it.
+
+Aaron had been through it all. He had started by thinking Lilly a
+peculiar little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a
+bit pathetic: progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing: then
+cruel and intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own: then
+terribly arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove which is
+in holes at the finger-ends. And all the time, which was most beastly,
+seeing through one. All the time, freak and outsider as he was, Lilly
+_knew_. He knew, and his soul was against the whole world.
+
+Driven to bay, and forced to choose. Forced to choose, not between life
+and death, but between the world and the uncertain, assertive Lilly.
+Forced to choose, and yet, in the world, having nothing left to choose.
+For in the world there was nothing left to choose, unless he would give
+in and try for success. Aaron knew well enough that if he liked to do
+a bit of buttering, people would gladly make a success of him, and give
+him money and success. He could become quite a favourite.
+
+But no! If he had to give in to something: if he really had to give in,
+and it seemed he had: then he would rather give in to the little Lilly
+than to the beastly people of the world. If he had to give in, then
+it should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no social
+institution. No!--if he had to yield his wilful independence, and give
+himself, then he would rather give himself to the little, individual man
+than to any of the rest. For to tell the truth, in the man was something
+incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he chose to allow it.
+
+As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the _cul de sac_ in which
+he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:
+yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man's nature rather than to the
+quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society: yielding, since
+yield he must, in some direction or other: yielding in a new direction
+now, to one strange and incalculable little individual: as Aaron lay so
+relaxing, finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul to his mind's
+hero, the self-same hero tapped and entered.
+
+"I wondered," he said, "if you'd like to walk into the country with me:
+it is such a nice day. I thought you might have gone out already. But
+here you are in bed like a woman who's had a baby.--You're all right,
+are you?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "I'm all right."
+
+"Miserable about your flute?--Ah, well, there are more flutes. Get up
+then." And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.
+
+"We're going away on Thursday," he said.
+
+"Where to?" said Aaron.
+
+"Naples. We've got a little house there for the winter--in the country,
+not far from Sorrento--I must get a bit of work done, now the winter is
+coming. And forget all about everything and just live with life. What's
+the good of running after life, when we've got it in us, if nobody
+prevents us and obstructs us?"
+
+Aaron felt very queer.
+
+"But for how long will you settle down--?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, only the winter. I am a vagrant really: or a migrant. I must
+migrate. Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one
+AND the same bird? Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and
+south, so oscillate I do. It's just my nature. All people don't have the
+same needs."
+
+"Perhaps not," said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side of
+the bed.
+
+"I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another
+race. I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me. Europe may be all right
+in herself. But I find myself chafing. Another year I shall get out. I
+shall leave Europe. I begin to feel caged."
+
+"I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you," said Aaron.
+
+"I guess there are."
+
+"And maybe they haven't a chance to get out."
+
+Lilly was silent a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Well, I didn't make life and society. I can only go my own way."
+
+Aaron too was silent. A deep disappointment was settling over his
+spirit.
+
+"Will you be alone all winter?"
+
+"Just myself and Tanny," he answered. "But people always turn up."
+
+"And then next year, what will you do?"
+
+"Who knows? I may sail far off. I should like to. I should like to try
+quite a new life-mode. This is finished in me--and yet perhaps it is
+absurd to go further. I'm rather sick of seekers. I hate a seeker."
+
+"What," said Aaron rather sarcastically--"those who are looking for a
+new religion?"
+
+"Religion--and love--and all that. It's a disease now."
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Aaron. "Perhaps the lack of love and religion
+is the disease."
+
+"Ah--bah! The grinding the old millstones of love and God is what ails
+us, when there's no more grist between the stones. We've ground love
+very small. Time to forget it. Forget the very words religion, and God,
+and love--then have a shot at a new mode. But the very words rivet us
+down and don't let us move. Rivets, and we can't get them out."
+
+"And where should we be if we could?" said Aaron.
+
+"We might begin to be ourselves, anyhow."
+
+"And what does that mean?" said Aaron. "Being yourself--what does it
+mean?"
+
+"To me, everything."
+
+"And to most folks, nothing. They've got to have a goal."
+
+"There is no goal. I loathe goals more than any other impertinence.
+Gaols, they are. Bah--jails and jailers, gaols and gaolers---"
+
+"Wherever you go, you'll find people with their noses tied to some
+goal," said Aaron.
+
+"Their wagon hitched to a star--which goes round and round like an ass
+in a gin," laughed Lilly. "Be damned to it."
+
+Aaron got himself dressed, and the two men went out, took a tram and
+went into the country. Aaron could not help it--Lilly put his back up.
+They came to a little inn near a bridge, where a broad stream rustled
+bright and shallow. It was a sunny warm day, and Aaron and Lilly had
+a table outside under the thin trees at the top of the bank above the
+river. The yellow leaves were falling--the Tuscan sky was turquoise
+blue. In the stream below three naked boys still adventurously bathed,
+and lay flat on the shingle in the sun. A wagon with two pale, loving,
+velvety oxen drew slowly down the hill, looking at each step as if they
+were going to come to rest, to move no more. But still they stepped
+forward. Till they came to the inn, and there they stood at rest. Two
+old women were picking the last acorns under three scrubby oak-trees,
+whilst a girl with bare feet drove her two goats and a sheep up from the
+water-side towards the women. The girl wore a dress that had been blue,
+perhaps indigo, but which had faded to the beautiful lavender-purple
+colour which is so common, and which always reminded Lilly of purple
+anemones in the south.
+
+The two friends sat in the sun and drank red wine. It was midday. From
+the thin, square belfry on the opposite hill the bells had rung. The
+old women and the girl squatted under the trees, eating their bread
+and figs. The boys were dressing, fluttering into their shirts on the
+stream's shingle. A big girl went past, with somebody's dinner tied in
+a red kerchief and perched on her head. It was one of the most precious
+hours: the hour of pause, noon, and the sun, and the quiet acceptance
+of the world. At such a time everything seems to fall into a true
+relationship, after the strain of work and of urge.
+
+Aaron looked at Lilly, and saw the same odd, distant look on his face as
+on the face of some animal when it lies awake and alert, yet perfectly
+at one with its surroundings. It was something quite different from
+happiness: an alert enjoyment of rest, an intense and satisfying sense
+of centrality. As a dog when it basks in the sun with one eye open and
+winking: or a rabbit quite still and wide-eyed, with a faintly-twitching
+nose. Not passivity, but alert enjoyment of being central, life-central
+in one's own little circumambient world.
+
+They sat thus still--or lay under the trees--for an hour and a half.
+Then Lilly paid the bill, and went on.
+
+"What am I going to do this winter, do you think?" Aaron asked.
+
+"What do you want to do?"
+
+"Nay, that's what I want to know."
+
+"Do you want anything? I mean, does something drive you from inside?"
+
+"I can't just rest," said Aaron.
+
+"Can't you settle down to something?--to a job, for instance?"
+
+"I've not found the job I could settle down to, yet," said Aaron.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"It's just my nature."
+
+"Are you a seeker? Have you got a divine urge, or need?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron. "Perhaps I've got a DAMNED urge, at the
+bottom of me. I'm sure it's nothing divine."
+
+"Very well then. Now, in life, there are only two great dynamic
+urges--do you believe me--?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron. "Do you want to be believed?"
+
+"No, I don't care a straw. Only for your own sake, you'd better believe
+me."
+
+"All right then--what about it?"
+
+"Well, then, there are only two great dynamic urges in LIFE: love and
+power."
+
+"Love and power?" said Aaron. "I don't see power as so very important."
+
+"You don't see because you don't look. But that's not the point. What
+sort of urge is your urge? Is it the love urge?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you do. You know that you have got an urge, don't you?"
+
+"Yes--" rather unwillingly Aaron admitted it.
+
+"Well then, what is it? Is it that you want to love, or to be obeyed?"
+
+"A bit of both."
+
+"All right--a bit of both. And what are you looking for in love?--A
+woman whom you can love, and who will love you, out and out and all in
+all and happy ever after sort of thing?"
+
+"That's what I started out for, perhaps," laughed Aaron.
+
+"And now you know it's all my eye!" Aaron looked at Lilly, unwilling to
+admit it. Lilly began to laugh.
+
+"You know it well enough," he said. "It's one of your lost illusions, my
+boy. Well, then, what next? Is it a God you're after? Do you want a God
+you can strive to and attain, through love, and live happy ever after,
+countless millions of eternities, immortality and all that? Is this your
+little dodge?"
+
+Again Aaron looked at Lilly with that odd double look of mockery and
+unwillingness to give himself away.
+
+"All right then. You've got a love-urge that urges you to God; have
+you? Then go and join the Buddhists in Burmah, or the newest fangled
+Christians in Europe. Go and stick your head in a bush of Nirvana or
+spiritual perfection. Trot off."
+
+"I won't," said Aaron.
+
+"You must. If you've got a love-urge, then give it its fulfilment."
+
+"I haven't got a love-urge."
+
+"You have. You want to get excited in love. You want to be carried away
+in love. You want to whoosh off in a nice little love whoosh and love
+yourself. Don't deny it. I know you do. You want passion to sweep you
+off on wings of fire till you surpass yourself, and like the swooping
+eagle swoop right into the sun. I know you, my love-boy."
+
+"Not any more--not any more. I've been had too often," laughed Aaron.
+
+"Bah, it's a lesson men never learn. No matter how sick they make
+themselves with love, they always rush for more, like a dog to his
+vomit."
+
+"Well, what am I to do then, if I'm not to love?" cried Aaron.
+
+"You want to go on, from passion to passion, from ecstasy to ecstasy,
+from triumph to triumph, till you can whoosh away into glory, beyond
+yourself, all bonds loosened and happy ever after. Either that or
+Nirvana, opposite side of the medal."
+
+"There's probably more hate than love in me," said Aaron.
+
+"That's the recoil of the same urge. The anarchist, the criminal, the
+murderer, he is only the extreme lover acting on the recoil. But it
+is love: only in recoil. It flies back, the love-urge, and becomes a
+horror."
+
+"All right then. I'm a criminal and a murderer," said Aaron.
+
+"No, you're not. But you've a love-urge. And perhaps on the recoil just
+now. But listen to me. It's no good thinking the love-urge is the one
+and only. _Niente_! You can whoosh if you like, and get excited and
+carried away loving a woman, or humanity, or God. Swoop away in the love
+direction till you lose yourself. But that's where you're had. You can't
+lose yourself. You can try. But you might just as well try to swallow
+yourself. You'll only bite your fingers off in the attempt. You can't
+lose yourself, neither in woman nor humanity nor in God. You've always
+got yourself on your hands in the end: and a very raw and jaded and
+humiliated and nervous-neurasthenic self it is, too, in the end. A
+very nasty thing to wake up to is one's own raw self after an excessive
+love-whoosh. Look even at President Wilson: he love-whooshed for
+humanity, and found in the end he'd only got a very sorry self on his
+hands.
+
+"So leave off. Leave off, my boy. Leave off love-whooshing. You can't
+lose yourself, so stop trying. The responsibility is on your own
+shoulders all the time, and no God which man has ever struck can take it
+off. You ARE yourself and so BE yourself. Stick to it and abide by it.
+Passion or no passion, ecstasy or no ecstasy, urge or no urge, there's
+no goal outside you, where you can consummate like an eagle flying
+into the sun, or a moth into a candle. There's no goal outside you--and
+there's no God outside you. No God, whom you can get to and rest in.
+None. It's a case of:
+
+
+          'Trot, trot to market, to buy a penny bun,
+           And trot, trot back again, as fast as you can run.'
+
+
+But there's no God outside you, whom you can rise to or sink to or swoop
+away to. You can't even gum yourself to a divine Nirvana moon. Because
+all the time you've got to eat your dinner and digest it. There is no
+goal outside you. None.
+
+"There is only one thing, your own very self. So you'd better stick to
+it. You can't be any bigger than just yourself, so you needn't drag God
+in. You've got one job, and no more. There inside you lies your own very
+self, like a germinating egg, your precious Easter egg of your own soul.
+There it is, developing bit by bit, from one single egg-cell which you
+were at your conception in your mother's womb, on and on to the strange
+and peculiar complication in unity which never stops till you die--if
+then. You've got an innermost, integral unique self, and since it's the
+only thing you have got or ever will have, don't go trying to lose it.
+You've got to develop it, from the egg into the chicken, and from the
+chicken into the one-and-only phoenix, of which there can only be one
+at a time in the universe. There can only be one of you at a time in the
+universe--and one of me. So don't forget it. Your own single oneness is
+your destiny. Your destiny comes from within, from your own self-form.
+And you can't know it beforehand, neither your destiny nor your
+self-form. You can only develop it. You can only stick to your own very
+self, and NEVER betray it. And by so sticking, you develop the one and
+only phoenix of your own self, and you unfold your own destiny, as
+a dandelion unfolds itself into a dandelion, and not into a stick of
+celery.
+
+"Remember this, my boy: you've never got to deny the Holy Ghost which is
+inside you, your own soul's self. Never. Or you'll catch it. And you've
+never got to think you'll dodge the responsibility of your own soul's
+self, by loving or sacrificing or Nirvaning--or even anarchising and
+throwing bombs. You never will...."
+
+Aaron was silenced for a moment by this flood of words. Then he said
+smiling:
+
+"So I'd better sit tight on my soul, till it hatches, had I?"
+
+"Oh, yes. If your soul's urge urges you to love, then love. But always
+know that what you are doing is the fulfilling of your own soul's
+impulse. It's no good trying to act by prescription: not a bit. And
+it's no use getting into frenzies. If you've got to go in for love and
+passion, go in for them. But they aren't the goal. They're a mere means:
+a life-means, if you will. The only goal is the fulfilling of your own
+soul's active desire and suggestion. Be passionate as much as ever it is
+your nature to be passionate, and deeply sensual as far as you can
+be. Small souls have a small sensuality, deep souls a deep one. But
+remember, all the time, the responsibility is upon your own head, it
+all rests with your own lonely soul, the responsibility for your own
+action."
+
+"I never said it didn't," said Aaron.
+
+"You never said it did. You never accepted. You thought there was
+something outside, to justify you: God, or a creed, or a prescription.
+But remember, your soul inside you is your only Godhead. It develops
+your actions within you as a tree develops its own new cells. And the
+cells push on into buds and boughs and flowers. And these are your
+passion and your acts and your thoughts and expressions, your developing
+consciousness. You don't know beforehand, and you can't. You can only
+stick to your own soul through thick and thin.
+
+"You are your own Tree of Life, roots and limbs and trunk. Somewhere
+within the wholeness of the tree lies the very self, the quick: its own
+innate Holy Ghost. And this Holy Ghost puts forth new buds, and pushes
+past old limits, and shakes off a whole body of dying leaves. And the
+old limits hate being empassed, and the old leaves hate to fall. But
+they must, if the tree-soul says so...."
+
+They had sat again during this harangue, under a white wall. Aaron
+listened more to the voice than the words. It was more the sound value
+which entered his soul, the tone, the strange speech-music which sank
+into him. The sense he hardly heeded. And yet he understood, he knew.
+He understood, oh so much more deeply than if he had listened with his
+head. And he answered an objection from the bottom of his soul.
+
+"But you talk," he said, "as if we were like trees, alone by ourselves
+in the world. We aren't. If we love, it needs another person than
+ourselves. And if we hate, and even if we talk."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly. "And that's just the point. We've got to love and
+hate moreover--and even talk. But we haven't got to fix on any one of
+these modes, and say that's the only mode. It is such imbecility to say
+that love and love alone must rule. It is so obviously not the case. Yet
+we try and make it so."
+
+"I feel that," said Aaron. "It's all a lie."
+
+"It's worse. It's a half lie. But listen. I told you there were two
+urges--two great life-urges, didn't I? There may be more. But it comes
+on me so strongly, now, that there are two: love, and power. And
+we've been trying to work ourselves, at least as individuals, from the
+love-urge exclusively, hating the power-urge, and repressing it. And now
+I find we've got to accept the very thing we've hated.
+
+"We've exhausted our love-urge, for the moment. And yet we try to force
+it to continue working. So we get inevitably anarchy and murder. It's
+no good. We've got to accept the power motive, accept it in deep
+responsibility, do you understand me? It is a great life motive. It was
+that great dark power-urge which kept Egypt so intensely living for so
+many centuries. It is a vast dark source of life and strength in us now,
+waiting either to issue into true action, or to burst into cataclysm.
+Power--the power-urge. The will-to-power--but not in Nietzsche's sense.
+Not intellectual power. Not mental power. Not conscious will-power. Not
+even wisdom. But dark, living, fructifying power. Do you know what I
+mean?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Take what you call love, for example. In the real way of love, the
+positive aim is to make the other person--or persons--happy. It devotes
+itself to the other or to others. But change the mode. Let the urge be
+the urge of power. Then the great desire is not happiness, neither of
+the beloved nor of oneself. Happiness is only one of many states, and it
+is horrible to think of fixing us down to one state. The urge of power
+does not seek for happiness any more than for any other state. It urges
+from within, darkly, for the displacing of the old leaves, the inception
+of the new. It is powerful and self-central, not seeking its centre
+outside, in some God or some beloved, but acting indomitably from within
+itself.
+
+"And of course there must be one who urges, and one who is impelled.
+Just as in love there is a beloved and a lover: The man is supposed to
+be the lover, the woman the beloved. Now, in the urge of power, it is
+the reverse. The woman must submit, but deeply, deeply submit. Not to
+any foolish fixed authority, not to any foolish and arbitrary will. But
+to something deep, deeper. To the soul in its dark motion of power and
+pride. We must reverse the poles. The woman must now submit--but deeply,
+deeply, and richly! No subservience. None of that. No slavery. A deep,
+unfathomable free submission."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, if you abandon the love idea and the love motive, and if
+you stand apart, and never bully, never force from the conscious will.
+That's where Nietzsche was wrong. His was the conscious and benevolent
+will, in fact, the love-will. But the deep power-urge is not conscious
+of its aims: and it is certainly not consciously benevolent or
+love-directed.--Whatever else happens, somewhere, sometime, the deep
+power-urge in man will have to issue forth again, and woman will submit,
+livingly, not subjectedly."
+
+"She never will," persisted Aaron. "Anything else will happen, but not
+that."
+
+"She will," said Lilly, "once man disengages himself from the love-mode,
+and stands clear. Once he stands clear, and the other great urge begins
+to flow in him, then the woman won't be able to resist. Her own soul
+will wish to yield itself."
+
+"Woman yield--?" Aaron re-echoed.
+
+"Woman--and man too. Yield to the deep power-soul in the individual man,
+and obey implicitly. I don't go back on what I said before. I do believe
+that every man must fulfil his own soul, every woman must be herself,
+herself only, not some man's instrument, or some embodied theory. But
+the mode of our being is such that we can only live and have our being
+whilst we are implicit in one of the great dynamic modes. We MUST either
+love, or rule. And once the love-mode changes, as change it must, for we
+are worn out and becoming evil in its persistence, then the other mode
+will take place in us. And there will be profound, profound obedience in
+place of this love-crying, obedience to the incalculable power-urge. And
+men must submit to the greater soul in a man, for their guidance: and
+women must submit to the positive power-soul in man, for their being."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, when all men want it. All men say, they want a leader. Then
+let them in their souls submit to some greater soul than theirs. At
+present, when they say they want a leader, they mean they want an
+instrument, like Lloyd George. A mere instrument for their use. But it's
+more than that. It's the reverse. It's the deep, fathomless submission
+to the heroic soul in a greater man. You, Aaron, you too have the need
+to submit. You, too, have the need livingly to yield to a more heroic
+soul, to give yourself. You know you have. And you know it isn't love.
+It is life-submission. And you know it. But you kick against the pricks.
+And perhaps you'd rather die than yield. And so, die you must. It is
+your affair."
+
+There was a long pause. Then Aaron looked up into Lilly's face. It was
+dark and remote-seeming. It was like a Byzantine eikon at the moment.
+
+"And whom shall I submit to?" he said.
+
+"Your soul will tell you," replied the other.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+   PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+   "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
+
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
+  <head>
+    <title>
+      Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+    </title>
+    <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
+
+    body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
+    P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; }
+    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
+    hr  { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
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+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aaron's Rod
+
+Author: D. H. Lawrence
+
+Release Date: December 3, 2009 [EBook #4520]
+Last Updated: March 6, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AARON'S ROD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      AARON'S ROD
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      by D. H. Lawrence
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE BLUE BALL
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;ROYAL
+        OAK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"THE
+        LIGHTED TREE&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;"THE
+        PILLAR OF SALT&rdquo; <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AT
+        THE OPERA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TALK
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DARK SQUARE GARDEN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A PUNCH IN THE WIND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009">
+        CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LOW-WATER MARK <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE WAR AGAIN <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;NOVARA
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WIE ES
+        IHNEN GEFAELLT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;XX
+        SETTEMBRE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        RAILWAY JOURNEY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FLORENCE
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HIGH
+        UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER
+        XVIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE MARCHESA <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT
+        ANTHONY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BROKEN ROD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;WORDS
+        <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER I. THE BLUE BALL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and
+      underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War
+      was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace. A
+      man felt the violence of the nightmare released now into the general air.
+      Also there had been another wrangle among the men on the pit-bank that
+      evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line climbing
+      the hill home from work. He was late because he had attended a meeting of
+      the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his
+      colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him
+      nettled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and was
+      in the long road of colliers' dwellings. Just across was his own house: he
+      had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past the side of
+      the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down the dark,
+      wintry garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My father&mdash;my father's come!&rdquo; cried a child's excited voice, and two
+      little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?&rdquo; they cried. &ldquo;We've got one!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afore I have my dinner?&rdquo; he answered amiably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Set it now. Set it now.&mdash;We got it through Fred Alton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little girls were dragging a rough, dark object out of a corner of the
+      passage into the light of the kitchen door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a beauty!&rdquo; exclaimed Millicent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is,&rdquo; said Marjory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think so,&rdquo; he replied, striding over the dark bough. He went to
+      the back kitchen to take off his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Set it now, Father. Set it now,&rdquo; clamoured the girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might as well. You've left your dinner so long, you might as well do
+      it now before you have it,&rdquo; came a woman's plangent voice, out of the
+      brilliant light of the middle room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his cap. He stood
+      bare-headed in his shirt and braces, contemplating the tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I to put it in?&rdquo; he queried. He picked up the tree, and held it
+      erect by the topmost twig. He felt the cold as he stood in the yard
+      coatless, and he twitched his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it a beauty!&rdquo; repeated Millicent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&mdash;lop-sided though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put something on, you two!&rdquo; came the woman's high imperative voice, from
+      the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We aren't cold,&rdquo; protested the girls from the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and put something on,&rdquo; insisted the voice. The man started off down
+      the path, the little girls ran grumbling indoors. The sky was clear, there
+      was still a crystalline, non-luminous light in the under air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron rummaged in his shed at the bottom of the garden, and found a spade
+      and a box that was suitable. Then he came out to his neat, bare, wintry
+      garden. The girls flew towards him, putting the elastic of their hats
+      under their chins as they ran. The tree and the box lay on the frozen
+      earth. The air breathed dark, frosty, electric.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold it up straight,&rdquo; he said to Millicent, as he arranged the tree in
+      the box. She stood silent and held the top bough, he filled in round the
+      roots.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was done, and pressed in, he went for the wheelbarrow. The girls
+      were hovering excited round the tree. He dropped the barrow and stooped to
+      the box. The girls watched him hold back his face&mdash;the boughs pricked
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it very heavy?&rdquo; asked Millicent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&rdquo; he replied, with a little grunt. Then the procession set off&mdash;the
+      trundling wheel-barrow, the swinging hissing tree, the two excited little
+      girls. They arrived at the door. Down went the legs of the wheel-barrow on
+      the yard. The man looked at the box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where are you going to have it?&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it in the back kitchen,&rdquo; cried his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'd better have it where it's going to stop. I don't want to hawk it
+      about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it on the floor against the dresser, Father. Put it there,&rdquo; urged
+      Millicent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You come and put some paper down, then,&rdquo; called the mother hastily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two children ran indoors, the man stood contemplative in the cold,
+      shrugging his uncovered shoulders slightly. The open inner door showed a
+      bright linoleum on the floor, and the end of a brown side-board on which
+      stood an aspidistra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again with a wrench Aaron Sisson lifted the box. The tree pricked and
+      stung. His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his face
+      averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind where you make a lot of dirt,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on
+      the floor. Soil scattered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweep it up,&rdquo; he said to Millicent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the tree-boughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything sharp
+      and hard. In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red. All was
+      scrupulously clean and perfect. A baby was cooing in a rocker-less wicker
+      cradle by the hearth. The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark hair, was
+      sewing a child's frock. She put this aside, rose, and began to take her
+      husband's dinner from the oven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You stopped confabbing long enough tonight,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner. The doors were shut
+      close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines under
+      the house made the doors not fit. Aaron moved his chair, to get out of the
+      draught. But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years old.
+      He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something. His wife
+      resumed her sewing. She was acutely aware of her husband, but he seemed
+      not very much aware of her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What were they on about today, then?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;About the throw-in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And did they settle anything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're going to try it&mdash;and they'll come out if it isn't
+      satisfactory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The butties won't have it, I know,&rdquo; she said. He gave a short laugh, and
+      went on with his meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree. They had a wooden
+      box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets, which they
+      were spreading out like wares.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't open any. We won't open any of them till we've taken them all out&mdash;and
+      then we'll undo one in our turns. Then we s'll both undo equal,&rdquo; Millicent
+      was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, we'll take them ALL out first,&rdquo; re-echoed Marjory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer? Do they want him?&rdquo;
+       A faint smile came on her husband's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, I don't know what they want.&mdash;Some of 'em want him&mdash;whether
+      they're a majority, I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched him closely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Majority! I'd give 'em majority. They want to get rid of you, and make a
+      fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it. Strikes me you need
+      something to break your heart over.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed silently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I s'll never break my heart.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just because a
+      lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to do the Union
+      work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you, and you eat your
+      heart out about it. More fool you, that's all I say&mdash;more fool you.
+      If you cared for your wife and children half what you care about your
+      Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the end. But you care about
+      nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who don't know what they want
+      except it's more money just for themselves. Self, self, self&mdash;that's
+      all it is with them&mdash;and ignorance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'd rather have self without ignorance?&rdquo; he said, smiling finely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would, if I've got to have it. But what I should like to see is a man
+      that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed. A blank
+      look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed any more.
+      He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with two fingers,
+      and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
+      saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second. I'll take this&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament for a
+      Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
+      indentations on each side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Isn't it LOVELY!&rdquo; Her fingers cautiously held the
+      long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with a curious,
+      irritating possession. The man's eyes moved away from her. The lesser
+      child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo;&mdash;a wail went up from Millicent. &ldquo;You've taken one!&mdash;You
+      didn't wait.&rdquo; Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she
+      began to interfere. &ldquo;This is the way to do it, look! Let me help you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Marjory drew back with resentment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't, Millicent!&mdash;Don't!&rdquo; came the childish cry. But Millicent's
+      fingers itched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length Marjory had got out her treasure&mdash;a little silvery bell
+      with a glass top hanging inside. The bell was made of frail glassy
+      substance, light as air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the bell!&rdquo; rang out Millicent's clanging voice. &ldquo;The bell! It's my
+      bell. My bell! It's mine! Don't break it, Marjory. Don't break it, will
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Marjory was shaking the bell against her ear. But it was dumb, it made no
+      sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll break it, I know you will.&mdash;You'll break it. Give it ME&mdash;&rdquo;
+       cried Millicent, and she began to take away the bell. Marjory set up an
+      expostulation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;LET HER ALONE,&rdquo; said the father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Millicent let go as if she had been stung, but still her brassy, impudent
+      voice persisted:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She'll break it. She'll break it. It's mine&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You undo another,&rdquo; said the mother, politic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Millicent began with hasty, itching fingers to unclose another package.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw&mdash;aw Mother, my peacock&mdash;aw, my peacock, my green peacock!&rdquo;
+       Lavishly she hovered over a sinuous greenish bird, with wings and tail of
+      spun glass, pearly, and body of deep electric green.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's mine&mdash;my green peacock! It's mine, because Marjory's had one
+      wing off, and mine hadn't. My green peacock that I love! I love it!&rdquo; She
+      swung it softly from the little ring on its back. Then she went to her
+      mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, Mother, isn't it a beauty?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind the ring doesn't come out,&rdquo; said her mother. &ldquo;Yes, it's lovely!&rdquo; The
+      girl passed on to her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, Father, don't you love it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love it?&rdquo; he re-echoed, ironical over the word love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She stood for some moments, trying to force his attention. Then she went
+      back to her place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Marjory had brought forth a golden apple, red on one cheek, rather garish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for
+      what she had not got, indifferent to what she had. Her eye ran quickly
+      over the packages. She took one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now!&rdquo; she exclaimed loudly, to attract attention. &ldquo;Now! What's this?&mdash;What's
+      this? What will this beauty be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With finicky fingers she removed the newspaper. Marjory watched her
+      wide-eyed. Millicent was self-important.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The blue ball!&rdquo; she cried in a climax of rapture. &ldquo;I've got THE BLUE
+      BALL.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She held it gloating in the cup of her hands. It was a little globe of
+      hardened glass, of a magnificent full dark blue color. She rose and went
+      to her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was your blue ball, wasn't it, father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I have it when I'm a
+      little girl.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; he replied drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it's never been broken all those years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And perhaps it never will be broken.&rdquo; To this she received no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't it break?&rdquo; she persisted. &ldquo;Can't you break it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, if you hit it with a hammer,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I don't mean that. I mean if you just drop it. It won't
+      break if you drop it, will it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dare say it won't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But WILL it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sh'd think not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Should I try?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She proceeded gingerly to let the blue ball drop, it bounced dully on the
+      floor-covering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-h-h!&rdquo; she cried, catching it up. &ldquo;I love it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let ME drop it,&rdquo; cried Marjory, and there was a performance of admonition
+      and demonstration from the elder sister.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Millicent must go further. She became excited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't break,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;even if you toss it up in the air.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She flung it up, it fell safely. But her father's brow knitted slightly.
+      She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing explosion: it had
+      smashed. It had fallen on the sharp edge of the tiles that protruded under
+      the fender.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NOW what have you done!&rdquo; cried the mother.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure
+      misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She wanted to break it,&rdquo; said the father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, she didn't! What do you say that for!&rdquo; said the mother. And Millicent
+      burst into a flood of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must mind the bits,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;and pick 'em all up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took one of the pieces to examine it. It was fine and thin and hard,
+      lined with pure silver, brilliant. He looked at it closely. So&mdash;this
+      was what it was. And this was the end of it. He felt the curious soft
+      explosion of its breaking still in his ears. He threw his piece in the
+      fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pick all the bits up,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Give over! give over! Don't cry any
+      more.&rdquo; The good-natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as he
+      intended it should.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went away into the back kitchen to wash himself. As he was bending his
+      head over the sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave, there
+      came from outside the dissonant voices of boys, pouring out the dregs of
+      carol-singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He held his soapy brush suspended for a minute. They called this singing!
+      His mind flitted back to early carol music. Then again he heard the vocal
+      violence outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you off there!&rdquo; he called out, in masculine menace. The noise
+      stopped, there was a scuffle. But the feet returned and the voices
+      resumed. Almost immediately the door opened, boys were heard muttering
+      among themselves. Millicent had given them a penny. Feet scraped on the
+      yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Aaron Sisson, this was home, this was Christmas: the unspeakably
+      familiar. The war over, nothing was changed. Yet everything changed. The
+      scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very clean, the
+      floor was red tiles. The wash-copper of red bricks was very red, the
+      mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American oil-cloth on
+      the table had a gay pattern, there was a warm fire, the water in the
+      boiler hissed faintly. And in front of him, beneath him as he leaned
+      forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange, incalculable rhythm
+      from the bright brass tap into the white enamelled bowl, which was now
+      half full of pure, quivering water. The war was over, and everything just
+      the same. The acute familiarity of this house, which he had built for his
+      marriage twelve years ago, the changeless pleasantness of it all seemed
+      unthinkable. It prevented his thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he went into the middle room to comb his hair he found the Christmas
+      tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at the table, the baby was
+      sitting up propped in cushions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Father,&rdquo; said Millicent, approaching him with a flat blue-and-white angel
+      of cotton-wool, and two ends of cotton&mdash;&ldquo;tie the angel at the top.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tie it at the top?&rdquo; he said, looking down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. At the very top&mdash;because it's just come down from the sky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay my word!&rdquo; he laughed. And he tied the angel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour, and
+      took his music and a small handbag. With this he retreated again to the
+      back kitchen. He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers: but now it
+      was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and new pink and
+      white braces. He sat under the gas-jet of the back kitchen, looking
+      through his music. Then he opened the bag, in which were sections of a
+      flute and a piccolo. He took out the flute, and adjusted it. As he sat he
+      was physically aware of the sounds of the night: the bubbling of water in
+      the boiler, the faint sound of the gas, the sudden crying of the baby in
+      the next room, then noises outside, distant boys shouting, distant rags of
+      carols, fragments of voices of men. The whole country was roused and
+      excited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little room was hot. Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator over
+      the copper, letting in a stream of cold air, which was grateful to him.
+      Then he cocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table
+      before him. He tried his flute. And then at last, with the odd gesture of
+      a diver taking a plunge, he swung his head and began to play. A stream of
+      music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. He played
+      beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with slight,
+      intense movements, as the delicate music poured out. It was
+      sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity of the music delighted
+      him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperated to
+      the point of intolerable anger, in his good-humored breast, as he played
+      the finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the more
+      perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the more
+      intense was the maddened exasperation within him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Millicent appeared in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was a
+      bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her own
+      mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various books
+      and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going out, Father?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you going out?&rdquo; She twisted nervously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want to know for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He made no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went down
+      a sheet&mdash;then over it again&mdash;then more closely over it again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you?&rdquo; persisted the child, balancing on one foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her, and his eyes were angry under knitted brows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you bothering about?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not bothering&mdash;I only wanted to know if you were going out,&rdquo; she
+      pouted, quivering to cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect I am,&rdquo; he said quietly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She recovered at once, but still with timidity asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We haven't got any candles for the Christmas tree&mdash;shall you buy
+      some, because mother isn't going out?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Candles!&rdquo; he repeated, settling his music and taking up the piccolo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;shall you buy us some, Father? Shall you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Candles!&rdquo; he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a few
+      piercing, preparatory notes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, little Christmas-tree candles&mdash;blue ones and red ones, in boxes&mdash;Shall
+      you, Father?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll see&mdash;if I see any&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But SHALL you?&rdquo; she insisted desperately. She wisely mistrusted his
+      vagueness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo broke
+      forth, wild, shrill, brilliant. He was playing Mozart. The child's face
+      went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went out, closing both
+      doors behind her to shut out the noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the air,
+      it was useless to try to shut it out. The man went on playing to himself,
+      measured and insistent. In the frosty evening the sound carried. People
+      passing down the street hesitated, listening. The neighbours knew it was
+      Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a good player: was in
+      request at concerts and dances, also at swell balls. So the vivid piping
+      sound tickled the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too soon,
+      in spite of the early closing of the public houses. He never went with the
+      stream, but made a side current of his own. His wife said he was contrary.
+      When he went into the middle room to put on his collar and tie, the two
+      little girls were having their hair brushed, the baby was in bed, there
+      was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in the oven.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?&rdquo; asked Millicent, with
+      assurance now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat. He was
+      well-dressed, handsome-looking. She felt there was a curious glamour about
+      him. It made her feel bitter. He had an unfair advantage&mdash;he was free
+      to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's no knowing what time you'll be home,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shan't be late,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's easy to say so,&rdquo; she retorted, with some contempt. He took his
+      stick, and turned towards the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so selfish,&rdquo;
+       she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; he said, going out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it,&rdquo; she cried, with sudden
+      anger, following him to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many do you want?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dozen,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And holders too, if you can get them,&rdquo; she added,
+      with barren bitterness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;all right,&rdquo; he turned and melted into the darkness. She went
+      indoors, worn with a strange and bitter flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed the fields towards the little town, which once more fumed its
+      lights under the night. The country ran away, rising on his right hand. It
+      was no longer a great bank of darkness. Lights twinkled freely here and
+      there, though forlornly, now that the war-time restrictions were removed.
+      It was no glitter of pre-war nights, pit-heads glittering far-off with
+      electricity. Neither was it the black gulf of the war darkness: instead,
+      this forlorn sporadic twinkling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody seemed to be out of doors. The hollow dark countryside re-echoed
+      like a shell with shouts and calls and excited voices. Restlessness and
+      nervous excitement, nervous hilarity were in the air. There was a sense of
+      electric surcharge everywhere, frictional, a neurasthenic haste for
+      excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Every moment Aaron Sisson was greeted with Good-night&mdash;Good-night,
+      Aaron&mdash;Good-night, Mr. Sisson. People carrying parcels, children,
+      women, thronged home on the dark paths. They were all talking loudly,
+      declaiming loudly about what they could and could not get, and what this
+      or the other had lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
+      crowded. There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest, a
+      subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people struggling
+      to buy things, to get things. Money was spent like water, there was a
+      frenzy of money-spending. Though the necessities of life were in
+      abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese, sweets,
+      raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which were scarce,
+      and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out. There was a wild
+      grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the struggle. The same
+      fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was witnessed whenever a
+      tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into sight. Then the struggle
+      to mount on board became desperate and savage, but stimulating. Souls
+      surcharged with hostility found now some outlet for their feelings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
+      Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And yet,
+      when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw it bare as
+      a board, the very fact that he probably <i>could not</i> buy the things
+      made him hesitate, and try.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?&rdquo; he asked as he entered the
+      shop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dozen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes&mdash;four in a box&mdash;eight.
+      Six-pence a box.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got any holders?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got any toffee&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cough-drops&mdash;two-pence an ounce&mdash;nothing else left.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me four ounces.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've not got much of a Christmas show,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought to
+      have allowed us six times the quantity&mdash;there's plenty of sugar, why
+      didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We mean
+      to, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made
+      things more plentiful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the market
+      place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two miserable
+      stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud sound of
+      voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the public-houses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
+      street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms, under
+      the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of the &ldquo;Royal
+      Oak.&rdquo; This was a low white house sunk three steps below the highway. It
+      was darkened, but sounded crowded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
+      carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered&mdash;then went on
+      into the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of little
+      window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this window-opening
+      stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband. Behind the bar was
+      a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's you,&rdquo; she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
+      entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in,&rdquo; said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
+      complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
+      irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight or
+      ten people, all told&mdash;just the benches along the walls, the fire
+      between&mdash;and two little round tables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I began to think you weren't coming,&rdquo; said the landlady, bringing him a
+      whiskey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile, probably
+      Jewish. She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent. Her movements
+      were large and slow, her voice laconic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not so late, am I?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you are late, I should think.&rdquo; She Looked up at the little clock.
+      &ldquo;Close on nine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did some shopping,&rdquo; said Aaron, with a quick smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you indeed? That's news, I'm sure. May we ask what you bought?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This he did not like. But he had to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Christmas-tree candles, and toffee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the little children? Well you've done well for once! I must say I
+      recommend you. I didn't think you had so much in you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up her
+      knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass, and
+      drank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's warm in here,&rdquo; he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,&rdquo; replied
+      the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I think I'll take it off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as
+      usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
+      shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
+      burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed to
+      arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as he returned.
+      She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless self-sufficiency.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly. They were the
+      superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved intellectual
+      discussion. Opposite, by the fire, sat a little, greenish man&mdash;evidently
+      an oriental.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're very quiet all at once, Doctor,&rdquo; said the landlady in her slow,
+      laconic voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&mdash;May I have another whiskey, please?&rdquo; She rose at once,
+      powerfully energetic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm sorry,&rdquo; she said. And she went to the bar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the little Hindu doctor, &ldquo;and how are things going now, with
+      the men?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The same as ever,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the stately voice of the landlady. &ldquo;And I'm afraid they will
+      always be the same as ever. When will they learn wisdom?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what do you call wisdom?&rdquo; asked Sherardy, the Hindu. He spoke with a
+      little, childish lisp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I call wisdom?&rdquo; repeated the landlady. &ldquo;Why all acting together
+      for the common good. That is wisdom in my idea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, very well, that is so. But what do you call the common good?&rdquo;
+       replied the little doctor, with childish pertinence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron, with a laugh, &ldquo;that's it.&rdquo; The miners were all stirring
+      now, to take part in the discussion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I call the common good?&rdquo; repeated the landlady. &ldquo;That all people
+      should study the welfare of other people, and not only their own.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are not to study their own welfare?&rdquo; said the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, that I did not say,&rdquo; replied the landlady. &ldquo;Let them study their own
+      welfare, and that of others also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then,&rdquo; said the doctor, &ldquo;what is the welfare of a collier?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The welfare of a collier,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;is that he shall earn
+      sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to educate
+      his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he wants,
+      education.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, happen so,&rdquo; put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier.
+      &ldquo;Happen so, Mrs. Houseley. But what if you haven't got much education, to
+      speak of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can always get it,&rdquo; she said patronizing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;I'm blest if you can. It's no use tryin' to educate a man over
+      forty&mdash;not by book-learning. That isn't saying he's a fool, neither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what better is them that's got education?&rdquo; put in another man. &ldquo;What
+      better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we are?&mdash;Pender's
+      yaller enough i' th' face.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is that,&rdquo; assented the men in chorus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk,&rdquo; said the
+      landlady largely, &ldquo;that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than what
+      you have got.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Kirk. &ldquo;He can ma'e more money than I can&mdash;that's about a'
+      as it comes to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He can make more money,&rdquo; said the landlady. &ldquo;And when he's made it, he
+      knows better how to use it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Appen so, an' a'!&mdash;What does he do, more than eat and drink and
+      work?&mdash;an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th'
+      looks of him.&mdash;What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a
+      bit more&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; reiterated the landlady. &ldquo;He not only eats and drinks. He can read,
+      and he can converse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me an' a',&rdquo; said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh. &ldquo;I can read&mdash;an'
+      I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this house, Mrs.
+      Houseley&mdash;am havin' one at this minute, seemingly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;SEEMINGLY, you are,&rdquo; said the landlady ironically. &ldquo;But do you think
+      there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr. Pender's,
+      if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' what difference would there be?&rdquo; asked Tom Kirk. &ldquo;He'd go home to his
+      bed just the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, you are mistaken. He would be the better, and so should I, a great
+      deal better, for a little genuine conversation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop&mdash;&rdquo; said Tom Kirk. &ldquo;An'
+      puts th' bile in his face&mdash;&rdquo; said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can see it's no use talking about it any further,&rdquo; said the landlady,
+      lifting her head dangerously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much
+      difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or not?&rdquo;
+       asked the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do indeed, all the difference in the world&mdash;To me, there is no
+      greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where does it come in?&rdquo; asked Kirk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But wait a bit, now,&rdquo; said Aaron Sisson. &ldquo;You take an educated man&mdash;take
+      Pender. What's his education for? What does he scheme for?&mdash;What does
+      he contrive for? What does he talk for?&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For all the purposes of his life,&rdquo; replied the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?&rdquo; insisted Aaron Sisson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The purpose of his life,&rdquo; repeated the landlady, at a loss. &ldquo;I should
+      think he knows that best himself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No better than I know it&mdash;and you know it,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;if you know, then speak out. What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To make more money for the firm&mdash;and so make his own chance of a
+      rise better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The landlady was baffled for some moments. Then she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and suppose that he does. Is there any harm in it? Isn't it his duty
+      to do what he can for himself? Don't you try to earn all you can?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.&mdash;It's
+      like this. When you work it out, everything comes to money. Reckon it as
+      you like, it's money on both sides. It's money we live for, and money is
+      what our lives is worth&mdash;nothing else. Money we live for, and money
+      we are when we're dead: that or nothing. An' it's money as is between the
+      masters and us. There's a few educated ones got hold of one end of the
+      rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other end, an' we s'll go on
+      pulling our guts out, time in, time out&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has,&rdquo; said Brewitt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For as long as one holds, the other will pull,&rdquo; concluded Aaron Sisson
+      philosophically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' I'm almighty sure o' that,&rdquo; said Kirk. There was a little pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men,&rdquo; said the landlady.
+      &ldquo;But what can be done with the money, that you never think of&mdash;the
+      education of the children, the improvement of conditions&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the
+      rope, instead of the short end,&rdquo; said the doctor, with a little giggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, that's it,&rdquo; said Brewitt. &ldquo;I've pulled at th' short end, an' my lads
+      may do th' same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A selfish policy,&rdquo; put in the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Selfish or not, they may do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Till the crack o' doom,&rdquo; said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or the crack o' th' rope,&rdquo; said Brewitt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and THEN WHAT?&rdquo; cried the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then we all drop on our backsides,&rdquo; said Kirk. There was a general laugh,
+      and an uneasy silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All I can say of you men,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;is that you have a narrow,
+      selfish policy.&mdash;Instead of thinking of the children, instead of
+      thinking of improving the world you live in&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We hang on, British bulldog breed,&rdquo; said Brewitt. There was a general
+      laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone,&rdquo; said the
+      landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit on
+      our stunts an' yowl for it?&rdquo; asked Brewitt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No indeed. There can be wisdom in everything.&mdash;It's what you DO with
+      the money, when you've got it,&rdquo; said the landlady, &ldquo;that's where the
+      importance lies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Missis as gets it,&rdquo; said Kirk. &ldquo;It doesn't stop wi' us.&rdquo; &ldquo;Ay, it's
+      the wife as gets it, ninety per cent,&rdquo; they all concurred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives? They have
+      everything to do with the money. What idea have you, but to waste it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Women waste nothing&mdash;they couldn't if they tried,&rdquo; said Aaron
+      Sisson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a lull for some minutes. The men were all stimulated by drink.
+      The landlady kept them going. She herself sipped a glass of brandy&mdash;but
+      slowly. She sat near to Sisson&mdash;and the great fierce warmth of her
+      presence enveloped him particularly. He loved so to luxuriate, like a cat,
+      in the presence of a violent woman. He knew that tonight she was feeling
+      very nice to him&mdash;a female glow that came out of her to him.
+      Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or took it up again from the
+      bench beside him, her fingers just touched his thigh, and the fine
+      electricity ran over his body, as if he were a cat tingling at a caress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet he was not happy&mdash;nor comfortable. There was a hard, opposing
+      core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
+      soothe, tonight. It remained hard, nay, became harder and more deeply
+      antagonistic to his surroundings, every moment. He recognised it as a
+      secret malady he suffered from: this strained, unacknowledged opposition
+      to his surroundings, a hard core of irrational, exhausting withholding of
+      himself. Irritating, because he still WANTED to give himself. A woman and
+      whiskey, these were usually a remedy&mdash;and music. But lately these had
+      begun to fail him. No, there was something in him that would not give in&mdash;neither
+      to the whiskey, nor the woman, nor even the music. Even in the midst of
+      his best music, it sat in the middle of him, this invisible black dog, and
+      growled and waited, never to be cajoled. He knew of its presence&mdash;and
+      was a little uneasy. For of course he <i>wanted</i> to let himself go, to
+      feel rosy and loving and all that. But at the very thought, the black dog
+      showed its teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Still he kept the beast at bay&mdash;with all his will he kept himself as
+      it were genial. He wanted to melt and be rosy, happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sipped his whiskey with gratification, he luxuriated in the presence of
+      the landlady, very confident of the strength of her liking for him. He
+      glanced at her profile&mdash;that fine throw-back of her hostile head,
+      wicked in the midst of her benevolence; that subtle, really very beautiful
+      delicate curve of her nose, that moved him exactly like a piece of pure
+      sound. But tonight it did not overcome him. There was a devilish little
+      cold eye in his brain that was not taken in by what he saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A terrible obstinacy located itself in him. He saw the fine,
+      rich-coloured, secretive face of the Hebrew woman, so loudly
+      self-righteous, and so dangerous, so destructive, so lustful&mdash;and he
+      waited for his blood to melt with passion for her. But not tonight.
+      Tonight his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice. The very danger and
+      lustfulness of her, which had so pricked his senses, now made him colder.
+      He disliked her at her tricks. He saw her once too often. Her and all
+      women. Bah, the love game! And the whiskey that was to help in the game!
+      He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey and in love. Now he
+      floated like a corpse in both, with a cold, hostile eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no longer
+      drown. Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel his senses
+      melting and swimming into oneness with the dark. But impossible! Cold,
+      with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed and apart as a corpse.
+      He thought of the gentle love of his first married years, and became only
+      whiter and colder, set in more intense obstinacy. A wave of revulsion
+      lifted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the landlady, that he
+      disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness
+      detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it pretty much the same out there in India?&rdquo; he asked of the doctor,
+      suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor started, and attended to him on his own level.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Probably,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;It is worse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Worse!&rdquo; exclaimed Aaron Sisson. &ldquo;How's that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, because, in a way the people of India have an easier time even than
+      the people of England. Because they have no responsibility. The British
+      Government takes the responsibility. And the people have nothing to do,
+      except their bit of work&mdash;and talk perhaps about national rule, just
+      for a pastime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They have to earn their living?&rdquo; said Sisson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the
+      colliers, and become quite familiar with them. &ldquo;Yes, they have to earn
+      their living&mdash;and then no more. That's why the British Government is
+      the worst thing possible for them. It is the worst thing possible. And not
+      because it is a bad government. Really, it is not a bad government. It is
+      a good one&mdash;and they know it&mdash;much better than they would make
+      for themselves, probably. But for that reason it is so very bad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little oriental laughed a queer, sniggering laugh. His eyes were very
+      bright, dilated, completely black. He was looking into the ice-blue,
+      pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson. They were both intoxicated&mdash;but grimly
+      so. They looked at each other in elemental difference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole room was now attending to this new conversation: which they all
+      accepted as serious. For Aaron was considered a special man, a man of
+      peculiar understanding, even though as a rule he said little.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the people?&rdquo;
+       said the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor's eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, as he watched the
+      other man. He did not look at the landlady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would not matter what kind of mess they made&mdash;and they would make
+      a mess, if they governed themselves, the people of India. They would
+      probably make the greatest muddle possible&mdash;and start killing one
+      another. But it wouldn't matter if they exterminated half the population,
+      so long as they did it themselves, and were responsible for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man, and
+      an arch little smile flickered on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it would matter very much indeed,&rdquo; said the landlady. &ldquo;They had
+      far better NOT govern themselves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was, for some reason, becoming angry. The little greenish doctor
+      emptied his glass, and smiled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what difference does it make,&rdquo; said Aaron Sisson, &ldquo;whether they
+      govern themselves or not? They only live till they die, either way.&rdquo; And
+      he smiled faintly. He had not really listened to the doctor. The terms
+      &ldquo;British Government,&rdquo; and &ldquo;bad for the people&mdash;good for the people,&rdquo;
+       made him malevolently angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor was nonplussed for a moment. Then he gathered himself together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It matters,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;it matters.&mdash;People should always be
+      responsible for themselves. How can any people be responsible for another
+      race of people, and for a race much older than they are, and not at all
+      children.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed eyes.
+      He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance. He saw in
+      the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the same danger, the
+      same menace that he saw in the landlady. Fair, wise, even benevolent
+      words: always the human good speaking, and always underneath, something
+      hateful, something detestable and murderous. Wise speech and good
+      intentions&mdash;they were invariably maggoty with these secret
+      inclinations to destroy the man in the man. Whenever he heard anyone
+      holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman on the pit bank:
+      or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul curdled with
+      revulsion as from something foul. Even the infernal love and good-will of
+      his wife. To hell with good-will! It was more hateful than ill-will.
+      Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The landlady looked at the clock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ten minutes to, gentlemen,&rdquo; she said coldly. For she too knew that Aaron
+      was spoiled for her for that night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men began to take their leave, shakily. The little doctor seemed to
+      evaporate. The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat. She saw the curious
+      whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish look on his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?&rdquo; she said to
+      him, detaining him till last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he turned laughing to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I must be getting home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and went straight out of the house. Watching him, the landlady's
+      face became yellow with passion and rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That little poisonous Indian viper,&rdquo; she said aloud, attributing Aaron's
+      mood to the doctor. Her husband was noisily bolting the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside it was dark and frosty. A gang of men lingered in the road near
+      the closed door. Aaron found himself among them, his heart bitterer than
+      steel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men were dispersing. He should take the road home. But the devil was
+      in it, if he could take a stride in the homeward direction. There seemed a
+      wall in front of him. He veered. But neither could he take a stride in the
+      opposite direction. So he was destined to veer round, like some sort of
+      weather-cock, there in the middle of the dark road outside the &ldquo;Royal
+      Oak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But as he turned, he caught sight of a third exit. Almost opposite was the
+      mouth of Shottle Lane, which led off under trees, at right angles to the
+      highroad, up to New Brunswick Colliery. He veered towards the off-chance
+      of this opening, in a delirium of icy fury, and plunged away into the dark
+      lane, walking slowly, on firm legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER III. &ldquo;THE LIGHTED TREE&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      It is remarkable how many odd or extraordinary people there are in
+      England. We hear continual complaints of the stodgy dullness of the
+      English. It would be quite as just to complain of their freakish, unusual
+      characters. Only <i>en masse</i> the metal is all Britannia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an ugly little mining town we find the odd ones just as distinct as
+      anywhere else. Only it happens that dull people invariably meet dull
+      people, and odd individuals always come across odd individuals, no matter
+      where they may be. So that to each kind society seems all of a piece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At one end of the dark tree-covered Shottle Lane stood the &ldquo;Royal Oak&rdquo;
+       public house; and Mrs. Houseley was certainly an odd woman. At the other
+      end of the lane was Shottle House, where the Bricknells lived; the
+      Bricknells were odd, also. Alfred Bricknell, the old man, was one of the
+      partners in the Colliery firm. His English was incorrect, his accent,
+      broad Derbyshire, and he was not a gentleman in the snobbish sense of the
+      word. Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up. His wife was dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery. The
+      colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-hill glowed,
+      fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the Bricknells. Even war-time
+      efforts had not put out this refuse fire. Apart from this, Shottle House
+      was a pleasant square house, rather old, with shrubberies and lawns. It
+      ended the lane in a dead end. Only a field-path trekked away to the left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his
+      children at home. Of the others, one daughter was unhappily married, and
+      away in India weeping herself thinner; another was nursing her babies in
+      Streatham. Jim, the hope of the house, and Julia, now married to Robert
+      Cunningham, had come home for Christmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The party was seated in the drawing-room, that the grown-up daughters had
+      made very fine during their periods of courtship. Its walls were hung with
+      fine grey canvas, it had a large, silvery grey, silky carpet, and the
+      furniture was covered with dark green silky material. Into this reticence
+      pieces of futurism, Omega cushions and Van-Gogh-like pictures exploded
+      their colours. Such <i>chic</i> would certainly not have been looked for
+      up Shottle Lane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man sat in his high grey arm-chair very near an enormous coal
+      fire. In this house there was no coal-rationing. The finest coal was
+      arranged to obtain a gigantic glow such as a coal-owner may well enjoy, a
+      great, intense mass of pure red fire. At this fire Alfred Bricknell
+      toasted his tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a large man, wearing a loose grey suit, and sprawling in the large
+      grey arm-chair. The soft lamp-light fell on his clean, bald,
+      Michael-Angelo head, across which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin was
+      sunk on his breast, so that his sparse but strong-haired white beard, in
+      which every strand stood distinct, like spun glass lithe and elastic,
+      curved now upwards and inwards, in a curious curve returning upon him. He
+      seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation. As a matter of fact,
+      he was asleep after a heavy meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of the fire, was a cameo-like
+      girl with neat black hair done tight and bright in the French mode. She
+      had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and her colour was brilliant. She was hot,
+      leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the mantel-piece, to escape
+      the fire. She wore a simple dress of apple-green satin, with full sleeves
+      and ample skirt and a tiny bodice of green cloth. This was Josephine Ford,
+      the girl Jim was engaged to.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim Bricknell himself was a tall big fellow of thirty-eight. He sat in a
+      chair in front of the fire, some distance back, and stretched his long
+      legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his breast, his young
+      forehead was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles, he had a silent half-grin
+      on his face, a little tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache was
+      reddish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind him a round table was covered with cigarettes, sweets, and bottles.
+      It was evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for choice. He wanted to get fat&mdash;that
+      was his idea. But he couldn't bring it off: he was thin, though not too
+      thin, except to his own thinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His sister Julia was bunched up in a low chair between him and his father.
+      She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up like a witch.
+      She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out of the sleeves,
+      and she had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy strands. Yet she
+      had real beauty. She was talking to the young man who was not her husband:
+      a fair, pale, fattish young fellow in pince-nez and dark clothes. This was
+      Cyril Scott, a friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only other person stood at the round table pouring out red wine. He
+      was a fresh, stoutish young Englishman in khaki, Julia's husband, Robert
+      Cunningham, a lieutenant about to be demobilised, when he would become a
+      sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes
+      grew a little moist. The room was hot and subdued, everyone was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said Robert suddenly, from the rear&mdash;&ldquo;anybody have a drink?
+      Don't you find it rather hot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there another bottle of beer there?&rdquo; said Jim, without moving, too
+      settled even to stir an eye-lid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I think there is,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks&mdash;don't open it yet,&rdquo; murmured Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a drink, Josephine?&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thank you,&rdquo; said Josephine, bowing slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Finding the drinks did not go, Robert went round with the cigarettes.
+      Josephine Ford looked at the white rolls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; she said, and taking one, suddenly licked her rather full,
+      dry red lips with the rapid tip of her tongue. It was an odd movement,
+      suggesting a snake's flicker. She put her cigarette between her lips, and
+      waited. Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but perhaps too
+      quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian, Parisian or
+      American rather than English.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cigarette, Julia?&rdquo; said Robert to his wife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed. Then she looked up at her
+      husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes. He looked
+      at the cigarettes, not at her. His face had the blunt voluptuous gravity
+      of a young lion, a great cat. She kept him standing for some moments
+      impassively. Then suddenly she hung her long, delicate fingers over the
+      box, in doubt, and spasmodically jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily raking
+      one out at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, dear&mdash;thank you,&rdquo; she cried, rather high, looking up and
+      smiling once more. He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes to
+      Scott, who refused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette. &ldquo;Robert is so happy
+      with all the good things&mdash;aren't you dear?&rdquo; she sang, breaking into a
+      hurried laugh. &ldquo;We aren't used to such luxurious living, we aren't&mdash;ARE
+      WE DEAR&mdash;No, we're not such swells as this, we're not. Oh, ROBBIE,
+      isn't it all right, isn't it just all right?&rdquo; She tailed off into her
+      hurried, wild, repeated laugh. &ldquo;We're so happy in a land of plenty, AREN'T
+      WE DEAR?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Greedy!&mdash;Oh, greedy!&mdash;he asks if he's greedy?&mdash;no you're
+      not greedy, Robbie, you're not greedy. I want you to be happy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm quite happy,&rdquo; he returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, he's happy!&mdash;Really!&mdash;he's happy! Oh, what an
+      accomplishment! Oh, my word!&rdquo; Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself
+      into a nervous twitching silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Robert went round with the matches. Julia sucked her cigarette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's coming,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs. Julia sucked wildly at her
+      light. Robert returned to his red wine. Jim Bricknell suddenly roused up,
+      looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and showing his
+      odd, pointed teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's the beer?&rdquo; he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into Josephine's
+      face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight of hand. Then he
+      wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring beer down his throat as
+      down a pipe. Then he dropped supine again. Cyril Scott was silently
+      absorbing gin and water.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling. &ldquo;Isn't there
+      something we could do to while the time away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Everybody suddenly laughed&mdash;it sounded so remote and absurd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?&rdquo; said
+      Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were a child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, damn bridge,&rdquo; said Jim in his sleep-voice. Then he began pulling his
+      powerful length together. He sat on the edge of his chair-seat, leaning
+      forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't look at me like that&mdash;so long&mdash;&rdquo; said Josephine, in her
+      self-contained voice. &ldquo;You make me uncomfortable.&rdquo; She gave an odd little
+      grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as she
+      glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like looking at you,&rdquo; said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you shouldn't, when I tell you not,&rdquo; she returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles. The father also
+      came awake. He sat up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it time,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;that you all put away your glasses and
+      cigarettes and thought of bed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, Dad,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;tonight's the night! Tonight's some night, Dad.&mdash;You
+      can sleep any time&mdash;&rdquo; his grin widened&mdash;&ldquo;but there aren't many
+      nights to sit here&mdash;like this&mdash;Eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
+      nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling fixedly.
+      The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion from the
+      young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he gazed on the
+      face of his boy. He rose stiffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want to stay?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You want to stay!&mdash;Well then&mdash;well
+      then, I'll leave you. But don't be long.&rdquo; The old man rose to his full
+      height, rather majestic. The four younger people also rose respectfully&mdash;only
+      Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting up his face towards his
+      father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't stay long,&rdquo; said the old man, looking round a little
+      bewildered. He was seeking a responsible eye. Josephine was the only one
+      who had any feeling for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell,&rdquo; she said gravely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good night, Dad,&rdquo; said Jim, as his father left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, <i>poupee</i> walk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is the night?&rdquo; she said, as if to change the whole feeling in the
+      room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+      &ldquo;What is that light burning? A red light?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire,&rdquo; said Robert, who had followed her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How strange!&mdash;Why is it burning now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It always burns, unfortunately&mdash;it is most consistent at it. It is
+      the refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all
+      efforts to the contrary.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very curious! May we look at it?&rdquo; Josephine now turned the handle of
+      the French windows, and stepped out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beautiful!&rdquo; they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
+      Cyril Scott.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!&rdquo; she said, smiling
+      with subtle tenderness to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Naturally! Young people always do these romantic things,&rdquo; replied Cyril
+      Scott. He was twenty-two years old, so he could afford to be cynical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do they?&mdash;Don't you think it's nice of them?&rdquo; she said, gently
+      removing her hand from his. His eyes were shining with pleasure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do. I envy them enormously. One only needs to be sufficiently naive,&rdquo;
+       he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One does, doesn't one!&rdquo; cooed Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, do you hear the bells?&rdquo; said Robert, poking his head into the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, dear! Do you?&rdquo; replied Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bells! Hear the bells! Bells!&rdquo; exclaimed the half-tipsy and
+      self-conscious Jim. And he rolled in his chair in an explosion of sudden,
+      silent laughter, showing his mouthful of pointed teeth, like a dog. Then
+      he gradually gathered himself together, found his feet, smiling fixedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pretty cool night!&rdquo; he said aloud, when he felt the air on his almost
+      bald head. The darkness smelt of sulphur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine and Robert had moved out of sight. Julia was abstracted,
+      following them with her eyes. With almost supernatural keenness she seemed
+      to catch their voices from the distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Josephine, WOULDN'T that be AWFULLY ROMANTIC!&rdquo;&mdash;she suddenly
+      called shrilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pair in the distance started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;!&rdquo; they heard Josephine's sharp exclamation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&mdash;What would be romantic?&rdquo; said Jim as he lurched up and
+      caught hold of Cyril Scott's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Josephine wants to make a great illumination of the grounds of the
+      estate,&rdquo; said Julia, magniloquent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no&mdash;I didn't say it,&rdquo; remonstrated Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What Josephine said,&rdquo; explained Robert, &ldquo;was simply that it would be
+      pretty to put candles on one of the growing trees, instead of having a
+      Christmas-tree indoors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Josephine, how sweet of you!&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril Scott giggled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good egg! Champion idea, Josey, my lass. Eh? What&mdash;!&rdquo; cried Jim.
+      &ldquo;Why not carry it out&mdash;eh? Why not? Most attractive.&rdquo; He leaned
+      forward over Josephine, and grinned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no!&rdquo; expostulated Josephine. &ldquo;It all sounds so silly now. No. Let us
+      go indoors and go to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;NO, Josephine dear&mdash;No! It's a LOVELY IDEA!&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;Let's get
+      candles and lanterns and things&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's!&rdquo; grinned Jim. &ldquo;Let's, everybody&mdash;let's.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we really?&rdquo; asked Robert. &ldquo;Shall we illuminate one of the fir-trees
+      by the lawn?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! How lovely!&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;I'll fetch the candles.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The women must put on warm cloaks,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They trooped indoors for coats and wraps and candles and lanterns. Then,
+      lighted by a bicycle lamp, they trooped off to the shed to twist wire
+      round the candles for holders. They clustered round the bench.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say,&rdquo; said Julia, &ldquo;doesn't Cyril look like a pilot on a stormy night!
+      Oh, I say&mdash;!&rdquo; and she went into one of her hurried laughs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They all looked at Cyril Scott, who was standing sheepishly in the
+      background, in a very large overcoat, smoking a large pipe. The young man
+      was uncomfortable, but assumed a stoic air of philosophic indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon they were busy round a prickly fir-tree at the end of the lawn. Jim
+      stood in the background vaguely staring. The bicycle lamp sent a beam of
+      strong white light deep into the uncanny foliage, heads clustered and
+      hands worked. The night above was silent, dim. There was no wind. In the
+      near distance they could hear the panting of some engine at the colliery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we light them as we fix them,&rdquo; asked Robert, &ldquo;or save them for one
+      grand rocket at the end?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, as we do them,&rdquo; said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers and
+      wanted to see some reward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A match spluttered. One naked little flame sprang alight among the dark
+      foliage. The candle burned tremulously, naked. They all were silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We ought to do a ritual dance! We ought to worship the tree,&rdquo; sang Julia,
+      in her high voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold on a minute. We'll have a little more illumination,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why yes. We want more than one candle,&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with arms
+      slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a <i>pas seul</i> before
+      the tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short,
+      harsh, cackling laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't we fools!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;What? Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;why?&rdquo; cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian gripping
+      his pipe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces of
+      the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees. Several
+      little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the naked air,
+      sending a faint glow over the needle foliage. They gave a strange,
+      perpendicular aspiration in the night. Julia waved slowly in her tree
+      dance. Jim stood apart, with his legs straddled, a motionless figure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The party round the tree became absorbed and excited as more ruddy tongues
+      of flame pricked upward from the dark tree. Pale candles became evident,
+      the air was luminous. The illumination was becoming complete, harmonious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine suddenly looked round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why-y-y!&rdquo; came her long note of alarm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A man in a bowler hat and a black overcoat stood on the edge of the
+      twilight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Homo sapiens</i>!&rdquo; said Robert, the lieutenant. &ldquo;Hand the light,
+      Cyril.&rdquo; He played the beam of light full on the intruder; a man in a
+      bowler hat, with a black overcoat buttoned to his throat, a pale, dazed,
+      blinking face. The hat was tilted at a slightly jaunty angle over the left
+      eye, the man was well-featured. He did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you want anything?&rdquo; asked Robert, from behind the light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson blinked, trying to see who addressed him. To him, they were
+      all illusory. He did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anything you wanted?&rdquo; repeated Robert, military, rather peremptory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim suddenly doubled himself up and burst into a loud harsh cackle of
+      laughter. Whoop! he went, and doubled himself up with laughter. Whoop!
+      Whoop! he went, and fell on the ground and writhed with laughter. He was
+      in that state of intoxication when he could find no release from maddening
+      self-consciousness. He knew what he was doing, he did it deliberately. And
+      yet he was also beside himself, in a sort of hysterics. He could not help
+      himself in exasperated self-consciousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The others all began to laugh, unavoidably. It was a contagion. They
+      laughed helplessly and foolishly. Only Robert was anxious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid he'll wake the house,&rdquo; he said, looking at the doubled up
+      figure of Jim writhing on the grass and whooping loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or not enough,&rdquo; put in Cyril Scott. He twigged Jim's condition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;no!&rdquo; cried Josephine, weak with laughing in spite of herself.
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;it's too long&mdash;I'm like to die laughing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim embraced the earth in his convulsions. Even Robert shook quite weakly
+      with laughter. His face was red, his eyes full of dancing water. Yet he
+      managed to articulate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, you know, you'll bring the old man down.&rdquo; Then he went off again
+      into spasms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hu! Hu!&rdquo; whooped Jim, subsiding. &ldquo;Hu!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rolled over on to his back, and lay silent. The others also became
+      weakly silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's amiss?&rdquo; said Aaron Sisson, breaking this spell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They all began to laugh again, except Jim, who lay on his back looking up
+      at the strange sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What're you laughing at?&rdquo; repeated Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're laughing at the man on the ground,&rdquo; replied Josephine. &ldquo;I think
+      he's drunk a little too much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron, standing mute and obstinate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you want anything?&rdquo; Robert enquired once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh?&rdquo; Aaron looked up. &ldquo;Me? No, not me.&rdquo; A sort of inertia kept him
+      rooted. The young people looked at one another and began to laugh, rather
+      embarrassed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Another!&rdquo; said Cyril Scott cynically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They wished he would go away. There was a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you reckon stars are?&rdquo; asked the sepulchral voice of Jim. He
+      still lay flat on his back on the grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine went to him and pulled at his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You'll take cold. Get up now, we're going indoors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you reckon stars are?&rdquo; he persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson stood on the edge of the light, smilingly staring at the
+      scene, like a boy out of his place, but stubbornly keeping his ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Get up now,&rdquo; said Josephine. &ldquo;We've had enough.&rdquo; But Jim would not move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Robert went with the bicycle lamp and stood at Aaron's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I show you a light to the road&mdash;you're off your track,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;You're in the grounds of Shottle House.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can find my road,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Thank you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim suddenly got up and went to peer at the stranger, poking his face
+      close to Aaron's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right-o,&rdquo; he replied. &ldquo;You're not half a bad sort of chap&mdash;Cheery-o!
+      What's your drink?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine&mdash;whiskey,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in and have one. We're the only sober couple in the bunch&mdash;what?&rdquo;
+       cried Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron stood unmoving, static in everything. Jim took him by the arm
+      affectionately. The stranger looked at the flickering tree, with its tiers
+      of lights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A Christmas tree,&rdquo; he said, jerking his head and smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's right, old man,&rdquo; said Jim, seeming thoroughly sober now. &ldquo;Come
+      indoors and have a drink.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron Sisson negatively allowed himself to be led off. The others followed
+      in silence, leaving the tree to flicker the night through. The stranger
+      stumbled at the open window-door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind the step,&rdquo; said Jim affectionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They crowded to the fire, which was still hot. The newcomer looked round
+      vaguely. Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair. He sat without
+      looking round, a remote, abstract look on his face. He was very pale, and
+      seemed-inwardly absorbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The party threw off their wraps and sat around. Josephine turned to Aaron
+      Sisson, who sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand, rather slack in his
+      chair, in his thickish overcoat. He did not want to drink. His hair was
+      blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome but a little obstinate, his
+      eyes inscrutable. His pallor was not natural to him. Though he kept the
+      appearance of a smile, underneath he was hard and opposed. He did not wish
+      to be with these people, and yet, mechanically, he stayed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you feel quite well?&rdquo; Josephine asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her quickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me?&rdquo; he said. He smiled faintly. &ldquo;Yes, I'm all right.&rdquo; Then he dropped
+      his head again and seemed oblivious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell us your name,&rdquo; said Jim affectionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My name's Aaron Sisson, if it's anything to you,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim began to grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a name I don't know,&rdquo; he said. Then he named all the party present.
+      But the stranger hardly heeded, though his eyes looked curiously from one
+      to the other, slow, shrewd, clairvoyant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you on your way home?&rdquo; asked Robert, huffy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger lifted his head and looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Home!&rdquo; he repeated. &ldquo;No. The other road&mdash;&rdquo; He indicated the
+      direction with his head, and smiled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Beldover?&rdquo; inquired Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had dropped his head again, as if he did not want to look at them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To Josephine, the pale, impassive, blank-seeming face, the blue eyes with
+      the smile which wasn't a smile, and the continual dropping of the
+      well-shaped head was curiously affecting. She wanted to cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a miner?&rdquo; Robert asked, <i>de haute en bas</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; cried Josephine. She had looked at his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men's checkweighman,&rdquo; replied Aaron. He had emptied his glass. He put it
+      on the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have another?&rdquo; said Jim, who was attending fixedly, with curious
+      absorption, to the stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; cried Josephine, &ldquo;no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled slowly, with remote
+      bitterness. Then he lowered his head again. His hands were loosely clasped
+      between his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about the wife?&rdquo; said Robert&mdash;the young lieutenant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about the wife and kiddies? You're a married man, aren't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sardonic look of the stranger rested on the subaltern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't they be expecting you?&rdquo; said Robert, trying to keep his temper and
+      his tone of authority.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I expect they will&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you'd better be getting along, hadn't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The eyes of the intruder rested all the time on the flushed subaltern. The
+      look on Aaron's face became slowly satirical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dry up the army touch,&rdquo; said Jim contemptuously, to Robert. &ldquo;We're
+      all civvies here. We're all right, aren't we?&rdquo; he said loudly, turning to
+      the stranger with a grin that showed his pointed teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron gave a brief laugh of acknowledgement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many children have you?&rdquo; sang Julia from her distance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girls or boys?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Girls.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All girls? Dear little things! How old?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oldest eight&mdash;youngest nine months&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So small!&rdquo; sang Julia, with real tenderness now&mdash;Aaron dropped his
+      head. &ldquo;But you're going home to them, aren't you?&rdquo; said Josephine, in
+      whose eyes the tears had already risen. He looked up at her, at her tears.
+      His face had the same pale perverse smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not tonight,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why? You're wrong!&rdquo; cried Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He dropped his head and became oblivious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation. &ldquo;I
+      think I'll retire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you?&rdquo; said Julia, also rising. &ldquo;You'll find your candle outside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She went out. Scott bade good night, and followed her. The four people
+      remained in the room, quite silent. Then Robert rose and began to walk
+      about, agitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you go back to 'em. Have a night out. You stop here tonight,&rdquo; Jim
+      said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes?&rdquo; he said. He seemed to be smiling coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but!&rdquo; cried Josephine. &ldquo;Your wife and your children! Won't they be
+      awfully bothered? Isn't it awfully unkind to them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose in her eagerness. He sat turning up his face to her. She could
+      not understand his expression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you go home to them?&rdquo; she said, hysterical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not tonight,&rdquo; he replied quietly, again smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You're wrong!&rdquo; And so she hurried out of the
+      room in tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Er&mdash;what bed do you propose to put him in?&rdquo; asked Robert rather
+      officer-like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't propose at all, my lad,&rdquo; replied Jim, ironically&mdash;he did not
+      like Robert. Then to the stranger he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll be all right on the couch in my room?&mdash;it's a good couch, big
+      enough, plenty of rugs&mdash;&rdquo; His voice was easy and intimate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather
+      stumbling, upstairs. Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Robert remained pacing in the drawing-room for some time. Then he went
+      out, to return in a little while. He extinguished the lamps and saw that
+      the fire was safe. Then he went to fasten the window-doors securely.
+      Outside he saw the uncanny glimmer of candles across the lawn. He had half
+      a mind to go out and extinguish them&mdash;but he did not. So he went
+      upstairs and the house was quiet. Faint crumbs of snow were falling
+      outside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Jim woke in the morning Aaron had gone. Only on the floor were two
+      packets of Christmas-tree candles, fallen from the stranger's pockets. He
+      had gone through the drawing-room door, as he had come. The housemaid said
+      that while she was cleaning the grate in the dining-room she heard someone
+      go into the drawing-room: a parlour-maid had even seen someone come out of
+      Jim's bedroom. But they had both thought it was Jim himself, for he was an
+      unsettled house mate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a thin film of snow, a lovely Christmas morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IV. &ldquo;THE PILLAR OF SALT&rdquo;
+     </h2>
+    <p>
+      Our story will not yet see daylight. A few days after Christmas, Aaron sat
+      in the open shed at the bottom of his own garden, looking out on the rainy
+      darkness. No one knew he was there. It was some time after six in the
+      evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From where he sat, he looked straight up the garden to the house. The
+      blind was not drawn in the middle kitchen, he could see the figures of his
+      wife and one child. There was a light also in the upstairs window. His
+      wife was gone upstairs again. He wondered if she had the baby ill. He
+      could see her figure vaguely behind the lace curtains of the bedroom. It
+      was like looking at his home through the wrong end of a telescope. Now the
+      little girls had gone from the middle room: only to return in a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His attention strayed. He watched the light falling from the window of the
+      next-door house. Uneasily, he looked along the whole range of houses. The
+      street sloped down-hill, and the backs were open to the fields. So he saw
+      a curious succession of lighted windows, between which jutted the
+      intermediary back premises, scullery and outhouse, in dark little blocks.
+      It was something like the keyboard of a piano: more still, like a
+      succession of musical notes. For the rectangular planes of light were of
+      different intensities, some bright and keen, some soft, warm, like
+      candle-light, and there was one surface of pure red light, one or two were
+      almost invisible, dark green. So the long scale of lights seemed to trill
+      across the darkness, now bright, now dim, swelling and sinking. The effect
+      was strange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And thus the whole private life of the street was threaded in lights.
+      There was a sense of indecent exposure, from so many backs. He felt
+      himself almost in physical contact with this contiguous stretch of back
+      premises. He heard the familiar sound of water gushing from the sink in to
+      the grate, the dropping of a pail outside the door, the clink of a coal
+      shovel, the banging of a door, the sound of voices. So many houses cheek
+      by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many back yards, back doors giving on
+      to the night. It was revolting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Away in the street itself, a boy was calling the newspaper: &ldquo;&mdash;'NING
+      POST! &mdash;'NING PO-O-ST!&rdquo; It was a long, melancholy howl, and seemed to
+      epitomise the whole of the dark, wet, secretive, thickly-inhabited night.
+      A figure passed the window of Aaron's own house, entered, and stood inside
+      the room talking to Mrs. Sisson. It was a young woman in a brown
+      mackintosh and a black hat. She stood under the incandescent light, and
+      her hat nearly knocked the globe. Next door a man had run out in his shirt
+      sleeves: this time a young, dark-headed collier running to the gate for a
+      newspaper, running bare-headed, coatless, slippered in the rain. He had
+      got his news-sheet, and was returning. And just at that moment the young
+      man's wife came out, shading her candle with a lading tin. She was going
+      to the coal-house for some coal. Her husband passed her on the threshold.
+      She could be heard breaking the bits of coal and placing them on the
+      dustpan. The light from her candle fell faintly behind her. Then she went
+      back, blown by a swirl of wind. But again she was at the door, hastily
+      standing her iron shovel against the wall. Then she shut the back door
+      with a bang. These noises seemed to scrape and strike the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Aaron's own house, the young person was still talking to Mrs. Sisson.
+      Millicent came out, sheltering a candle with her hand. The candle blew
+      out. She ran indoors, and emerged again, her white pinafore fluttering.
+      This time she performed her little journey safely. He could see the faint
+      glimmer of her candle emerging secretly from the closet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The young person was taking her leave. He could hear her sympathetic&mdash;&ldquo;Well&mdash;good
+      night! I hope she'll be no worse. Good night Mrs. Sisson!&rdquo; She was gone&mdash;he
+      heard the windy bang of the street-gate. Presently Millicent emerged
+      again, flitting indoors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he rose to his feet, balancing, swaying a little before he started into
+      motion, as so many colliers do. Then he moved along the path towards the
+      house, in the rain and darkness, very slowly edging forwards.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly the door opened. His wife emerged with a pail. He stepped quietly
+      aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs. He could smell
+      rosemary and sage and hyssop. A low wall divided his garden from his
+      neighbour's. He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready to drop over
+      should his wife come forward. But she only threw the contents of her pail
+      on the garden and retired again. She might have seen him had she looked.
+      He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle of rain in the
+      water-butt. The hollow countryside lay beyond him. Sometimes in the windy
+      darkness he could see the red burn of New Brunswick bank, or the brilliant
+      jewels of light clustered at Bestwood Colliery. Away in the dark hollow,
+      nearer, the glare of the electric power-station disturbed the night. So
+      again the wind swirled the rain across all these hieroglyphs of the
+      countryside, familiar to him as his own breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A motor-car was labouring up the hill. His trained ear attended to it
+      unconsciously. It stopped with a jar. There was a bang of the yard-gate. A
+      shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window. Millicent was
+      drawing down the blind. It was the doctor. The blind was drawn, he could
+      see no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Stealthily he began to approach the house. He stood by the climbing rose
+      of the porch, listening. He heard voices upstairs. Perhaps the children
+      would be downstairs. He listened intently. Voices were upstairs only. He
+      quietly opened the door. The room was empty, save for the baby, who was
+      cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs he
+      could hear the voice of the Indian doctor: &ldquo;Now little girl, you must just
+      keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon.&rdquo; He said &ldquo;<i>de</i>
+      moon,&rdquo; just as ever.&mdash;Marjory must be ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. It was a cold, clammy room, dark. He
+      could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below the
+      window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. He began feeling for
+      something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He touched
+      and felt&mdash;he could not find what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned and
+      looked out of the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall he
+      could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in front
+      of it, up the street.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down on the sofa by the window. The energy had suddenly left all
+      his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listening. The familiar room, the
+      familiar voice of his wife and his children&mdash;he felt weak as if he
+      were dying. He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in the waters.
+      His strength was gone, he was sinking back. He would sink back to it all,
+      float henceforth like a drowned man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, feet moving. They were
+      coming down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Mrs. Sisson, you needn't worry,&rdquo; he heard the voice of the doctor on
+      the stairs. &ldquo;If she goes on as she is, she'll be all right. Only she must
+      be kept warm and quiet&mdash;warm and quiet&mdash;that's the chief thing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, when she has those bouts I can't bear it,&rdquo; Aaron heard his wife's
+      voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were downstairs. Their feet click-clicked on the tiled passage. They
+      had gone into the middle room. Aaron sat and listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She won't have any more bouts. If she does, give her a few drops from the
+      little bottle, and raise her up. But she won't have any more,&rdquo; the doctor
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If she does, I s'll go off my head, I know I shall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you won't. No, you won't do anything of the sort. You won't go off
+      your head. You'll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought to be,&rdquo;
+       protested the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it nearly drives me mad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then don't let it. The child won't die, I tell you. She will be all
+      right, with care. Who have you got sitting up with her? You're not to sit
+      up with her tonight, I tell you. Do you hear me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Smitham's coming in. But it's no good&mdash;I shall have to sit up.
+      I shall HAVE to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you you won't. You obey ME. I know what's good for you as well as
+      for her. I am thinking of you as much as of her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I can't bear it&mdash;all alone.&rdquo; This was the beginning of tears.
+      There was a dead silence&mdash;then a sound of Millicent weeping with her
+      mother. As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was an
+      emotional sympathetic soul, over forty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind&mdash;never mind&mdash;you aren't alone,&rdquo; came the doctor's
+      matter-of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing. &ldquo;I am here to help you. I
+      will do whatever I can&mdash;whatever I can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't bear it. I can't bear it,&rdquo; wept the woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another silence, another nose-blowing, and again the doctor:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll HAVE to bear it&mdash;I tell you there's nothing else for it.
+      You'll have to bear it&mdash;but we'll do our best for you. I will do my
+      best for you&mdash;always&mdash;ALWAYS&mdash;in sickness or out of
+      sickness&mdash;There!&rdquo; He pronounced <i>there</i> oddly, not quite <i>dhere</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You haven't heard from your husband?&rdquo; he added.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had a letter&mdash;&ldquo;&mdash;sobs&mdash;&ldquo;from the bank this morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;FROM DE BANK?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an
+      allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then, why not let him travel? You can live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But to leave me alone,&rdquo; there was burning indignation in her voice. &ldquo;To
+      go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with all the
+      burden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well I wouldn't trouble about him. Aren't you better off without him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am. I am,&rdquo; she cried fiercely. &ldquo;When I got that letter this morning, I
+      said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON. And I hope it may.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well-well, well-well, don't fret. Don't be angry, it won't make it any
+      better, I tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Angry! I AM angry. I'm worse than angry. A week ago I hadn't a grey hair
+      in my head. Now look here&mdash;&rdquo; There was a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well-well, well-well, never mind. You will be all right, don't you
+      bother. Your hair is beautiful anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What makes me so mad is that he should go off like that&mdash;never a
+      word&mdash;coolly takes his hook. I could kill him for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you ever happy together?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We were all right at first. I know I was fond of him. But he'd kill
+      anything.&mdash;He kept himself back, always kept himself back, couldn't
+      give himself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah well,&rdquo; sighed the doctor. &ldquo;Marriage is a mystery. I'm glad I'm not
+      entangled in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, to make some woman's life a misery.&mdash;I'm sure it was death to
+      live with him, he seemed to kill everything off inside you. He was a man
+      you couldn't quarrel with, and get it over. Quiet&mdash;quiet in his
+      tempers, and selfish through and through. I've lived with him twelve years&mdash;I
+      know what it is. Killing! You don't know what he was&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think I knew him. A fair man? Yes?&rdquo; said the doctor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fair to look at.&mdash;There's a photograph of him in the parlour&mdash;taken
+      when he was married&mdash;and one of me.&mdash;Yes, he's fairhaired.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron guessed that she was getting a candle to come into the parlour. He
+      was tempted to wait and meet them&mdash;and accept it all again.
+      Devilishly tempted, he was. Then he thought of her voice, and his heart
+      went cold. Quick as thought, he obeyed his first impulse. He felt behind
+      the couch, on the floor where the curtains fell. Yes&mdash;the bag was
+      there. He took it at once. In the next breath he stepped out of the room
+      and tip-toed into the passage. He retreated to the far end, near the
+      street door, and stood behind the coats that hung on the hall-stand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment his wife came into the passage, holding a candle. She was
+      red-eyed with weeping, and looked frail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did YOU leave the parlour door open?&rdquo; she asked of Millicent,
+      suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Millicent from the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor, with his soft, Oriental tread followed Mrs. Sisson into the
+      parlour. Aaron saw his wife hold up the candle before his portrait and
+      begin to weep. But he knew her. The doctor laid his hand softly on her
+      arm, and left it there, sympathetically. Nor did he remove it when
+      Millicent stole into the room, looking very woe-begone and important. The
+      wife wept silently, and the child joined in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I know him,&rdquo; said the doctor. &ldquo;If he thinks he will be happier when
+      he's gone away, you must be happier too, Mrs. Sisson. That's all. Don't
+      let him triumph over you by making you miserable. You enjoy yourself as
+      well. You're only a girl&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But a tear came from his eye, and he blew his nose vigorously on a large
+      white silk handkerchief, and began to polish his <i>pince nez</i>. Then he
+      turned, and they all bundled out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor took his departure. Mrs. Sisson went almost immediately
+      upstairs, and Millicent shortly crept after her. Then Aaron, who had stood
+      motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down the passage
+      and into the living room. His face was very pale, ghastly-looking. He
+      caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the mantel, as he passed,
+      and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal. But his heart did not
+      relax, nevertheless. So he hurried into the night, down the garden,
+      climbed the fence into the field, and went away across the field in the
+      rain, towards the highroad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt sick in every fibre. He almost hated the little handbag he
+      carried, which held his flute and piccolo. It seemed a burden just then&mdash;a
+      millstone round his neck. He hated the scene he had left&mdash;and he
+      hated the hard, inviolable heart that stuck unchanging in his own breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Coming to the high-road, he saw a tall, luminous tram-car roving along
+      through the rain. The trams ran across country from town to town. He dared
+      not board, because people knew him. So he took a side road, and walked in
+      a detour for two miles. Then he came out on the high-road again and waited
+      for a tram-car. The rain blew on his face. He waited a long time for the
+      last car.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER V. AT THE OPERA
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      A friend had given Josephine Ford a box at the opera for one evening; our
+      story continues by night. The box was large and important, near the stage.
+      Josephine and Julia were there, with Robert and Jim&mdash;also two more
+      men. The women sat in the front of the box, conspicuously. They were both
+      poor, they were rather excited. But they belonged to a set which looked on
+      social triumphs as a downfall that one allows oneself. The two men, Lilly
+      and Struthers, were artists, the former literary, the latter a painter.
+      Lilly sat by Josephine in the front of the box: he was her little lion of
+      the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Few women can sit in the front of a big box, on a crowded and full-swing
+      opera night, without thrilling and dilating. There is an intoxication in
+      being thus thrust forward, conspicuous and enhanced, right in the eye of
+      the vast crowd that lines the hollow shell of the auditorium. Thus even
+      Josephine and Julia leaned their elbows and poised their heads regally,
+      looking condescendingly down upon the watchful world. They were two poor
+      women, having nothing to do with society. Half bohemians.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine was an artist. In Paris she was a friend of a very fashionable
+      dressmaker and decorator, master of modern elegance. Sometimes she
+      designed dresses for him, and sometimes she accepted from him a commission
+      to decorate a room. Usually at her last sou, it gave her pleasure to
+      dispose of costly and exquisite things for other people, and then be rid
+      of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This evening her dress was a simple, but a marvellously poised thing of
+      black and silver: in the words of the correct journal. With her tight,
+      black, bright hair, her arched brows, her dusky-ruddy face and her bare
+      shoulders; her strange equanimity, her long, slow, slanting looks; she
+      looked foreign and frightening, clear as a cameo, but dark, far off. Julia
+      was the English beauty, in a lovely blue dress. Her hair was becomingly
+      untidy on her low brow, her dark blue eyes wandered and got excited, her
+      nervous mouth twitched. Her high-pitched, sing-song voice and her hurried
+      laugh could be heard in the theatre. She twisted a beautiful little fan
+      that a dead artist had given her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not being fashionable, they were in the box when the overture began. The
+      opera was Verdi&mdash;<i>Aida</i>. If it is impossible to be in an
+      important box at the opera without experiencing the strange intoxication
+      of social pre-eminence, it is just as impossible to be there without some
+      feeling of horror at the sight the stage presents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine leaned her elbow and looked down: she knew how arresting that
+      proud, rather stiff bend of her head was. She had some aboriginal American
+      in her blood. But as she looked, she pursed her mouth. The artist in her
+      forgot everything, she was filled with disgust. The sham Egypt of <i>Aida</i>
+      hid from her nothing of its shame. The singers were all colour-washed,
+      deliberately colour-washed to a bright orange tint. The men had oblong
+      dabs of black wool under their lower lip; the beard of the mighty
+      Pharaohs. This oblong dab shook and wagged to the singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable. They all looked
+      such good meat. Why were their haunches so prominent? It was a question
+      Josephine could not solve. She scanned their really expensive, brilliant
+      clothing. It was <i>nearly</i> right&mdash;nearly splendid. It only lacked
+      that last subtlety which the world always lacks, the last final clinching
+      which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet is the opposite pole to
+      machine fixity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the leading tenor was the chief pain. He was large, stout, swathed in
+      a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch. This fattish, emasculated look
+      seems common in stage heroes&mdash;even the extremely popular. The tenor
+      sang bravely, his mouth made a large, coffin-shaped, yawning gap in his
+      orange face, his little beard fluttered oddly, like a tail. He turned up
+      his eyes to Josephine's box as he sang&mdash;that being the regulation
+      direction. Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his breath, the flesh
+      of his fat, naked arms swayed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian, immovable,
+      inscrutable. It was not till the scene was ended that she lifted her head
+      as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue rapidly over her
+      dried lips, and looked round into the box. Her brown eyes expressed shame,
+      fear, and disgust. A curious grimace went over her face&mdash;a grimace
+      only to be expressed by the exclamation <i>Merde!</i> But she was mortally
+      afraid of society, and its fixed institutions. Rapidly she scanned the
+      eyes of her friends in the box. She rested on the eyes of Lilly, a dark,
+      ugly man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it nasty?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shouldn't look so closely,&rdquo; he said. But he took it calmly, easily,
+      whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to destroy it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh-ho-ho!&rdquo; laughed Julia. &ldquo;It's so fu-nny&mdash;so funny!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course we are too near,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say you admire that pink fondant over there,&rdquo; said Struthers, indicating
+      with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with pink edging, who
+      sat in a box opposite, on the upper tier.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the fondant&mdash;exactly&mdash;the fondant! Yes, I admire her
+      immensely! Isn't she exactly IT!&rdquo; sang Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine was scanning the auditorium. So many myriads of faces&mdash;like
+      beads on a bead-work pattern&mdash;all bead-work, in different layers. She
+      bowed to various acquaintances&mdash;mostly Americans in uniform, whom she
+      had known in Paris. She smiled to Lady Cochrane, two boxes off&mdash;Lady
+      Cochrane had given her the box. But she felt rather coldly towards her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The curtain rose, the opera wound its slow length along. The audience
+      loved it. They cheered with mad enthusiasm. Josephine looked down on the
+      choppy sea of applause, white gloves clapping, heads shaking. The noise
+      was strange and rattling. What a curious multiple object a
+      theatre-audience was! It seemed to have a million heads, a million hands,
+      and one monstrous, unnatural consciousness. The singers appeared before
+      the curtain&mdash;the applause rose up like clouds of dust.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, isn't it too wonderful!&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;I am wild with excitement. Are
+      you all of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Absolutely wild,&rdquo; said Lilly laconically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Scott to-night?&rdquo; asked Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia turned to him and gave him a long, queer look from her dark blue
+      eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's in the country,&rdquo; she said, rather enigmatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you know, he's got a house down in Dorset,&rdquo; said Robert, verbally
+      rushing in. &ldquo;He wants Julia to go down and stay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is she going?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She hasn't decided,&rdquo; replied Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! What's the objection?&rdquo; asked Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, none whatsoever, as far as can be seen, except that she can't make
+      up her mind,&rdquo; replied Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Julia's got no mind,&rdquo; said Jim rudely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh! Hear the brotherly verdict!&rdquo; laughed Julia hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean to go down to Dorset alone!&rdquo; said Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; replied Robert, answering for her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And stay how long?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;as long as it lasts,&rdquo; said Robert again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Starting with eternity,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;and working back to a fortnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what's the matter?&mdash;looks bad in the eyes of the world?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;about that. Afraid of compromising herself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly looked at them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Depends what you take the world to mean. Do you mean us in this box, or
+      the crew outside there?&rdquo; he jerked his head towards the auditorium.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think, Lilly, that we're the world?&rdquo; said Robert ironically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, I guess we're shipwrecked in this box, like Robinson Crusoes.
+      And what we do on our own little island matters to us alone. As for the
+      infinite crowds of howling savages outside there in the unspeakable, all
+      you've got to do is mind they don't scrap you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But WON'T they?&rdquo; said Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not unless you put your head in their hands,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know&mdash;&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the curtain had risen, they hushed him into silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through the next scene, Julia puzzled herself, as to whether she
+      should go down to the country and live with Scott. She had carried on a
+      nervous kind of <i>amour</i> with him, based on soul sympathy and
+      emotional excitement. But whether to go and live with him? She didn't know
+      if she wanted to or not: and she couldn't for her life find out. She was
+      in that nervous state when desire seems to evaporate the moment fulfilment
+      is offered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the curtain dropped she turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; she said, screwing up her eyes, &ldquo;I have to think of Robert.&rdquo;
+       She cut the word in two, with an odd little hitch in her voice&mdash;&ldquo;ROB-ert.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Julia, can't you believe that I'm tired of being thought of,&rdquo;
+       cried Robert, flushing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia screwed up her eyes in a slow smile, oddly cogitating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, who AM I to think of?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yourself,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! Why, yes! I never thought of that!&rdquo; She gave a hurried little
+      laugh. &ldquo;But then it's no FUN to think about oneself,&rdquo; she cried flatly. &ldquo;I
+      think about ROB-ert, and SCOTT.&rdquo; She screwed up her eyes and peered oddly
+      at the company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which of them will find you the greatest treat,&rdquo; said Lilly
+      sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; interjected Robert nervously, &ldquo;it will be something new for
+      Scott.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stale buns for you, old boy,&rdquo; said Jim drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't say so. But&mdash;&rdquo; exclaimed the flushed, full-blooded Robert,
+      who was nothing if not courteous to women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long ha' you been married? Eh?&rdquo; asked Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Six years!&rdquo; sang Julia sweetly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; said Robert, &ldquo;Julia can't decide anything for herself. She
+      waits for someone else to decide, then she puts her spoke in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Put it plainly&mdash;&rdquo; began Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But don't you know, it's no USE putting it plainly,&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But DO you want to be with Scott, out and out, or DON'T you?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Exactly!&rdquo; chimed Robert. &ldquo;That's the question for you to answer Julia.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I WON'T answer it,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Why should I?&rdquo; And she looked away into
+      the restless hive of the theatre. She spoke so wildly that she attracted
+      attention. But it half pleased her. She stared abstractedly down at the
+      pit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men looked at one another in some comic consternation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, damn it all!&rdquo; said the long Jim, rising and stretching himself.
+      &ldquo;She's dead nuts on Scott. She's all over him. She'd have eloped with him
+      weeks ago if it hadn't been so easy. She can't stand it that Robert offers
+      to hand her into the taxi.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He gave his malevolent grin round the company, then went out. He did not
+      reappear for the next scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, if she loves Scott&mdash;&rdquo; began Struthers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia suddenly turned with wild desperation, and cried:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like him tremendously&mdash;tre-men-dous-ly! He DOES understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which we don't,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia smiled her long, odd smile in their faces: one might almost say she
+      smiled in their teeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do YOU think, Josephine?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine was leaning froward. She started. Her tongue went rapidly over
+      her lips. &ldquo;Who&mdash;? I&mdash;?&rdquo; she exclaimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Julia should go with Scott,&rdquo; said Josephine. &ldquo;She'll bother with
+      the idea till she's done it. She loves him, really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course she does,&rdquo; cried Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia, with her chin resting on her arms, in a position which irritated
+      the neighbouring Lady Cochrane sincerely, was gazing with unseeing eyes
+      down upon the stalls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then&mdash;&rdquo; began Struthers. But the music struck up softly. They
+      were all rather bored. Struthers kept on making small, half audible
+      remarks&mdash;which was bad form, and displeased Josephine, the hostess of
+      the evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the curtain came down for the end of the act, the men got up. Lilly's
+      wife, Tanny, suddenly appeared. She had come on after a dinner engagement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like tea or anything?&rdquo; Lilly asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The women refused. The men filtered out on to the crimson and white,
+      curving corridor. Julia, Josephine and Tanny remained in the box. Tanny
+      was soon hitched on to the conversation in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; she replied, &ldquo;one can't decide such a thing like drinking a
+      cup of tea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, one can't, dear Tanny,&rdquo; said Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After all, one doesn't leave one's husband every day, to go and live with
+      another man. Even if one looks on it as an experiment&mdash;.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's difficult!&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;It's difficult! I feel they all want to
+      FORCE me to decide. It's cruel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, men with their beastly logic, their either-this-or-that stunt, they
+      are an awful bore.&mdash;But of course, Robert can't love you REALLY, or
+      he'd want to keep you. I can see Lilly discussing such a thing for ME. But
+      then you don't love Robert either,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do! Oh, I do, Tanny! I DO love him, I love him dearly. I think he's
+      beautiful. Robert's beautiful. And he NEEDS me. And I need him too. I need
+      his support. Yes, I do love him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you like Scott better,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only because he&mdash;he's different,&rdquo; sang Julia, in long tones. &ldquo;You
+      see Scott has his art. His art matters. And ROB-ert&mdash;Robert is a
+      dilettante, don't you think&mdash;he's dilettante&mdash;&rdquo; She screwed up
+      her eyes at Tanny. Tanny cogitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I don't think that matters,&rdquo; she replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it does, it matters tremendously, dear Tanny, tremendously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; Tanny sheered off. &ldquo;I can see Scott has great attractions&mdash;a
+      great warmth somewhere&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Exactly!&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;He UNDERSTANDS!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I believe he's a real artist. You might even work together. You might
+      write his librettos.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&mdash;Yes!&mdash;&rdquo; Julia spoke with a long, pondering hiss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It might be AWFULLY nice,&rdquo; said Tanny rapturously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&mdash;It might!&mdash;It might&mdash;!&rdquo; pondered Julia. Suddenly she
+      gave herself a shake. Then she laughed hurriedly, as if breaking from her
+      line of thought.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wouldn't Robert be an AWFULLY nice lover for Josephine! Oh, wouldn't
+      that be splendid!&rdquo; she cried, with her high laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine, who had been gazing down into the orchestra, turned now,
+      flushing darkly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I don't want a lover, Julia,&rdquo; she said, hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Josephine dear! Dear old Josephine! Don't you really! Oh, yes, you do.&mdash;I
+      want one so BADLY,&rdquo; cried Julia, with her shaking laugh. &ldquo;Robert's awfully
+      good to me. But we've been married six years. And it does make a
+      difference, doesn't it, Tanny dear?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A great difference,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it makes a difference, it makes a difference,&rdquo; mused Julia. &ldquo;Dear
+      old Rob-ert&mdash;I wouldn't hurt him for worlds. I wouldn't. Do you think
+      it would hurt Robert?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She screwed up her eyes, looking at Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps it would do Robert good to be hurt a little,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;He's
+      so well-nourished.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&mdash;Yes!&mdash;I see what you mean, Tanny!&mdash;Poor old ROB-ert!
+      Oh, poor old Rob-ert, he's so young!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He DOES seem young,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;One doesn't forgive it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He is young,&rdquo; said Julia. &ldquo;I'm five years older than he. He's only
+      twenty-seven. Poor Old Robert.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Robert is young, and inexperienced,&rdquo; said Josephine, suddenly turning
+      with anger. &ldquo;But I don't know why you talk about him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he inexperienced, Josephine dear? IS he?&rdquo; sang Julia. Josephine
+      flushed darkly, and turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, he's not so innocent as all that,&rdquo; said Tanny roughly. &ldquo;Those young
+      young men, who seem so fresh, they're deep enough, really. They're far
+      less innocent really than men who are experienced.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are, aren't they, Tanny,&rdquo; repeated Julia softly. &ldquo;They're old&mdash;older
+      than the Old Man of the Seas, sometimes, aren't they? Incredibly old, like
+      little boys who know too much&mdash;aren't they? Yes!&rdquo; She spoke quietly,
+      seriously, as if it had struck her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below, the orchestra was coming in. Josephine was watching closely. Julia
+      became aware of this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see anybody we know, Josephine?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine started.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said, looking at her friends quickly and furtively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear old Josephine, she knows all sorts of people,&rdquo; sang Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the men returned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you actually come back!&rdquo; exclaimed Tanny to them. They sat down
+      without answering. Jim spread himself as far as he could, in the narrow
+      space. He stared upwards, wrinkling his ugly, queer face. It was evident
+      he was in one of his moods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If only somebody loved me!&rdquo; he complained. &ldquo;If only somebody loved me I
+      should be all right. I'm going to pieces.&rdquo; He sat up and peered into the
+      faces of the women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we ALL love you,&rdquo; said Josephine, laughing uneasily. &ldquo;Why aren't you
+      satisfied?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not satisfied. I'm not satisfied,&rdquo; murmured Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the breast?&rdquo;
+       asked Lilly, disagreeably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at his
+      questioner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body across
+      the box again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should try loving somebody, for a change,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;You've been
+      loved too often. Why not try and love somebody?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim eyed her narrowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't love YOU,&rdquo; he said, in vicious tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>A la bonne heure</i>!&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to be loved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How many times have you been loved?&rdquo; Robert asked him. &ldquo;It would be
+      rather interesting to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you ever keep count?&rdquo; Tanny persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe I did,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead. Josephine
+      glanced round. She had become a dusky white colour. She was afraid of him,
+      and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The party in the box had become dead silent. They looked down. The
+      conductor was at his stand. The music began. They all remained silent and
+      motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts. Jim was
+      uncomfortable. He wanted to make good. He sat with his elbows on his
+      knees, grinning slightly, looking down. At the next interval he stood up
+      suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It IS the chap&mdash;What?&rdquo; he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his
+      friends.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It IS he?&rdquo; said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure!&rdquo; he barked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his hand,
+      as if trying to attract attention. Then he made signals.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There you are!&rdquo; he exclaimed triumphantly. &ldquo;That's the chap.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who? Who?&rdquo; they cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next was the long interval. Jim and Josephine gazed down at the
+      orchestra. The musicians were laying aside their instruments and rising.
+      The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend. Jim suddenly bolted out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it that man Aaron Sisson?&rdquo; asked Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where? Where?&rdquo; cried Julia. &ldquo;It can't be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Josephine's face was closed and silent. She did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway. Groups of
+      people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to pay
+      visits or to find drinks. Josephine's party stared around, talking
+      desultorily. And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading
+      Aaron Sisson by the arm. Jim was grinning, the flautist looked unwilling.
+      He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt&mdash;a certain comely
+      blondness and repose. And as much a gentleman as anybody.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well!&rdquo; cried Josephine to him. &ldquo;How do you come here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I play the flute,&rdquo; he answered, as he shook hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How wonderful of you to be here!&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think so?&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do.&mdash;It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.&mdash;Oh,
+      wasn't it exciting!&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've heard all about you,&rdquo; said Tanny playfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come!&rdquo; said Josephine, rather irritated. &ldquo;We crowd up the gangway.&rdquo; And
+      she led the way inside the box.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You get all the view,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We do, don't we!&rdquo; cried Julia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More than's good for us,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell us what you are doing. You've got a permanent job?&rdquo; asked Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;at present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! It's more interesting for you than at Beldover.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She had taken her seat. He looked down at her dusky young face. Her voice
+      was always clear and measured.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a change,&rdquo; he said, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it must be more than that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Why, you must feel a whole
+      difference. It's a whole new life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently. She flushed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But isn't it?&rdquo; she persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. It can be,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated. None of the
+      people in the box were quite real to him. He was not really amused. Julia
+      found him dull, stupid. Tanny also was offended that he could not <i>perceive
+      her</i>. The men remained practically silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes!&rdquo; replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But perhaps he doesn't like us! Perhaps he's not glad that we turned up,&rdquo;
+       said Julia, leaving her sting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The flautist turned and looked at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't REMEMBER us, can you?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I can remember you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; she laughed. &ldquo;You are unflattering.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was annoyed. He did not know what she was getting at.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are your wife and children?&rdquo; she asked spitefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you've been back to them?&rdquo; cried Josephine in dismay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her, a slow, half smiling look, but did not speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and have a drink. Damn the women,&rdquo; said Jim uncouthly, seizing Aaron
+      by the arm and dragging him off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VI. TALK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The party stayed to the end of the interminable opera. They had agreed to
+      wait for Aaron. He was to come around to the vestibule for them, after the
+      show. They trooped slowly down-stairs into the crush of the entrance hall.
+      Chattering, swirling people, red carpet, palms green against
+      cream-and-gilt walls, small whirlpools of life at the open, dark doorways,
+      men in opera hats steering decisively about-it was the old scene. But
+      there were no taxis&mdash;absolutely no taxis. And it was raining.
+      Fortunately the women had brought shoes. They slipped these on. Jim rocked
+      through the crowd, in his tall hat, looking for the flautist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last Aaron was found&mdash;wearing a bowler hat. Julia groaned in
+      spirit. Josephine's brow knitted. Not that anybody cared, really. But as
+      one must frown at something, why not at the bowler hat? Acquaintances and
+      elegant young men in uniforms insisted on rushing up and bowing and
+      exchanging a few words, either with Josephine, or Jim, or Julia, or Lilly.
+      They were coldly received. The party veered out into the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The women hugged their wraps about them, and set off sharply, feeling some
+      repugnance for the wet pavements and the crowd. They had not far to go&mdash;only
+      to Jim's rooms in Adelphi. Jim was leading Aaron, holding him by the arm
+      and slightly pinching his muscles. It gave him great satisfaction to have
+      between his fingers the arm-muscles of a working-man, one of the common
+      people, the <i>fons et origo</i> of modern life. Jim was talking rather
+      vaguely about Labour and Robert Smillie, and Bolshevism. He was all for
+      revolution and the triumph of labour.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they arrived, mounted a dark stair, and entered a large, handsome room,
+      one of the Adams rooms. Jim had furnished it from Heale's with striped
+      hangings, green and white and yellow and dark purple, and with a
+      green-and-black checked carpet, and great stripe-covered chairs and
+      Chesterfield. A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old
+      fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was
+      making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano&mdash;the pianola, rather. The
+      chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire. The party threw
+      off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of modern
+      bohemia. They needed the Bach to take away the bad taste that <i>Aida</i>
+      had left in their mouths. They needed the whiskey and curacao to rouse
+      their spirits. They needed the profound comfort in which to sink away from
+      the world. All the men, except Aaron, had been through the war in some way
+      or other. But here they were, in the old setting exactly, the old bohemian
+      routine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bell rang, Jim went downstairs. He returned shortly with a frail,
+      elegant woman&mdash;fashionable rather than bohemian. She was cream and
+      auburn, Irish, with a slightly-lifted upper lip that gave her a pathetic
+      look. She dropped her wrap and sat down by Julia, taking her hand
+      delicately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How are you, darling?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;I'm happy,&rdquo; said Julia, giving her odd, screwed-up smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The pianola stopped, they all chatted indiscriminately. Jim was watching
+      the new-comer&mdash;Mrs. Browning&mdash;with a concentrated wolfish grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like her,&rdquo; he said at last. &ldquo;I've seen her before, haven't I?&mdash;I
+      like her awfully.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Josephine, with a slight grunt of a laugh. &ldquo;He wants to be
+      loved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; cried Clariss. &ldquo;So do I!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then there you are!&rdquo; cried Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Alas, no, there we aren't,&rdquo; cried Clariss. She was beautiful too, with
+      her lifted upper-lip. &ldquo;We both want to be loved, and so we miss each other
+      entirely. We run on in two parallel lines, that can never meet.&rdquo; She
+      laughed low and half sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doesn't SHE love you?&rdquo; said Aaron to Jim amused, indicating Josephine. &ldquo;I
+      thought you were engaged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;HER!&rdquo; leered Jim vindictively, glancing at Josephine. &ldquo;She doesn't love
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that true?&rdquo; asked Robert hastily, of Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;yes. Why should he make me say out here that I don't
+      love him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Got you my girl,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it's no engagement?&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen to the row fools make, rushing in,&rdquo; said Jim maliciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, the engagement is broken,&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;World coming to pieces bit by bit,&rdquo; said Lilly. Jim was twisting in his
+      chair, and looking like a Chinese dragon, diabolical. The room was uneasy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What gives you such a belly-ache for love, Jim?&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;or for
+      being loved? Why do you want so badly to be loved?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I like it, damn you,&rdquo; barked Jim. &ldquo;Because I'm in need of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      None of them quite knew whether they ought to take it as a joke. It was
+      just a bit too real to be quite pleasant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you such a baby?&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;There you are, six foot in length,
+      have been a cavalry officer and fought in two wars, and you spend your
+      time crying for somebody to love you. You're a comic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I though?&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;I'm losing life. I'm getting thin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't look as if you were losing life,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't I? I am, though. I'm dying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of? Lack of life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's about it, my young cock. Life's leaving me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better sing Tosti's Farewell to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim who had been sprawling full length in his arm-chair, the centre of
+      interest of all the company, suddenly sprang forward and pushed his face,
+      grinning, in the face of Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a funny customer, you are,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he turned round in his chair, and saw Clariss sitting at the feet of
+      Julia, with one white arm over her friend's knee. Jim immediately stuck
+      forward his muzzle and gazed at her. Clariss had loosened her masses of
+      thick, auburn hair, so that it hung half free. Her face was creamy pale,
+      her upper lip lifted with odd pathos! She had rose-rubies in her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like HER,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;What's her name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mrs. Browning. Don't be so rude,&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Browning for gravies. Any relation of Robert?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! You ask my husband,&rdquo; came the slow, plangent voice of Clariss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got a husband, have you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather! Haven't I, Juley?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Julia, vaguely and wispily. &ldquo;Yes, dear, you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And two fine children,&rdquo; put in Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No! You don't mean it!&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;Who's your husband? Anybody?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather!&rdquo; came the deep voice of Clariss. &ldquo;He sees to that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim stared, grinning, showing his pointed teeth, reaching nearer and
+      nearer to Clariss who, in her frail scrap of an evening dress, amethyst
+      and silver, was sitting still in the deep black hearth-rug, her arm over
+      Julia's knee, taking very little notice of Jim, although he amused her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like you awfully, I say,&rdquo; he repeated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, I'm sure,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping curacao
+      and taking a sandwich or a cigarette. Aaron Sisson alone sat upright,
+      smiling flickeringly. Josephine watched him, and her pointed tongue went
+      from time to time over her lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm sure,&rdquo; she broke in, &ldquo;this isn't very interesting for the others.
+      Awfully boring! Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we must go home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. He hated her voice. She let her eye
+      rest on his for a moment. Then she put her cigarette to her lips. Robert
+      was watching them both.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;How do you like being in
+      London?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like London,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Where did he live? Bloomsbury. Did he know many people? No&mdash;nobody
+      except a man in the orchestra. How had he got his job? Through an agent.
+      Etc. Etc.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you make of the miners?&rdquo; said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me?&rdquo; said Sisson. &ldquo;I don't make anything of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nationalisation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They might, one day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think they'd fight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have they to fight for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, everything! What haven't they to fight for?&rdquo; cried Josephine
+      fiercely. &ldquo;Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system. Won't they
+      fight for that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you mustn't ask me what they'll do&mdash;I've only just
+      left them, for good. They'll do a lot of cavilling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But won't they ACT?&rdquo; cried Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Act?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;How, act?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands,&rdquo; said
+      Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They might, some time,&rdquo; said Aaron, rather indifferent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wish they would!&rdquo; cried Josephine. &ldquo;My, wouldn't I love it if they'd
+      make a bloody revolution!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were all looking now at her. Her black brows were twitching, in her
+      black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Must it be bloody, Josephine?&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes. I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody,&rdquo; said
+      Josephine. &ldquo;Wouldn't I love it! I'd go in front with a red flag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would be rather fun,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wouldn't it!&rdquo; cried Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Josey, dear!&rdquo; cried Julia hysterically. &ldquo;Isn't she a red-hot Bolsher!
+      <i>I</i> should be frightened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No!&rdquo; cried Josephine. &ldquo;I should love it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So should I,&rdquo; said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice. &ldquo;What price
+      machine-guns at the end of the Strand! That's a day to live for, what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! Ha!&rdquo; laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh. &ldquo;We'd all Bolsh together.
+      I'd give the cheers.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wouldn't mind getting killed. I'd love it, in a real fight,&rdquo; said
+      Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Josephine,&rdquo; said Robert, &ldquo;don't you think we've had enough of that
+      sort of thing in the war? Don't you think it all works out rather stupid
+      and unsatisfying?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, but a civil war would be different. I've no interest in fighting
+      Germans. But a civil war would be different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a fact, it would,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only rather worse,&rdquo; said Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't agree,&rdquo; cried Josephine. &ldquo;You'd feel you were doing
+      something, in a civil war.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pulling the house down,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;Don't you hate it, the house we live in&mdash;London&mdash;England&mdash;America!
+      Don't you hate them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't like them. But I can't get much fire in my hatred. They pall on
+      me rather,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&rdquo; said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Still,&rdquo; said Tanny, &ldquo;there's got to be a clearance some day or other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; drawled Clariss. &ldquo;I'm all for a clearance. I'm all for pulling the
+      house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good
+      cook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I come to dinner?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. You'd find it rather domestic.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where do you live?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather far out now&mdash;Amersham.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Amersham? Where's that&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, it's on the map.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the
+      sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with its
+      little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat
+      watching him, unconsciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello you!&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;Have one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You believe in love, don't you?&rdquo; said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and
+      grinning at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love!&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;LOVE! he says,&rdquo; mocked Jim, grinning at the company.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about it, then?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's life! Love is life,&rdquo; said Jim fiercely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a vice, like drink,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? A vice!&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;May be for you, old bird.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More so still for you,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's life. It's life!&rdquo; reiterated Jim. &ldquo;Don't you agree?&rdquo; He turned
+      wolfishly to Clariss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes&mdash;every time&mdash;&rdquo; she drawled, nonchalant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here, let's write it down,&rdquo; said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and
+      printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece
+      panel:&mdash;LOVE IS LIFE.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I hate love. I hate it,&rdquo; she protested.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim watched her sardonically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at her!&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Look at Lesbia who hates love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't
+      love properly,&rdquo; put in Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have another try,&rdquo; said Jim,&mdash;&ldquo;I know what love is. I've thought
+      about it. Love is the soul's respiration.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's have that down,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      LOVE IS THE SOUL'S RESPIRATION. He printed it on the old mantel-piece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim eyed the letters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Quite right. When you love, your soul breathes in.
+      If you don't breathe in, you suffocate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What about breathing out?&rdquo; said Robert. &ldquo;If you don't breathe out, you
+      asphyxiate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you are, Mock Turtle&mdash;&rdquo; said Jim maliciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Breathing out is a bloody revolution,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've hit the nail on the head,&rdquo; said Jim solemnly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's record it then,&rdquo; said Lilly. And with the blue pencil he printed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      WHEN YOU LOVE, YOUR SOUL BREATHES IN&mdash; WHEN YOUR SOUL BREATHES OUT,
+      IT'S A BLOODY REVOLUTION.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say Jim,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You must be busting yourself, trying to breathe
+      in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you be too clever. I've thought about it,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;When I'm in
+      love, I get a great inrush of energy. I actually feel it rush in&mdash;here!&rdquo;
+       He poked his finger on the pit of his stomach. &ldquo;It's the soul's expansion.
+      And if I can't get these rushes of energy, I'M DYING, AND I KNOW I AM.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke the last words with sudden ferocity and desperation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All <i>I</i> know is,&rdquo; said Tanny, &ldquo;you don't look it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I AM. I am.&rdquo; Jim protested. &ldquo;I'm dying. Life's leaving me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe you're choking with love,&rdquo; said Robert. &ldquo;Perhaps you have breathed
+      in so much, you don't know how to let it go again. Perhaps your soul's got
+      a crick in it, with expanding so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a bloody young sucking pig, you are,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Even at that age, I've learned my manners,&rdquo; replied Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked round the party. Then he turned to Aaron Sisson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you make of 'em, eh?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron shook his head, and laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jim did not wait for an answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've had enough,&rdquo; said Tanny suddenly rising. &ldquo;I think you're all silly.
+      Besides, it's getting late.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She!&rdquo; said Jim, rising and pointing luridly to Clariss. &ldquo;She's Love. And
+      HE's the Working People. The hope is these two&mdash;&rdquo; He jerked a thumb
+      at Aaron Sisson, after having indicated Mrs. Browning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, how awfully interesting. It's quite a long time since I've been a
+      personification.&mdash;I suppose you've never been one before?&rdquo; said
+      Clariss, turning to Aaron in conclusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't think I have,&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope personification is right.&mdash;Ought to be <i>allegory</i> or
+      something else?&rdquo; This from Clariss to Robert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or a parable, Clariss,&rdquo; laughed the young lieutenant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;I've been awfully bored.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; grinned Jim. &ldquo;Goodbye! Better luck next time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'd better look sharp,&rdquo; said Robert, &ldquo;if we want to get the tube.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the Embankment
+      station. Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west, Lilly and his wife
+      were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron Sisson were going both to
+      Bloomsbury.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; said Robert, on the stairs&mdash;&ldquo;Mr. Sisson will see you to
+      your door, Josephine. He lives your way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's no need at all,&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The four who were going north went down to the low tube level. It was
+      nearly the last train. The station was half deserted, half rowdy, several
+      fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing. Down there in the bowels of
+      London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and unnatural.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How I hate this London,&rdquo; said Tanny. She was half Norwegian, and had
+      spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so do I,&rdquo; said Josephine. &ldquo;But if one must earn one's living one
+      must stay here. I wish I could get back to Paris. But there's nothing
+      doing for me in France.&mdash;When do you go back into the country, both
+      of you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Friday,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How lovely for you!&mdash;And when will you go to Norway, Tanny?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In about a month,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must be awfully pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;thankful&mdash;THANKFUL to get out of England&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know. That's how I feel. Everything is so awful&mdash;so dismal and
+      dreary, I find it&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They crowded into the train. Men were still yelling like wild beasts&mdash;others
+      were asleep&mdash;soldiers were singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you really broken your engagement with Jim?&rdquo; shrilled Tanny in a
+      high voice, as the train roared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he's impossible,&rdquo; said Josephine. &ldquo;Perfectly hysterical and
+      impossible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And SELFISH&mdash;&rdquo; cried Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh terribly&mdash;&rdquo; cried Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come up to Hampstead to lunch with us,&rdquo; said Lilly to Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;thank you,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly scribbled directions on a card. The hot, jaded midnight underground
+      rattled on. Aaron and Josephine got down to change trains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VII. THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Josephine had invited Aaron Sisson to dinner at a restaurant in Soho, one
+      Sunday evening. They had a corner to themselves, and with a bottle of
+      Burgundy she was getting his history from him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His father had been a shaft-sinker, earning good money, but had been
+      killed by a fall down the shaft when Aaron was only four years old. The
+      widow had opened a shop: Aaron was her only child. She had done well in
+      her shop. She had wanted Aaron to be a schoolteacher. He had served three
+      years apprenticeship, then suddenly thrown it up and gone to the pit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why?&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I couldn't tell you. I felt more like it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had a curious quality of an intelligent, almost sophisticated mind,
+      which had repudiated education. On purpose he kept the midland accent in
+      his speech. He understood perfectly what a personification was&mdash;and
+      an allegory. But he preferred to be illiterate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine found out what a miner's checkweighman was. She tried to find
+      out what sort of wife Aaron had&mdash;but, except that she was the
+      daughter of a publican and was delicate in health, she could learn
+      nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And do you send her money?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;The house is mine. And I allow her so much a week out
+      of the money in the bank. My mother left me a bit over a thousand when she
+      died.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mind what I say, do you?&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No I don't mind,&rdquo; he laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had this pleasant-seeming courteous manner. But he really kept her at a
+      distance. In some things he reminded her of Robert: blond, erect, nicely
+      built, fresh and English-seeming. But there was a curious cold distance to
+      him, which she could not get across. An inward indifference to her&mdash;perhaps
+      to everything. Yet his laugh was so handsome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you tell me why you left your wife and children?&mdash;Didn't you
+      love them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl. She had had her
+      hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why I left her?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;For no particular reason. They're all right
+      without me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine watched his face. She saw a pallor of suffering under its
+      freshness, and a strange tension in his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you couldn't leave your little girls for no reason at all&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I did. For no reason&mdash;except I wanted to have some free room
+      round me&mdash;to loose myself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you wanted love?&rdquo; flashed Josephine, thinking he said <i>lose</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I wanted fresh air. I don't know what I wanted. Why should I know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, well! A breath of fresh air, by myself. I felt forced to feel&mdash;I
+      feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED&mdash;forced to love&mdash;or
+      care&mdash;or something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps less. She's made up her mind she loves me, and she's not going to
+      let me off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you never love her?&rdquo; said Josephine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. I shall never love anybody else. But I'm damned if I want to be
+      a lover any more. To her or to anybody. That's the top and bottom of it. I
+      don't want to CARE, when care isn't in me. And I'm not going to be forced
+      to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near. Josephine let him remove
+      the plates and the empty bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have more wine,&rdquo; she said to Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he refused. She liked him because of his dead-level indifference to
+      his surroundings. French waiters and foreign food&mdash;he noticed them in
+      his quick, amiable-looking fashion&mdash;but he was indifferent. Josephine
+      was piqued. She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She ordered coffee and brandies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you? I myself feel so
+      LOST sometimes&mdash;so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental
+      fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don't you know. But my
+      LIFE seems alone, for some reason&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't you got relations?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No one, now mother is dead. Nothing nearer than aunts and cousins in
+      America. I suppose I shall see them all again one day. But they hardly
+      count over here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why don't you get married?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;How old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm twenty-five. How old are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thirty-three.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might almost be any age.&mdash;I don't know why I don't get married.
+      In a way, I hate earning my own living&mdash;yet I go on&mdash;and I like
+      my work&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are you doing now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm painting scenery for a new play&mdash;rather fun&mdash;I enjoy it.
+      But I often wonder what will become of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In what way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was almost affronted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What becomes of me? Oh, I don't know. And it doesn't matter, not to
+      anybody but myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What becomes of anybody, anyhow? We live till we die. What do you want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I keep saying I want to get married and feel sure of something. But
+      I don't know&mdash;I feel dreadful sometimes&mdash;as if every minute
+      would be the last. I keep going on and on&mdash;I don't know what for&mdash;and
+      IT keeps going on and on&mdash;goodness knows what it's all for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shouldn't bother yourself,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You should just let it go on
+      and on&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I MUST bother,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I must think and feel&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've no occasion,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How&mdash;?&rdquo; she said, with a sudden grunting, unhappy laugh. Then she
+      lit a cigarette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What I should really like more than anything would be an
+      end of the world. I wish the world would come to an end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed, and poured his drops of brandy down his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't, for wishing,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, that's the awful part of it. It'll just go on and on&mdash; Doesn't
+      it make you feel you'd go mad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at her and shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see it doesn't concern me,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;So long as I can float by
+      myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But ARE you SATISFIED!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like being by myself&mdash;I hate feeling and caring, and being forced
+      into it. I want to be left alone&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You aren't very polite to your hostess of the evening,&rdquo; she said,
+      laughing a bit miserably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, we're all right,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You know what I mean&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You like your own company? Do you?&mdash;Sometimes I think I'm nothing
+      when I'm alone. Sometimes I think I surely must be nothing&mdash;nothingness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;No. I only want to be left alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to have anything to do with anybody?&rdquo; she queried ironically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to any extent.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched him&mdash;and then she bubbled with a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you're funny,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You don't mind?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;why&mdash;It's just as you see it.&mdash;Jim Bricknell's a rare
+      comic, to my eye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, him!&mdash;no, not actually. He's self-conscious and selfish and
+      hysterical. It isn't a bit funny after a while.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I only know what I've seen,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;You'd both of you like a bloody
+      revolution, though.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Only when it came he wouldn't be there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed I would. I would give everything to be in it. I'd give heaven
+      and earth for a great big upheaval&mdash;and then darkness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you'll get it, when you die,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I don't want to die and leave all this standing. I hate it so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it doesn't really bother me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It makes me feel I can't live.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't see that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you always disagree with one!&rdquo; said Josephine. &ldquo;How do you like
+      Lilly? What do you think of him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He seems sharp,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he's more than sharp.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! He's got his finger in most pies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And doesn't like the plums in any of them,&rdquo; said Josephine tartly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What does he do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Writes&mdash;stories and plays.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And makes it pay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hardly at all.&mdash;They want us to go. Shall we?&rdquo; She rose from the
+      table. The waiter handed her her cloak, and they went out into the blowy
+      dark night. She folded her wrap round her, and hurried forward with short,
+      sharp steps. There was a certain Parisian <i>chic</i> and mincingness
+      about her, even in her walk: but underneath, a striding, savage suggestion
+      as if she could leg it in great strides, like some savage squaw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron pressed his bowler hat down on his brow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you rather take a bus?&rdquo; she said in a high voice, because of the
+      wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd rather walk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So would I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They hurried across the Charing Cross Road, where great buses rolled and
+      rocked, crammed with people. Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement, as
+      they walked east. They crossed Holborn, and passed the Museum. And neither
+      of them said anything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they came to the corner, she held out her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Don't come any further: don't trouble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll walk round with you: unless you'd rather not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;But do you want to bother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no bother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they pursued their way through the high wind, and turned at last into
+      the old, beautiful square. It seemed dark and deserted, dark like a savage
+      wilderness in the heart of London. The wind was roaring in the great bare
+      trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark grove deep in a
+      forgotten land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine opened the gate of the square garden with her key, and let it
+      slam to behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How wonderful the wind is!&rdquo; she shrilled. &ldquo;Shall we listen to it for a
+      minute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She led him across the grass past the shrubs to the big tree in the
+      centre. There she climbed up to a seat. He sat beside her. They sat in
+      silence, looking at the darkness. Rain was blowing in the wind. They
+      huddled against the big tree-trunk, for shelter, and watched the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street gleamed
+      silently. The houses of the Square rose like a cliff on this inner dark
+      sea, dimly lighted at occasional windows. Boughs swayed and sang. A
+      taxi-cab swirled round a corner like a cat, and purred to a standstill.
+      There was a light of an open hall door. But all far away, it seemed,
+      unthinkably far away. Aaron sat still and watched. He was frightened, it
+      all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling heart of London. Wind boomed
+      and tore like waves ripping a shingle beach. The two white lights of the
+      taxi stared round and departed, leaving the coast at the foot of the
+      cliffs deserted, faintly spilled with light from the high lamp. Beyond
+      there, on the outer rim, a policeman passed solidly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly. Occasionally
+      she blew her nose and wiped her face. But he had not realized. She hardly
+      realized herself. She sat near the strange man. He seemed so still and
+      remote&mdash;so fascinating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Give me your hand,&rdquo; she said to him, subduedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took her cold hand in his warm, living grasp. She wept more bitterly.
+      He noticed at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why are you crying?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; she replied, rather matter-of-fact, through her tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he let her cry, and said no more, but sat with her cold hand in his
+      warm, easy clasp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll think me a fool,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I don't know why I cry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can cry for nothing, can't you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes, but it's not very sensible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sensible!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are a strange man,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he took no notice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you ever intend to marry Jim Bricknell?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't imagine it,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Both were watching blankly the roaring night of mid-London, the
+      phantasmagoric old Bloomsbury Square. They were still hand in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Such as you shouldn't marry,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why not? I want to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think you do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes indeed I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not say any more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't I?&rdquo; she persisted. &ldquo;I don't know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And again he was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've known some life, haven't you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You seem to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do I? I'm sorry. Do I seem vicious?&mdash;No, I'm not vicious.&mdash;I've
+      seen some life, perhaps&mdash;in Paris mostly. But not much. Why do you
+      ask?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wasn't thinking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what do you mean? What are you thinking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing. Nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be so irritating,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not answer, and she became silent also. They sat hand in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you kiss me?&rdquo; came her voice out of the darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited some moments, then his voice sounded gently, half mocking, half
+      reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't want to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo; she asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He laughed, but did not reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat perfectly still for some time. She had ceased to cry. In the
+      darkness her face was set and sullen. Sometimes a spray of rain blew
+      across it. She drew her hand from his, and rose to her feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ill go in now,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not offended, are you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They stepped down in the darkness from their perch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wondered.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She strode off for some little way. Then she turned and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think it is rather insulting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Not it! Not it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he followed her to the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She opened with her key, and they crossed the road to her door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-night,&rdquo; she said, turning and giving him her hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll come and have dinner with me&mdash;or lunch&mdash;will you? When
+      shall we make it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I can't say for certain&mdash;I'm very busy just now. I'll let you
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A policeman shed his light on the pair of them as they stood on the step.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Aaron, dropping back, and she hastily opened the big
+      door, and entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER VIII. A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The Lillys had a labourer's cottage in Hampshire&mdash;pleasant enough.
+      They were poor. Lilly was a little, dark, thin, quick fellow, his wife was
+      strong and fair. They had known Robert and Julia for some years, but
+      Josephine and Jim were new acquaintances,&mdash;fairly new.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One day in early spring Lilly had a telegram, &ldquo;Coming to see you arrive
+      4:30&mdash;Bricknell.&rdquo; He was surprised, but he and his wife got the spare
+      room ready. And at four o'clock Lilly went off to the station. He was a
+      few minutes late, and saw Jim's tall, rather elegant figure stalking down
+      the station path. Jim had been an officer in the regular army, and still
+      spent hours with his tailor. But instead of being a soldier he was a sort
+      of socialist, and a red-hot revolutionary of a very ineffectual sort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good lad!&rdquo; he exclaimed, as Lilly came up. &ldquo;Thought you wouldn't mind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. Let me carry your bag.&rdquo; Jim had a bag and a knapsack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I had an inspiration this morning,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;I suddenly saw that if
+      there was a man in England who could save me, it was you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Save you from what?&rdquo; asked Lilly, rather abashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh&mdash;?&rdquo; and Jim stooped, grinning at the smaller man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was somewhat puzzled, but he had a certain belief in himself as a
+      saviour. The two men tramped rather incongruously through the lanes to the
+      cottage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tanny was in the doorway as they came up the garden path.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So nice to see you! Are you all right?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A-one!&rdquo; said Jim, grinning. &ldquo;Nice of you to have me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, we're awfully pleased.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim dropped his knapsack on the broad sofa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've brought some food,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you! That's sensible of you. We can't get a great deal here, except
+      just at week-ends,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim fished out a pound of sausages and a pot of fish paste.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How lovely the sausages,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;We'll have them for dinner tonight&mdash;and
+      we'll have the other for tea now. You'd like a wash?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Jim had already opened his bag, taken off his coat, and put on an old
+      one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly made the tea, and at length all sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well how unexpected this is&mdash;and how nice,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jolly&mdash;eh?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ate rapidly, stuffing his mouth too full.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How is everybody?&rdquo; asked Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Julia's gone with Cyril Scott. Can't stand that fellow, can
+      you? What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think he's rather nice,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;What will Robert do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a shot at Josephine, apparently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really? Is he in love with her? I thought so. And she likes him too,
+      doesn't she?&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose you're jealous,&rdquo; laughed Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me!&rdquo; Jim shook his head. &ldquo;Not a bit. Like to see the ball kept rolling.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you been doing lately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been staying a few days with my wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, really! I can't believe it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim had a French wife, who had divorced him, and two children. Now he was
+      paying visits to this wife again: purely friendly. Tanny did most of the
+      talking. Jim excited her, with his way of looking in her face and grinning
+      wolfishly, and at the same time asking to be saved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After tea, he wanted to send telegrams, so Lilly took him round to the
+      village post-office. Telegrams were a necessary part of his life. He had
+      to be suddenly starting off to keep sudden appointments, or he felt he was
+      a void in the atmosphere. He talked to Lilly about social reform, and so
+      on. Jim's work in town was merely nominal. He spent his time wavering
+      about and going to various meetings, philandering and weeping.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly kept in the back of his mind the Saving which James had come to look
+      for. He intended to do his best. After dinner the three sat cosily round
+      the kitchen fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what do you really think will happen to the world?&rdquo; Lilly asked Jim,
+      amid much talk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? There's something big coming,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Watch Ireland, and watch Japan&mdash;they're the two poles of the world,&rdquo;
+       said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought Russia and America,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh? What? Russia and America! They'll depend on Ireland and Japan. I know
+      it. I've had a vision of it. Ireland on this side and Japan on the other&mdash;they'll
+      settle it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see how,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see HOW&mdash;But I had a vision of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort of vision?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldn't describe it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't think much of the Japanese, do you?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't I! Don't I!&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;What, don't you think they're wonderful?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I think they're rather unpleasant.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the salvation of the world lies with them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Funny salvation,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I think they're anything but angels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you though? Now that's funny. Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Looking at them even. I knew a Russian doctor who'd been through the
+      Russo-Japanese war, and who had gone a bit cracked. He said he saw the
+      Japs rush a trench. They threw everything away and flung themselves
+      through the Russian fire and simply dropped in masses. But those that
+      reached the trenches jumped in with bare hands on the Russians and tore
+      their faces apart and bit their throats out&mdash;fairly ripped the faces
+      off the bone.&mdash;It had sent the doctor a bit cracked. He said the
+      wounded were awful,&mdash;their faces torn off and their throats mangled&mdash;and
+      dead Japs with flesh between the teeth&mdash;God knows if it's true. But
+      that's the impression the Japanese had made on this man. It had affected
+      his mind really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim watched Lilly, and smiled as if he were pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;really&mdash;!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow they're more demon than angel, I believe,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, Rawdon, but you always exaggerate,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think Japanese are fascinating&mdash;fascinating&mdash;so quick, and
+      such FORCE in them&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather!&mdash;eh?&rdquo; said Jim, looking with a quick smile at Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think a Japanese lover would be marvellous,&rdquo; she laughed riskily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I s'd think he would,&rdquo; said Jim, screwing up his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you hate the normal British as much as I do?&rdquo; she asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hate them! Hate them!&rdquo; he said, with an intimate grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Their beastly virtue,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;And I believe there's nobody more
+      vicious underneath.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nobody!&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're British yourself,&rdquo; said Lilly to Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm Irish. Family's Irish&mdash;my mother was a Fitz-patrick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow you live in England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because they won't let me go to Ireland.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The talk drifted. Jim finished up all the beer, and they prepared to go to
+      bed. Jim was a bit tipsy, grinning. He asked for bread and cheese to take
+      upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you have supper?&rdquo; said Lilly. He was surprised, because Jim had
+      eaten strangely much at dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;where's the loaf?&rdquo; And he cut himself about half of it. There
+      was no cheese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bread'll do,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down and eat it. Have cocoa with it,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I like to have it in my bedroom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't eat bread in the night?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What a funny thing to do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cottage was in darkness. The Lillys slept soundly. Jim woke up and
+      chewed bread and slept again. In the morning at dawn he rose and went
+      downstairs. Lilly heard him roaming about&mdash;heard the woman come in to
+      clean&mdash;heard them talking. So he got up to look after his visitor,
+      though it was not seven o'clock, and the woman was busy.&mdash;But before
+      he went down, he heard Jim come upstairs again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Short was busy in the kitchen when Lilly went down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The other gentleman have been down, Sir,&rdquo; said Mrs. Short. &ldquo;He asked me
+      where the bread and butter were, so I said should I cut him a piece. But
+      he wouldn't let me do it. I gave him a knife and he took it for himself,
+      in the pantry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say, Bricknell,&rdquo; said Lilly at breakfast time, &ldquo;why do you eat so much
+      bread?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got to feed up. I've been starved during this damned war.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But hunks of bread won't feed you up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gives the stomach something to work at, and prevents it grinding on the
+      nerves,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But surely you don't want to keep your stomach always full and heavy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do, my boy. I do. It needs keeping solid. I'm losing life, if I don't.
+      I tell you I'm losing life. Let me put something inside me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't believe bread's any use.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      During breakfast Jim talked about the future of the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reckon Christ's the finest thing time has ever produced,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;and
+      will remain it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't want crucifixions <i>ad infinitum</i>,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once is enough&mdash;and have done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you think love and sacrifice are the finest things in life?&rdquo; said
+      Jim, over his bacon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Depends WHAT love, and what sacrifice,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;If I really believe
+      in an Almighty God, I am willing to sacrifice for Him. That is, I'm
+      willing to yield my own personal interest to the bigger creative interest.&mdash;But
+      it's obvious Almighty God isn't mere Love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is. Love and only love,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;I think the greatest joy
+      is sacrificing oneself to love.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To SOMEONE you love, you mean,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No I don't. I don't mean someone at all. I mean love&mdash;love&mdash;love.
+      I sacrifice myself to love. I reckon that's the highest man is capable
+      of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can't sacrifice yourself to an abstract principle,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's just what you can do. And that's the beauty of it. Who represents
+      the principle doesn't matter. Christ is the principle of love,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But no!&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;It MUST be more individual. It must be SOMEBODY you
+      love, not abstract love in itself. How can you sacrifice yourself to an
+      abstraction.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha, I think Love and your Christ detestable,&rdquo; said Lilly&mdash;&ldquo;a sheer
+      ignominy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finest thing the world has produced,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed! No, it's foul. Don't you
+      see it's the Judas principle you really worship. Judas is the real hero.
+      But for Judas the whole show would have been <i>manque</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh yes,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;Judas was inevitable. I'm not sure that Judas wasn't
+      the greatest of the disciples&mdash;and Jesus knew it. I'm not sure Judas
+      wasn't the disciple Jesus loved.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks,&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it was a nasty combination. And anything which turns on a Judas
+      climax is a dirty show, to my thinking. I think your Judas is a rotten,
+      dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental twister. And
+      out of all Christianity he is the hero today. When people say Christ they
+      mean Judas. They find him luscious on the palate. And Jesus fostered him&mdash;&rdquo;
+       said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's a profound figure, is Judas. It's taken two thousand years to begin
+      to understand him,&rdquo; said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade into his
+      mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A traitor is a traitor&mdash;no need to understand any further. And a
+      system which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that
+      treachery not only inevitable but sacred. That's why I'm sick of
+      Christianity.&mdash;At any rate this modern Christ-mongery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce&mdash;Christ
+      and Judas&mdash;&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not to me,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Foul combination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a lovely morning in early March. Violets were out, and the first
+      wild anemones. The sun was quite warm. The three were about to take out a
+      picnic lunch. Lilly however was suffering from Jim's presence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jolly nice here,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;Mind if I stay till Saturday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause. Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely
+      bullied. Was he going to agree? Suddenly he looked up at Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd rather you went tomorrow,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's tomorrow?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thursday,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thursday,&rdquo; repeated Jim. And he looked up and got Lilly's eye. He wanted
+      to say &ldquo;Friday then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'd rather you went Thursday,&rdquo; repeated Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But Rawdon&mdash;!&rdquo; broke in Tanny, who was suffering. She stopped,
+      however.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can walk across country with you some way if you like,&rdquo; said Lilly to
+      Jim. It was a sort of compromise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fine!&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;We'll do that, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods. Between Jim
+      and Tanny was a sort of growing <i>rapprochement</i>, which got on Lilly's
+      nerves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?&rdquo; cried Lilly at
+      Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I'm not personal at all, am I, Mr. Bricknell?&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim watched Lilly, and grinned pleasedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't you be, anyhow?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; she retorted. &ldquo;Why not!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not while I'm here. I loathe the slimy creepy personal intimacy.&mdash;'Don't
+      you think, Mr. Bricknell, that it's lovely to be able to talk quite simply
+      to somebody? Oh, it's such a relief, after most people&mdash;-'&rdquo; Lilly
+      mimicked his wife's last speech savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I MEAN it,&rdquo; cried Tanny. &ldquo;It is lovely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dirty messing,&rdquo; said Lilly angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim watched the dark, irascible little man with amusement. They rose, and
+      went to look for an inn, and beer. Tanny still clung rather stickily to
+      Jim's side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with
+      crocuses and wall-flowers in the cottage gardens, and white cocks crowing
+      in the quiet hamlet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When they got back in the afternoon to the cottage, they found a telegram
+      for Jim. He let the Lillys see it&mdash;&ldquo;Meet you for a walk on your
+      return journey Lois.&rdquo; At once Tanny wanted to know all about Lois. Lois
+      was a nice girl, well-to-do middle-class, but also an actress, and she
+      would do anything Jim wanted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must get a wire to her to meet me tomorrow,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Where shall I
+      say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly produced the map, and they decided on time and station at which Lois
+      coming out of London, should meet Jim. Then the happy pair could walk
+      along the Thames valley, spending a night perhaps at Marlowe, or some such
+      place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Off went Jim and Lilly once more to the postoffice. They were quite good
+      friends. Having so inhospitably fixed the hour of departure, Lilly wanted
+      to be nice. Arrived at the postoffice, they found it shut: half-day
+      closing for the little shop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;We'll go to the station.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They proceeded to the station&mdash;found the station-master&mdash;were
+      conducted down to the signal-box. Lilly naturally hung back from people,
+      but Jim was hob-nob with the station-master and the signal man, quite
+      officer-and-my-men kind of thing. Lilly sat out on the steps of the
+      signal-box, rather ashamed, while the long telegram was shouted over the
+      telephone to the junction town&mdash;first the young lady and her address,
+      then the message &ldquo;Meet me X. station 3:40 tomorrow walk back great
+      pleasure Jim.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Anyhow that was done. They went home to tea. After tea, as the evening
+      fell, Lilly suggested a little stroll in the woods, while Tanny prepared
+      the dinner. Jim agreed, and they set out. The two men wandered through the
+      trees in the dusk, till they came to a bank on the farther edge of the
+      wood. There they sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there Lilly said what he had to say. &ldquo;As a matter of fact,&rdquo; he said,
+      &ldquo;it's nothing but love and self-sacrifice which makes you feel yourself
+      losing life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wrong. Only love brings it back&mdash;and wine. If I drink a
+      bottle of Burgundy I feel myself restored at the middle&mdash;right here!
+      I feel the energy back again. And if I can fall in love&mdash;But it's
+      becoming so damned hard&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, to fall in love?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why not leave off trying! What do you want to poke yourself and prod
+      yourself into love, for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I'm DEAD without it. I'm dead. I'm dying.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only because you force yourself. If you drop working yourself up&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall die. I only live when I can fall in love. Otherwise I'm dying by
+      inches. Why, man, you don't know what it was like. I used to get the most
+      grand feelings&mdash;like a great rush of force, or light&mdash;a great
+      rush&mdash;right here, as I've said, at the solar plexus. And it would
+      come any time&mdash;anywhere&mdash;no matter where I was. And then I was
+      all right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right for what?&mdash;for making love?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, man, I was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now you aren't?&mdash;Oh, well, leave love alone, as any twopenny
+      doctor would tell you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you're off it there. It's nothing technical. Technically I can make
+      love as much as you like. It's nothing a doctor has any say in. It's what
+      I feel inside me. I feel the life going. I know it's going. I never get
+      those inrushes now, unless I drink a jolly lot, or if I possibly could
+      fall in love. Technically, I'm potent all right&mdash;oh, yes!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You should leave yourself and your inrushes alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can't. It's a sort of ache.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you should stiffen your backbone. It's your backbone that matters.
+      You shouldn't want to abandon yourself. You shouldn't want to fling
+      yourself all loose into a woman's lap. You should stand by yourself and
+      learn to be by yourself. Why don't you be more like the Japanese you talk
+      about? Quiet, aloof little devils. They don't bother about being loved.
+      They keep themselves taut in their own selves&mdash;there, at the bottom
+      of the spine&mdash;the devil's own power they've got there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim mused a bit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think they have?&rdquo; he laughed. It seemed comic to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure! Look at them. Why can't you gather yourself there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At the tail?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Hold yourself firm there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim broke into a cackle of a laugh, and rose. The two went through the
+      dark woods back to the cottage. Jim staggered and stumbled like a drunken
+      man: or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia: as if he had no power in
+      his lower limbs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk there&mdash;!&rdquo; said Lilly, finding him the smoothest bit of the dark
+      path. But Jim stumbled and shambled, in a state of nauseous weak
+      relaxation. However, they reached the cottage: and food and beer&mdash;and
+      Tanny, piqued with curiosity to know what the men had been saying
+      privately to each other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After dinner they sat once more talking round the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly sat in a small chair facing the fire, the other two in the armchairs
+      on either side the hearth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How nice it will be for you, walking with Lois towards London tomorrow,&rdquo;
+       gushed Tanny sentimentally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good God!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Why the dickens doesn't he walk by himself,
+      without wanting a woman always there, to hold his hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be so spiteful,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;YOU see that you have a woman always
+      there, to hold YOUR hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My hand doesn't need holding,&rdquo; snapped Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doesn't it! More than most men's! But you're so beastly ungrateful and
+      mannish. Because I hold you safe enough all the time you like to pretend
+      you're doing it all yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Don't drag yourself in,&rdquo; said Lilly, detesting his wife at
+      that moment. &ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; and he turned to Jim, &ldquo;it's time you'd done
+      slobbering yourself over a lot of little women, one after the other.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't I, if I like it?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, why not?&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because it makes a fool of you. Look at you, stumbling and staggering
+      with no use in your legs. I'd be ashamed if I were you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would. And it's nothing but your wanting to be loved which does it. A
+      maudlin crying to be loved, which makes your knees all go rickety.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think that's it?&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else is it. You haven't been here a day, but you must telegraph for
+      some female to be ready to hold your hand the moment you go away. And
+      before she lets go, you'll be wiring for another. YOU WANT TO BE LOVED,
+      you want to be loved&mdash;a man of your years. It's disgusting&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see it. I believe in love&mdash;&rdquo; said Jim, watching and grinning
+      oddly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah, love! Messing, that's what it is. It wouldn't matter if it did you
+      no harm. But when you stagger and stumble down a road, out of sheer sloppy
+      relaxation of your will&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this point Jim suddenly sprang from his chair at Lilly, and gave him
+      two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the body. Then
+      he sat down in his own chair again, saying sheepishly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew I should have to do it, if he said any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly sat motionless as a statue, his face like paper. One of the blows
+      had caught him rather low, so that he was almost winded and could not
+      breathe. He sat rigid, paralysed as a winded man is. But he wouldn't let
+      it be seen. With all his will he prevented himself from gasping. Only
+      through his parted lips he drew tiny gasps, controlled, nothing revealed
+      to the other two. He hated them both far too much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For some minutes there was dead silence, whilst Lilly silently and
+      viciously fought for his breath. Tanny opened her eyes wide in a sort of
+      pleased bewilderment, and Jim turned his face aside, and hung his clasped
+      hands between his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a great silence, suddenly!&rdquo; said Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is there to say?&rdquo; ejaculated Lilly rapidly, with a spoonful of
+      breath which he managed to compress and control into speech. Then he sat
+      motionless again, concerned with the business of getting back his wind,
+      and not letting the other two see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim jerked in his chair, and looked round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't that I don't like the man,&rdquo; he said, in a rather small voice.
+      &ldquo;But I knew if he went on I should have to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To Lilly, rigid and physically preoccupied, there sounded a sort of
+      self-consciousness in Jim's voice, as if the whole thing had been
+      semi-deliberate. He detected the sort of maudlin deliberateness which goes
+      with hysterics, and he was colder, more icy than ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tanny looked at Lilly, puzzled, bewildered, but still rather pleased, as
+      if she demanded an answer. None being forthcoming, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course, you mustn't expect to say all those things without rousing a
+      man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Still Lilly did not answer. Jim glanced at him, then looked at Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't that I don't like him,&rdquo; he said, slowly. &ldquo;I like him better than
+      any man I've ever known, I believe.&rdquo; He clasped his hands and turned aside
+      his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Judas!&rdquo; flashed through Lilly's mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Tanny looked for her husband's answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Rawdon,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You can't say the things you do without their
+      having an effect. You really ask for it, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no matter.&rdquo; Lilly squeezed the words out coldly. &ldquo;He wanted to do
+      it, and he did it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dead silence ensued now. Tanny looked from man to man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I could feel it coming on me,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course!&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;Rawdon doesn't know the things he says.&rdquo; She was
+      pleased that he had had to pay for them, for once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It takes a man a long time to get his breath back, after a sharp blow in
+      the wind. Lilly was managing by degrees. The others no doubt attributed
+      his silence to deep or fierce thoughts. It was nothing of the kind, merely
+      a cold struggle to get his wind back, without letting them know he was
+      struggling: and a sheer, stock-stiff hatred of the pair of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like the man,&rdquo; said Jim. &ldquo;Never liked a man more than I like him.&rdquo; He
+      spoke as if with difficulty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man&rdquo; stuck safely in Lilly's ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well,&rdquo; he managed to say. &ldquo;It's nothing. I've done my talking and had
+      an answer, for once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Rawdy, you've had an answer, for once. Usually you don't get an
+      answer, you know&mdash;and that's why you go so far&mdash;in the things
+      you say. Now you'll know how you make people feel.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite!&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>I</i> don't feel anything. I don't mind what he says,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but he ought to know the things he DOES say,&rdquo; said Tanny. &ldquo;He goes
+      on, without considering the person he's talking to. This time it's come
+      back on him. He mustn't say such personal things, if he's not going to
+      risk an answer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mind what he says. I don't mind a bit,&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor do I mind,&rdquo; said Lilly indifferently. &ldquo;I say what I feel&mdash;You do
+      as you feel&mdash;There's an end of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A sheepish sort of silence followed this speech. It was broken by a sudden
+      laugh from Tanny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The things that happen to us!&rdquo; she said, laughing rather shrilly.
+      &ldquo;Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, we're all struck into silence!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rum game, eh!&rdquo; said Jim, grinning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't it funny! Isn't life too funny!&rdquo; She looked again at her husband.
+      &ldquo;But, Rawdy, you must admit it was your own fault.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly's stiff face did not change.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why FAULT!&rdquo; he said, looking at her coldly. &ldquo;What is there to talk
+      about?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Usually there's so much,&rdquo; she said sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A few phrases dribbled out of the silence. In vain Jim, tried to get Lilly
+      to thaw, and in vain Tanny gave her digs at her husband. Lilly's stiff,
+      inscrutable face did not change, he was polite and aloof. So they all went
+      to bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning, the walk was to take place, as arranged, Lilly and Tanny
+      accompanying Jim to the third station across country. The morning was
+      lovely, the country beautiful. Lilly liked the countryside and enjoyed the
+      walk. But a hardness inside himself never relaxed. Jim talked a little
+      again about the future of the world, and a higher state of Christlikeness
+      in man. But Lilly only laughed. Then Tanny managed to get ahead with Jim,
+      sticking to his side and talking sympathetic personalities. But Lilly,
+      feeling it from afar, ran after them and caught them up. They were silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was the interesting topic?&rdquo; he said cuttingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing at all!&rdquo; said Tanny, nettled. &ldquo;Why must you interfere?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I intend to,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the two others fell apart, as if severed with a knife. Jim walked
+      rather sheepishly, as if cut out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they came at last past the canals to the wayside station: and at last
+      Jim's train came. They all said goodbye. Jim and Tanny were both waiting
+      for Lilly to show some sign of real reconciliation. But none came. He was
+      cheerful and aloof.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye,&rdquo; he said to Jim. &ldquo;Hope Lois will be there all right. Third
+      station on. Goodbye! Goodbye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll come to Rackham?&rdquo; said Jim, leaning out of the train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We should love to,&rdquo; called Tanny, after the receding train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Lilly, non-committal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he and his wife never saw Jim again. Lilly never intended to see him:
+      a devil sat in the little man's breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You shouldn't play at little Jesus, coming so near to people, wanting to
+      help them,&rdquo; was Tanny's last word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER IX. LOW-WATER MARK
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Tanny went away to Norway to visit her people, for the first time for
+      three years. Lilly did not go: he did not want to. He came to London and
+      settled in a room over Covent Garden market. The room was high up, a fair
+      size, and stood at the corner of one of the streets and the market itself,
+      looking down on the stalls and the carts and the arcade. Lilly would climb
+      out of the window and sit for hours watching the behaviour of the great
+      draught-horses which brought the mountains of boxes and vegetables. Funny
+      half-human creatures they seemed, so massive and fleshy, yet so Cockney.
+      There was one which could not bear donkeys, and which used to stretch out
+      its great teeth like some massive serpent after every poor diminutive ass
+      that came with a coster's barrow. Another great horse could not endure
+      standing. It would shake itself and give little starts, and back into the
+      heaps of carrots and broccoli, whilst the driver went into a frenzy of
+      rage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was always something to watch. One minute it was two great loads of
+      empty crates, which in passing had got entangled, and reeled, leaning to
+      fall disastrously. Then the drivers cursed and swore and dismounted and
+      stared at their jeopardised loads: till a thin fellow was persuaded to
+      scramble up the airy mountains of cages, like a monkey. And he actually
+      managed to put them to rights. Great sigh of relief when the vans rocked
+      out of the market.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky
+      behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to somewhere, under
+      the arches beside the market. The great brawny porters would tease him,
+      and he would stop to give them cheek. One afternoon a giant lunged after
+      him: the boy darted gracefully among the heaps of vegetables, still
+      bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some young blue-buttoned acolyte fleeing
+      before a false god. The giant rolled after him&mdash;when alas, the
+      acolyte of the tea-tray slipped among the vegetables, and down came the
+      tray. Then tears, and a roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants. Lilly
+      felt they were going to make it up to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
+      vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered why.
+      But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of silver
+      brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet. Evidently an
+      assignation. Yet what could be more conspicuous than this elegant pair,
+      picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
+      overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly. Lilly had risen and was
+      just retiring out of the chill, damp air. For some reason he lingered to
+      watch the figure. The man was walking east. He stepped rather insecurely
+      off the pavement, and wavered across the setts between the wheels of the
+      standing vans. And suddenly he went down. Lilly could not see him on the
+      ground, but he saw some van-men go forward, and he saw one of them pick up
+      the man's hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd better go down,&rdquo; said Lilly to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past the
+      many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the market.
+      A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just rowing into
+      the centre of the interest. Lilly, always a hoverer on the edge of public
+      commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts of the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunk,&rdquo; said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney, he
+      pronounced it &ldquo;Drank.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on here. Where d' you want to go?&rdquo; he heard the hearty tones of the
+      policeman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm all right. I'm all right,&rdquo; came the testy drunken answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, are yer! All right, and then some,&mdash;come on, get on your
+      pins.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm all right! I'm all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice made Lilly peer between the people. And sitting on the granite
+      setts, being hauled up by a burly policeman, he saw our acquaintance
+      Aaron, very pale in the face and a little dishevelled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like me to tuck the sheets round you, shouldn't you? Fancy yourself snug
+      in bed, don't you? You won't believe you're right in the way of traffic,
+      will you now, in Covent Garden Market? Come on, we'll see to you.&rdquo; And the
+      policeman hoisted the bitter and unwilling Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was quickly at the centre of the affair, unobtrusive like a shadow,
+      different from the other people.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help him up to my room, will you?&rdquo; he said to the constable. &ldquo;Friend of
+      mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The large constable looked down on the bare-headed wispy, unobtrusive
+      Lilly with good-humoured suspicion and incredulity. Lilly could not have
+      borne it if the policeman had uttered any of this cockney suspicion, so he
+      watched him. There was a great gulf between the public official and the
+      odd, quiet little individual&mdash;yet Lilly had his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which room?&rdquo; said the policeman, dubious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly pointed quickly round. Then he said to Aaron:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Were you coming to see me, Sisson? You'll come in, won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron nodded rather stupidly and testily. His eyes looked angry. Somebody
+      stuck his hat on his head for him, and made him look a fool. Lilly took it
+      off again, and carried it for him. He turned and the crowd eased. He
+      watched Aaron sharply, and saw that it was with difficulty he could walk.
+      So he caught him by the arm on the other side from the policeman, and they
+      crossed the road to the pavement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so much of this sort of thing these days,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so much opportunity,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More than there was, though. Coming back to the old days, like. Working
+      round, bit by bit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had arrived at the stairs. Aaron stumbled up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady now! Steady does it!&rdquo; said the policeman, steering his charge.
+      There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last Lilly opened his own door. The room was pleasant. The fire burned
+      warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions and papers.
+      Books and papers covered the big writing desk. Beyond the screen made by
+      the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with washstand by one of the
+      large windows, the one through which Lilly had climbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The policeman looked round curiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly laughed. He was hastily clearing the sofa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit on the sofa, Sisson,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The policeman lowered his charge, with a&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right we are, then!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown. But he was
+      watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and
+      semi-conscious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you feel ill, Sisson?&rdquo; he said sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe you are,&rdquo; said Lilly, taking his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Might be a bit o' this flu, you know,&rdquo; said the policeman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Where is there a doctor?&rdquo; he added, on reflection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The nearest?&rdquo; said the policeman. And he told him. &ldquo;Leave a message for
+      you, Sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'll run round myself if necessary,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the policeman departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll go to bed, won't you?&rdquo; said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was
+      shut. Aaron shook his head sulkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would if I were you. You can stay here till you're all right. I'm
+      alone, so it doesn't matter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness. Lilly put the big kettle
+      on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire. Then he hovered in front
+      of the stupefied man. He felt uneasy. Again he took Aaron's hand and felt
+      the pulse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure you aren't well. You must go to bed,&rdquo; he said. And he kneeled
+      and unfastened his visitor's boots. Meanwhile the kettle began to boil, he
+      put a hot-water bottle into the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us get your overcoat off,&rdquo; he said to the stupefied man. &ldquo;Come
+      along.&rdquo; And with coaxing and pulling and pushing he got off the overcoat
+      and coat and waistcoat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last Aaron was undressed and in bed. Lilly brought him tea. With a dim
+      kind of obedience he took the cup and would drink. He looked at Lilly with
+      heavy eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave in, I gave in to her, else I should ha' been all right,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I gave in to her&mdash;and afterwards I cried, thinking of Lottie and the
+      children. I felt my heart break, you know. And that's what did it. I
+      should have been all right if I hadn't given in to her&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Josephine. I felt, the minute I was loving her, I'd done myself. And I
+      had. Everything came back on me. If I hadn't given in to her, I should ha'
+      kept all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't bother now. Get warm and still&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I felt it&mdash;I felt it go, inside me, the minute I gave in to her.
+      It's perhaps killed me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not it. Never mind, be still. Be still, and you'll be all right in
+      the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's my own fault, for giving in to her. If I'd kept myself back, my
+      liver wouldn't have broken inside me, and I shouldn't have been sick. And
+      I knew&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never mind now. Have you drunk your tea? Lie down. Lie down, and go to
+      sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over. Then he thrust
+      his hands under the bedclothes and felt his feet&mdash;still cold. He
+      arranged the water bottle. Then he put another cover on the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron lay still, rather grey and peaked-looking, in a stillness that was
+      not healthy. For some time Lilly went about stealthily, glancing at his
+      patient from time to time. Then he sat down to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was roused after a time by a moaning of troubled breathing and a
+      fretful stirring in the bed. He went across. Aaron's eyes were open, and
+      dark looking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a little hot milk,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron shook his head faintly, not noticing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A little Bovril?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The same faint shake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Lilly wrote a note for the doctor, went into the office on the same
+      landing, and got a clerk, who would be leaving in a few minutes, to call
+      with the note. When he came back he found Aaron still watching.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you here by yourself?&rdquo; asked the sick man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. My wife's gone to Norway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For good?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; laughed Lilly. &ldquo;For a couple of months or so. She'll come back here:
+      unless she joins me in Switzerland or somewhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was still for a while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've not gone with her,&rdquo; he said at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To see her people? No, I don't think they want me very badly&mdash;and I
+      didn't want very badly to go. Why should I? It's better for married people
+      to be separated sometimes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&rdquo; said Aaron, watching the other man with fever-darkened eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate married people who are two in one&mdash;stuck together like two
+      jujube lozenges,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me an' all. I hate 'em myself,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place&mdash;men and
+      women as well. They can come together, in the second place, if they like.
+      But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone, intrinsically.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm with you there,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;If I'd kep' myself to myself I
+      shouldn't be bad now&mdash;though I'm not very bad. I s'll be all right in
+      the morning. But I did myself in when I went with another woman. I felt
+      myself go&mdash;as if the bile broke inside me, and I was sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Josephine seduced you?&rdquo; laughed Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, right enough,&rdquo; replied Aaron grimly. &ldquo;She won't be coming here, will
+      she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not unless I ask her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You won't ask her, though?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not if you don't want her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The fever made Aaron naive and communicative, unlike himself. And he knew
+      he was being unlike himself, he knew that he was not in proper control of
+      himself, so he was unhappy, uneasy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll stop here the night then, if you don't mind,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I've sent for the doctor. I believe you've
+      got the flu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think I have?&rdquo; said Aaron frightened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be scared,&rdquo; laughed Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause. Lilly stood at the window looking at the darkening
+      market, beneath the street-lamps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I s'll have to go to the hospital, if I have,&rdquo; came Aaron's voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, if it's only going to be a week or a fortnight's business, you can
+      stop here. I've nothing to do,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's no occasion for you to saddle yourself with me,&rdquo; said Aaron
+      dejectedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can go to your hospital if you like&mdash;or back to your lodging&mdash;if
+      you wish to,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;You can make up your mind when you see how you
+      are in the morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No use going back to my lodgings,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll send a telegram to your wife if you like,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was silent, dead silent, for some time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said at length, in a decided voice. &ldquo;Not if I die for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly remained still, and the other man lapsed into a sort of semi-sleep,
+      motionless and abandoned. The darkness had fallen over London, and away
+      below the lamps were white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly lit the green-shaded reading lamp over the desk. Then he stood and
+      looked at Aaron, who lay still, looking sick. Rather beautiful the bones
+      of the countenance: but the skull too small for such a heavy jaw and
+      rather coarse mouth. Aaron half-opened his eyes, and writhed feverishly,
+      as if his limbs could not be in the right place. Lilly mended the fire,
+      and sat down to write. Then he got up and went downstairs to unfasten the
+      street door, so that the doctor could walk up. The business people had
+      gone from their various holes, all the lower part of the tall house was in
+      darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly waited and waited. He boiled an egg and made himself toast. Aaron
+      said he might eat the same. Lilly cooked another egg and took it to the
+      sick man. Aaron looked at it and pushed it away with nausea. He would have
+      some tea. So Lilly gave him tea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not much fun for you, doing this for somebody who is nothing to you,&rdquo;
+       said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shouldn't if you were unsympathetic to me,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;As it is, it's
+      happened so, and so we'll let be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nearly eight o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my Lord, the opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Aaron got half out of bed. But as he sat on the bedside he knew he
+      could not safely get to his feet. He remained a picture of dejection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps we ought to let them know,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron, blank with stupid misery, sat huddled there on the bedside
+      without answering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ill run round with a note,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I suppose others have had flu,
+      besides you. Lie down!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron stupidly and dejectedly sat huddled on the side of the bed,
+      wearing old flannel pyjamas of Lilly's, rather small for him. He felt too
+      sick to move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lie down! Lie down!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;And keep still while I'm gone. I shan't
+      be more than ten minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care if I die,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a long way from dying,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;or you wouldn't say it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron only looked up at him with queer, far-off, haggard eyes,
+      something like a criminal who is just being executed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lie down!&rdquo; said Lilly, pushing him gently into the bed. &ldquo;You won't
+      improve yourself sitting there, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron lay down, turned away, and was quite still. Lilly quietly left the
+      room on his errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor did not come until ten o'clock: and worn out with work when he
+      did come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't there a lift in this establishment?&rdquo; he said, as he groped his way
+      up the stone stairs. Lilly had heard him, and run down to meet him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor poked the thermometer under Aaron's tongue and felt the pulse.
+      Then he asked a few questions: listened to the heart and breathing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it's the flu,&rdquo; he said curtly. &ldquo;Nothing to do but to keep warm in
+      bed and not move, and take plenty of milk and liquid nourishment. I'll
+      come round in the morning and give you an injection. Lungs are all right
+      so far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How long shall I have to be in bed?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;depends. A week at least.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron watched him sullenly&mdash;and hated him. Lilly laughed to himself.
+      The sick man was like a dog that is ill but which growls from a deep
+      corner, and will bite if you put your hand in. He was in a state of black
+      depression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly settled him down for the night, and himself went to bed. Aaron
+      squirmed with heavy, pained limbs, the night through, and slept and had
+      bad dreams. Lilly got up to give him drinks. The din in the market was
+      terrific before dawn, and Aaron suffered bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he was worse. The doctor gave him injections against
+      pneumonia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't like me to wire to your wife?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron abruptly. &ldquo;You can send me to the hospital. I'm nothing
+      but a piece of carrion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Carrion!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it. I feel like it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of. I can't stand
+      myself&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the germ that makes you feel like that,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;It poisons the
+      system for a time. But you'll work it off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At evening he was no better, the fever was still high. Yet there were no
+      complications&mdash;except that the heart was irregular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The one thing I wonder,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;is whether you hadn't better be
+      moved out of the noise of the market. It's fearful for you in the early
+      morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It makes no difference to me,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day he was a little worse, if anything. The doctor knew there was
+      nothing to be done. At evening he gave the patient a calomel pill. It was
+      rather strong, and Aaron had a bad time. His burning, parched, poisoned
+      inside was twisted and torn. Meanwhile carts banged, porters shouted, all
+      the hell of the market went on outside, away down on the cobble setts. But
+      this time the two men did not hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll feel better now,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;after the operation.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's done me harm,&rdquo; cried Aaron fretfully. &ldquo;Send me to the hospital, or
+      you'll repent it. Get rid of me in time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;You get better. Damn it, you're only one among a
+      million.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again over Aaron's face went the ghastly grimace of self-repulsion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My soul's gone rotten,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Only toxin in the blood.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Next day the patient seemed worse, and the heart more irregular. He rested
+      badly. So far, Lilly had got a fair night's rest. Now Aaron was not
+      sleeping, and he seemed to struggle in the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep your courage up, man,&rdquo; said the doctor sharply. &ldquo;You give way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at him blackly, and did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the night Lilly was up time after time. Aaron would slip down on his
+      back, and go semi-conscious. And then he would awake, as if drowning,
+      struggling to move, mentally shouting aloud, yet making no sound for some
+      moments, mentally shouting in frenzy, but unable to stir or make a sound.
+      When at last he got some sort of physical control he cried: &ldquo;Lift me up!
+      Lift me up!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly hurried and lifted him up, and he sat panting with a sobbing motion,
+      his eyes gloomy and terrified, more than ever like a criminal who is just
+      being executed. He drank brandy, and was laid down on his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't let me lie on my back,&rdquo; he said, terrified. &ldquo;No, I won't,&rdquo; said
+      Lilly. Aaron frowned curiously on his nurse. &ldquo;Mind you don't let me,&rdquo; he
+      said, exacting and really terrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I won't let you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And now Lilly was continually crossing over and pulling Aaron on to his
+      side, whenever he found him slipped down on his back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning the doctor was puzzled. Probably it was the toxin in the
+      blood which poisoned the heart. There was no pneumonia. And yet Aaron was
+      clearly growing worse. The doctor agreed to send in a nurse for the coming
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter with you, man!&rdquo; he said sharply to his patient. &ldquo;You
+      give way! You give way! Can't you pull yourself together?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron only became more gloomily withheld, retracting from life. And
+      Lilly began to be really troubled. He got a friend to sit with the patient
+      in the afternoon, whilst he himself went out and arranged to sleep in
+      Aaron's room, at his lodging.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next morning, when he came in, he found the patient lying as ever, in
+      a sort of heap in the bed. Nurse had had to lift him up and hold him up
+      again. And now Aaron lay in a sort of semi-stupor of fear, frustrated
+      anger, misery and self-repulsion: a sort of interlocked depression.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The doctor frowned when he came. He talked with the nurse, and wrote
+      another prescription. Then he drew Lilly away to the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the matter with the fellow?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Can't you rouse his spirit?
+      He seems to be sulking himself out of life. He'll drop out quite suddenly,
+      you know, if he goes on like this. Can't you rouse him up?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it depresses him partly that his bowels won't work. It frightens
+      him. He's never been ill in his life before,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His bowels won't work if he lets all his spirit go, like an animal dying
+      of the sulks,&rdquo; said the doctor impatiently. &ldquo;He might go off quite
+      suddenly&mdash;dead before you can turn round&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was properly troubled. Yet he did not quite know what to do. It was
+      early afternoon, and the sun was shining into the room. There were
+      daffodils and anemones in a jar, and freezias and violets. Down below in
+      the market were two stalls of golden and blue flowers, gay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The flowers are lovely in the spring sunshine,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I wish I
+      were in the country, don't you? As soon as you are better we'll go. It's
+      been a terrible cold, wet spring. But now it's going to be nice. Do you
+      like being in the country?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was thinking of his garden. He loved it. Never in his life had he been
+      away from a garden before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make haste and get better, and we'll go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hampshire. Or Berkshire. Or perhaps you'd like to go home? Would you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron lay still, and did not answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps you want to, and you don't want to,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;You can please
+      yourself, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no getting anything definite out of the sick man&mdash;his soul
+      seemed stuck, as if it would not move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly Lilly rose and went to the dressing-table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm going to rub you with oil,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'm going to rub you as mothers
+      do their babies whose bowels don't work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron frowned slightly as he glanced at the dark, self-possessed face of
+      the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's the good of that?&rdquo; he said irritably. &ldquo;I'd rather be left alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you won't be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to rub
+      the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion, a sort
+      of massage. For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily, then went over
+      the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort of incantation. He
+      rubbed every speck of the man's lower body&mdash;the abdomen, the
+      buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed it all warm and
+      glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing the toes swiftly,
+      till he was almost exhausted. Then Aaron was covered up again, and Lilly
+      sat down in fatigue to look at his patient.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He saw a change. The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the faint
+      trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face. Aaron was regaining
+      himself. But Lilly said nothing. He watched his patient fall into a proper
+      sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he sat and watched him sleep. And he thought to himself: &ldquo;I wonder why
+      I do it. I wonder why I bother with him.... Jim ought to have taught me my
+      lesson. As soon as this man's really better he'll punch me in the wind,
+      metaphorically if not actually, for having interfered with him. And Tanny
+      would say, he was quite right to do it. She says I want power over them.
+      What if I do? They don't care how much power the mob has over them, the
+      nation, Lloyd George and Northcliffe and the police and money. They'll
+      yield themselves up to that sort of power quickly enough, and immolate
+      themselves <i>pro bono publico</i> by the million. And what's the bonum
+      publicum but a mob power? Why can't they submit to a bit of healthy
+      individual authority? The fool would die, without me: just as that fool
+      Jim will die in hysterics one day. Why does he last so long!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tanny's the same. She does nothing really but resist me: my authority, or
+      my influence, or just ME. At the bottom of her heart she just blindly and
+      persistently opposes me. God knows what it is she opposes: just me myself.
+      She thinks I want her to submit to me. So I do, in a measure natural to
+      our two selves. Somewhere, she ought to submit to me. But they all prefer
+      to kick against the pricks. Not that THEY get many pricks. I get them.
+      Damn them all, why don't I leave them alone? They only grin and feel
+      triumphant when they've insulted one and punched one in the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This Aaron will do just the same. I like him, and he ought to like me.
+      And he'll be another Jim: he WILL like me, if he can knock the wind out of
+      me. A lot of little Stavrogins coming up to whisper affectionately, and
+      biting one's ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But anyhow I can soon see the last of this chap: and him the last of all
+      the rest. I'll be damned for ever if I see their Jims and Roberts and
+      Julias and Scotts any more. Let them dance round their insipid hell-broth.
+      Thin tack it is.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a whole world besides this little gang of Europeans. Except, dear
+      God, that they've exterminated all the peoples worth knowing. I can't do
+      with folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs and orientals
+      altogether. Only vermin teem by the billion. Higher types breed slower. I
+      would have loved the Aztecs and the Red Indians. I KNOW they hold the
+      element in life which I am looking for&mdash;they had living pride. Not
+      like the flea-bitten Asiatics&mdash;even niggers are better than Asiatics,
+      though they are wallowers&mdash;the American races&mdash;and the South Sea
+      Islanders&mdash;the Marquesans, the Maori blood. That was the true blood.
+      It wasn't frightened. All the rest are craven&mdash;Europeans, Asiatics,
+      Africans&mdash;everyone at his own individual quick craven and cringing:
+      only conceited in the mass, the mob. How I hate them: the mass-bullies,
+      the individual Judases.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, if one will be a Jesus he must expect his Judas. That's why Abraham
+      Lincoln gets shot. A Jesus makes a Judas inevitable. A man should remain
+      himself, not try to spread himself over humanity. He should pivot himself
+      on his own pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose really I ought to have packed this Aaron off to the hospital.
+      Instead of which here am I rubbing him with oil to rub the life into him.
+      And I KNOW he'll bite me, like a warmed snake, the moment he recovers. And
+      Tanny will say 'Quite right, too,' I shouldn't have been so intimate. No,
+      I should have left it to mechanical doctors and nurses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I should. Everything to its own. And Aaron belongs to this little
+      system, and Jim is waiting to be psychoanalysed, and Tanny is waiting for
+      her own glorification.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Aaron. Last time I break my bread for anybody, this is. So get
+      better, my flautist, so that I can go away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was easy for the Red Indians and the Others to take their hook into
+      death. They might have stayed a bit longer to help one to defy the white
+      masses.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll make some tea&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly rose softly and went across to the fire. He had to cross a landing
+      to a sort of little lavatory, with a sink and a tap, for water. The clerks
+      peeped out at him from an adjoining office and nodded. He nodded, and
+      disappeared from their sight as quickly as possible, with his kettle. His
+      dark eyes were quick, his dark hair was untidy, there was something silent
+      and withheld about him. People could never approach him quite ordinarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He put on the kettle, and quietly set cups and plates on a tray. The room
+      was clean and cosy and pleasant. He did the cleaning himself, and was as
+      efficient and inobtrusive a housewife as any woman. While the kettle
+      boiled, he sat darning the socks which he had taken off Aaron's feet when
+      the flautist arrived, and which he had washed. He preferred that no
+      outsider should see him doing these things. Yet he preferred also to do
+      them himself, so that he should be independent of outside aid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face was dark and hollow, he seemed frail, sitting there in the London
+      afternoon darning the black woollen socks. His full brow was knitted
+      slightly, there was a tension. At the same time, there was an indomitable
+      stillness about him, as it were in the atmosphere about him. His hands,
+      though small, were not very thin. He bit off the wool as he finished his
+      darn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he was making the tea he saw Aaron rouse up in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've been to sleep. I feel better,&rdquo; said the patient, turning round to
+      look what the other man was doing. And the sight of the water steaming in
+      a jet from the teapot seemed attractive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;You've slept for a good two hours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe I have,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like a little tea?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;and a bit of toast.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're not supposed to have solid food. Let me take your temperature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The temperature was down to a hundred, and Lilly, in spite of the doctor,
+      gave Aaron a piece of toast with his tea, enjoining him not to mention it
+      to the nurse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the evening the two men talked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do everything for yourself, then?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I prefer it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You like living all alone?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know about that. I never have lived alone. Tanny and I have been
+      very much alone in various countries: but that's two, not one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You miss her then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, of course. I missed her horribly in the cottage, when she'd first
+      gone. I felt my heart was broken. But here, where we've never been
+      together, I don't notice it so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She'll come back,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, she'll come back. But I'd rather meet her abroad than here&mdash;and
+      get on a different footing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know. There's something with marriage altogether, I think. <i>Egoisme
+      a deux</i>&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>Egoisme a deux</i>? Two people, one egoism. Marriage is a
+      self-conscious egoistic state, it seems to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got no children?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Tanny wants children badly. I don't. I'm thankful we have none.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't quite say. I think of them as a burden. Besides, there ARE such
+      millions and billions of children in the world. And we know well enough
+      what sort of millions and billions of people they'll grow up into. I don't
+      want to add my quota to the mass&mdash;it's against my instinct&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&rdquo; laughed Aaron, with a curt acquiescence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tanny's furious. But then, when a woman has got children, she thinks the
+      world wags only for them and her. Nothing else. The whole world wags for
+      the sake of the children&mdash;and their sacred mother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, that's DAMNED true,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And myself, I'm sick of the children stunt. Children are all right, so
+      long as you just take them for what they are: young immature things like
+      kittens and half-grown dogs, nuisances, sometimes very charming. But I'll
+      be hanged if I can see anything high and holy about children. I should be
+      sorry, too, it would be so bad for the children. Young brats, tiresome and
+      amusing in turns.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When they don't give themselves airs,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, indeed. Which they do half the time. Sacred children, and sacred
+      motherhood, I'm absolutely fed stiff by it. That's why I'm thankful I have
+      no children. Tanny can't come it over me there.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a fact. When a woman's got her children, by God, she's a bitch in
+      the manger. You can starve while she sits on the hay. It's useful to keep
+      her pups warm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you know,&rdquo; Aaron turned excitedly in the bed, &ldquo;they look on a man as
+      if he was nothing but an instrument to get and rear children. If you have
+      anything to do with a woman, she thinks it's because you want to get
+      children by her. And I'm damned if it is. I want my own pleasure, or
+      nothing: and children be damned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, women&mdash;THEY must be loved, at any price!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;And if
+      you just don't want to love them&mdash;and tell them so&mdash;what a
+      crime.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A crime!&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;They make a criminal of you. Them and their
+      children be cursed. Is my life given me for nothing but to get children,
+      and work to bring them up? See them all in hell first. They'd better die
+      while they're children, if childhood's all that important.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I quite agree,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;If childhood is more important than manhood,
+      then why live to be a man at all? Why not remain an infant?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be damned and blasted to women and all their importances,&rdquo; cried Aaron.
+      &ldquo;They want to get you under, and children is their chief weapon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Men have got to stand up to the fact that manhood is more than childhood&mdash;and
+      then force women to admit it,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;But the rotten whiners,
+      they're all grovelling before a baby's napkin and a woman's petticoat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a fact,&rdquo; said Aaron. But he glanced at Lilly oddly, as if
+      suspiciously. And Lilly caught the look. But he continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if they think you try to stand on your legs and walk with the feet of
+      manhood, why, there isn't a blooming father and lover among them but will
+      do his best to get you down and suffocate you&mdash;either with a baby's
+      napkin or a woman's petticoat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly's lips were curling; he was dark and bitter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, it is like that,&rdquo; said Aaron, rather subduedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man's spirit has gone out of the world. Men can't move an inch unless
+      they can grovel humbly at the end of the journey.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron, watching with keen, half-amused eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's why marriage wants readjusting&mdash;or extending&mdash;to get men
+      on to their own legs once more, and to give them the adventure again. But
+      men won't stick together and fight for it. Because once a woman has
+      climbed up with her children, she'll find plenty of grovellers ready to
+      support her and suffocate any defiant spirit. And women will sacrifice
+      eleven men, fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers, for one baby&mdash;or
+      for her own female self-conceit&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will that,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And can you find two men to stick together, without feeling criminal, and
+      without cringing, and without betraying one another? You can't. One is
+      sure to go fawning round some female, then they both enjoy giving each
+      other away, and doing a new grovel before a woman again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After which Lilly was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER X. THE WAR AGAIN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One is a fool,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to get
+      a move on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting before
+      the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent, somewhat
+      chastened in appearance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; he said rather sourly. &ldquo;A move back to Guilford Street.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I meant to tell you,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I was reading an old Baden
+      history. They made a law in 1528&mdash;not a law, but a regulation&mdash;that:
+      if a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said
+      wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that
+      would please you. Does it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron briefly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate,&rdquo; grinned
+      Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no. You might quite like them here.&rdquo; But Lilly saw the white frown of
+      determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wouldn't you?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. And it was obvious he objected to the topic. &ldquo;What are you
+      going to do about your move on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I'm going to sail away next week&mdash;or steam dirtily
+      away on a tramp called the <i>Maud Allen Wing</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where to?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malta.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;London Dock. I fixed up my passage this morning for ten pounds. I am
+      cook's assistant, signed on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at him with a little admiration.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can take a sudden jump, can't you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The difficulty is to refrain from jumping: overboard or anywhere.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron smoked his pipe slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what good will Malta do you?&rdquo; he asked, envious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Heaven knows. I shall cross to Syracuse, and move up Italy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sounds as if you were a millionaire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got thirty-five pounds in all the world. But something will come
+      along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got more than that,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good for you,&rdquo; replied Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and went to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and a basket of
+      potatoes. He sat down again, paring the potatoes. His busy activity
+      annoyed Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what's the good of going to Malta? Shall YOU be any different in
+      yourself, in another place? You'll be the same there as you are here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How am I here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, you're all the time grinding yourself against something inside you.
+      You're never free. You're never content. You never stop chafing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly dipped his potato into the water, and cut out the eyes carefully.
+      Then he cut it in two, and dropped it in the clean water of the second
+      bowl. He had not expected this criticism.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I don't,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what's the use of going somewhere else? You won't change yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I may in the end,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll be yourself, whether it's Malta or London,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's a doom for me,&rdquo; laughed Lilly. The water on the fire was boiling.
+      He rose and threw in salt, then dropped in the potatoes with little plops.
+      &ldquo;There there are lots of mes. I'm not only just one proposition. A new
+      place brings out a new thing in a man. Otherwise you'd have stayed in your
+      old place with your family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The man in the middle of you doesn't change,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you find it so?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay. Every time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what's to be done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing, as far as I can see. You get as much amusement out of life as
+      possible, and there's the end of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then, I'll get the amusement.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, all right then,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But there isn't anything wonderful
+      about it. You talk as if you were doing something special. You aren't.
+      You're no more than a man who drops into a pub for a drink, to liven
+      himself up a bit. Only you give it a lot of names, and make out as if you
+      were looking for the philosopher's stone, or something like that. When
+      you're only killing time like the rest of folks, before time kills you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly did not answer. It was not yet seven o'clock, but the sky was dark.
+      Aaron sat in the firelight. Even the saucepan on the fire was silent.
+      Darkness, silence, the firelight in the upper room, and the two men
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It isn't quite true,&rdquo; said Lilly, leaning on the mantelpiece and staring
+      down into the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where isn't it? You talk, and you make a man believe you've got something
+      he hasn't got? But where is it, when it comes to? What have you got, more
+      than me or Jim Bricknell! Only a bigger choice of words, it seems to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was motionless and inscrutable like a shadow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it, Aaron!&rdquo; he said, in a colorless voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. What else is there to it?&rdquo; Aaron sounded testy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said Lilly at last, &ldquo;there's something. I agree, it's true what you
+      say about me. But there's a bit of something else. There's just a bit of
+      something in me, I think, which ISN'T a man running into a pub for a drink&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The question fell into the twilight like a drop of water falling down a
+      deep shaft into a well.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think a man may come into possession of his own soul at last&mdash;as
+      the Buddhists teach&mdash;but without ceasing to love, or even to hate.
+      One loves, one hates&mdash;but somewhere beyond it all, one understands,
+      and possesses one's soul in patience and in peace&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron slowly, &ldquo;while you only stand and talk about it. But
+      when you've got no chance to talk about it&mdash;and when you've got to
+      live&mdash;you don't possess your soul, neither in patience nor in peace,
+      but any devil that likes possesses you and does what it likes with you,
+      while you fridge yourself and fray yourself out like a worn rag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't care,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;I'm learning to possess my soul in patience
+      and in peace, and I know it. And it isn't a negative Nirvana either. And
+      if Tanny possesses her own soul in patience and peace as well&mdash;and if
+      in this we understand each other at last&mdash;then there we are, together
+      and apart at the same time, and free of each other, and eternally
+      inseparable. I have my Nirvana&mdash;and I have it all to myself. But more
+      than that. It coincides with her Nirvana.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But I don't understand all that word-splitting.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do, though. You learn to be quite alone, and possess your own soul in
+      isolation&mdash;and at the same time, to be perfectly WITH someone else&mdash;that's
+      all I ask.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sort of sit on a mountain top, back to back with somebody else, like a
+      couple of idols.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;because it isn't a case of sitting&mdash;or a case of back to
+      back. It's what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual
+      fulfilment. And it never does away with the fighting and with the sensual
+      passion. It flowers on top of them, and it would never flower save on top
+      of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wouldn't?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The possessing one's own soul&mdash;and the being together with someone
+      else in silence, beyond speech.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you've got them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got a BIT of the real quietness inside me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So has a dog on a mat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I believe, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or a man in a pub.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which I don't believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You prefer the dog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence for a few moments.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I'm the man in the pub,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You aren't the dog on the mat, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you're the idol on the mountain top, worshipping yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You talk to me like a woman, Aaron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you talk to ME, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are the potatoes done?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly turned quickly aside, and switched on the electric light. Everything
+      changed. Aaron sat still before the fire, irritated. Lilly went about
+      preparing the supper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The room was pleasant at night. Two tall, dark screens hid the two beds.
+      In front, the piano was littered with music, the desk littered with
+      papers. Lilly went out on to the landing, and set the chops to grill on
+      the gas stove. Hastily he put a small table on the hearth-rug, spread it
+      with a blue-and-white cloth, set plates and glasses. Aaron did not move.
+      It was not his nature to concern himself with domestic matters&mdash;and
+      Lilly did it best alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men had an almost uncanny understanding of one another&mdash;like
+      brothers. They came from the same district, from the same class. Each
+      might have been born into the other's circumstance. Like brothers, there
+      was a profound hostility between them. But hostility is not antipathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly's skilful housewifery always irritated Aaron: it was so
+      self-sufficient. But most irritating of all was the little man's
+      unconscious assumption of priority. Lilly was actually unaware that he
+      assumed this quiet predominance over others. He mashed the potatoes, he
+      heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked eggs into the milk
+      pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid. But none of this
+      detracted from the silent assurance with which he bore himself, and with
+      which he seemed to domineer over his acquaintance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the meal was ready. Lilly drew the curtains, switched off the
+      central light, put the green-shaded electric lamp on the table, and the
+      two men drew up to the meal. It was good food, well cooked and hot.
+      Certainly Lilly's hands were no longer clean: but it was clean dirt, as he
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat in the low arm-chair at table. So his face was below, in the
+      full light. Lilly sat high on a small chair, so that his face was in the
+      green shadow. Aaron was handsome, and always had that peculiar
+      well-dressed look of his type. Lilly was indifferent to his own
+      appearance, and his collar was a rag.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two men ate in silence. They had been together alone for a
+      fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity. Aaron was well now&mdash;only
+      he suffered from the depression and the sort of fear that follows
+      influenza.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When are you going?&rdquo; he asked irritably, looking up at Lilly, whose face
+      hovered in that green shadow above, and worried him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One day next week. They'll send me a telegram. Not later than Thursday.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're looking forward to going?&rdquo; The question was half bitter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I want to get a new tune out of myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had enough of this?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A flush of anger came on Aaron's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're easily on, and easily off,&rdquo; he said, rather insulting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I?&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;What makes you think so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Circumstances,&rdquo; replied Aaron sourly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To which there was no answer. The host cleared away the plates, and put
+      the pudding on the table. He pushed the bowl to Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I shall never see you again, once you've gone,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's your choice. I will leave you an address.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After this, the pudding was eaten in silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides, Aaron,&rdquo; said Lilly, drinking his last sip of wine, &ldquo;what do you
+      care whether you see me again or not? What do you care whether you see
+      anybody again or not? You want to be amused. And now you're irritated
+      because you think I am not going to amuse you any more: and you don't know
+      who is going to amuse you. I admit it's a dilemma. But it's a hedonistic
+      dilemma of the commonest sort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know hedonistic. And supposing I am as you say&mdash;are you any
+      different?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I'm not very different. But I always persuade myself there's a bit of
+      difference. Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me? She's had her
+      lovers enough. 'There isn't any such thing as love, Lilly,' she said. 'Men
+      are simply afraid to be alone. That is absolutely all there is in it: fear
+      of being alone.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What by that?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You agree?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, on the whole.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I&mdash;on the whole. And then I asked her what about woman. And
+      then she said with a woman it wasn't fear, it was just boredom. A woman is
+      like a violinist: any fiddle, any instrument rather than empty hands and
+      no tune going.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;what I said before: getting as much amusement out of life as
+      possible,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You amuse me&mdash;and I'll amuse you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;just about that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Aaron,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I'm not going to amuse you, or try to
+      amuse you any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Going to try somebody else; and Malta.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malta, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, and somebody else&mdash;in the next five minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;that also.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye and good luck to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes. Aaron sat alone under the
+      zone of light, turning over a score of <i>Pelleas</i>. Though the noise of
+      London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep
+      silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the
+      opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came out
+      a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a plate and
+      a cloth in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aaron's rod is putting forth again,&rdquo; he said, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo; said Aaron, looking up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What rod?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your flute, for the moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's got to put forth my bread and butter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all the buds it's going to have?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What else!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay&mdash;that's for you to show. What flowers do you imagine came out of
+      the rod of Moses's brother?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scarlet enough, I'll bet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music. Lilly finished the wiping of
+      the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all one to you, then,&rdquo; said Aaron suddenly, &ldquo;whether we ever see one
+      another again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit,&rdquo; said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles. &ldquo;I very much wish
+      there might be something that held us together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then if you wish it, why isn't there?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the
+      joints.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay&mdash;I might. And it would be all the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, we shall run across one another again some time,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;More than that: I'll write you an address that will
+      always find me. And when you write I will answer you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address. Aaron folded it and put
+      it into his waistcoat pocket. It was an Italian address.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how can I live in Italy?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;You can shift about. I'm tied to
+      a job.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;with your budding rod, your flute&mdash;and your charm&mdash;you
+      can always do as you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your flute and your charm.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What charm?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just your own. Don't pretend you don't know you've got it. I don't really
+      like charm myself; too much of a trick about it. But whether or not,
+      you've got it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's news to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fact, it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! Somebody will always take a fancy to you. And you can live on that,
+      as well as on anything else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you always speak so despisingly?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why shouldn't I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you any right to despise another man?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did it go by rights?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You answer me like a woman, Aaron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again there was a space of silence. And again it was Aaron who at last
+      broke it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're in different positions, you and me,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can live by your writing&mdash;but I've got to have a job.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that all?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay. And plenty. You've got the advantage of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;But why? I was a dirty-nosed little boy when you
+      were a clean-nosed little boy. And I always had more patches on my
+      breeches than you: neat patches, too, my poor mother! So what's the good
+      of talking about advantages? You had the start. And at this very moment
+      you could buy me up, lock, stock, and barrel. So don't feel hard done by.
+      It's a lie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've got your freedom.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I make it and I take it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Circumstances make it for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't do a man justice,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does a man care?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He might.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then he's no man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks again, old fellow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Welcome,&rdquo; said Lilly, grimacing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Aaron looked at him, baffled, almost with hatred. Lilly grimaced at
+      the blank wall opposite, and seemed to ruminate. Then he went back to his
+      book. And no sooner had he forgotten Aaron, reading the fantasies of a
+      certain Leo Frobenius, than Aaron must stride in again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't say there isn't a difference between your position and mine,&rdquo;
+       he said pertinently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly looked darkly over his spectacles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, by God,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I should be in a poor way otherwise.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can't say you haven't the advantage&mdash;your JOB gives you the
+      advantage.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right. Then leave it out with my job, and leave me alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's your way of dodging it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear Aaron, I agree with you perfectly. There is no difference between
+      us, save the fictitious advantage given to me by my job. Save for my job&mdash;which
+      is to write lies&mdash;Aaron and I are two identical little men in one and
+      the same little boat. Shall we leave it at that, now?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;That's about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us shake hands on it&mdash;and go to bed, my dear chap. You are just
+      recovering from influenza, and look paler than I like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean you want to be rid of me,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do mean that,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And after a few minutes more staring at the score of <i>Pelleas</i>, he
+      rose, put the score away on the piano, laid his flute beside it, and
+      retired behind the screen. In silence, the strange dim noise of London
+      sounding from below, Lilly read on about the Kabyles. His soul had the
+      faculty of divesting itself of the moment, and seeking further, deeper
+      interests. These old Africans! And Atlantis! Strange, strange wisdom of
+      the Kabyles! Old, old dark Africa, and the world before the flood! How
+      jealous Aaron seemed! The child of a jealous God. A jealous God! Could any
+      race be anything but despicable, with such an antecedent?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But no, persistent as a jealous God himself, Aaron reappeared in his
+      pyjamas, and seated himself in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is the difference then between you and me, Lilly?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't we shaken hands on it&mdash;a difference of jobs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't believe that, though, do you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, now I reckon you're trespassing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why am I? I know you don't believe it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do I believe then?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You believe you know something better than me&mdash;and that you are
+      something better than me. Don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do YOU believe it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I AM something better than you, and that I KNOW something better?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, because I don't see it,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then if you don't see it, it isn't there. So go to bed and sleep the
+      sleep of the just and the convalescent. I am not to be badgered any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I badgering you?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed you are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I'm in the wrong again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Once more, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a God-Almighty in your way, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long as I'm not in anybody else's way&mdash;Anyhow, you'd be much
+      better sleeping the sleep of the just. And I'm going out for a minute or
+      two. Don't catch cold there with nothing on&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want to catch the post,&rdquo; he added, rising.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked up at him quickly. But almost before there was time to speak,
+      Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters, and gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a rainy night. Lilly turned down King Street to walk to Charing
+      Cross. He liked being out of doors. He liked to post his letters at
+      Charing Cross post office. He did not want to talk to Aaron any more. He
+      was glad to be alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing
+      blackly towards the sea. It had an endless fascination for him: never
+      failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty. He liked the night,
+      the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic. He enjoyed the sense of
+      friction he got from the streaming of people who meant nothing to him. It
+      was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting cattle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi standing
+      outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping and hallooing.
+      He hurried forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a man called Herbertson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, why, there you are!&rdquo; exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near. &ldquo;Can I
+      come up and have a chat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got that man who's had flu. I should think he is gone to bed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; The disappointment was plain. &ldquo;Well, look here I'll just come up for
+      a couple of minutes.&rdquo; He laid his hand on Lilly's arm. &ldquo;I heard you were
+      going away. Where are you going?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malta.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malta! Oh, I know Malta very well. Well now, it'll be all right if I come
+      up for a minute? I'm not going to see much more of you, apparently.&rdquo; He
+      turned quickly to the taxi. &ldquo;What is it on the clock?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs. Aaron was in bed, but he
+      called as Lilly entered the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo!&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Not asleep? Captain Herbertson has come in for a
+      minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hope I shan't disturb you,&rdquo; said Captain Herbertson, laying down his
+      stick and gloves, and his cap. He was in uniform. He was one of the few
+      surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty-five, good-looking,
+      getting rather stout. He settled himself in the chair where Aaron had sat,
+      hitching up his trousers. The gold identity plate, with its gold chain,
+      fell conspicuously over his wrist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Been to 'Rosemary,'&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Rotten play, you know&mdash;but passes the
+      time awfully well. Oh, I quite enjoyed it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly offered him Sauterne&mdash;the only thing in the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes! How awfully nice! Yes, thanks, I shall love it. Can I have it
+      with soda? Thanks! Do you know, I think that's the very best drink in the
+      tropics: sweet white wine, with soda? Yes&mdash;well!&mdash; Well&mdash;now,
+      why are you going away?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For a change,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all over.
+      As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off. Malta! Yes! I've been in
+      Malta several times. I think Valletta is quite enjoyable, particularly in
+      winter, with the opera. Oh&mdash;er&mdash;how's your wife? All right? Yes!&mdash;glad
+      to see her people again. Bound to be&mdash; Oh, by the way, I met Jim
+      Bricknell. Sends you a message hoping you'll go down and stay&mdash;down
+      at Captain Bingham's place in Surrey, you know. Awfully queer lot down
+      there. Not my sort, no. You won't go down? No, I shouldn't. Not the right
+      sort of people.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic. He had been through the very
+      front hell of the war&mdash;and like every man who had, he had the war at
+      the back of his mind, like an obsession. But in the meantime, he
+      skirmished.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea-parties to
+      the blind. Awful affair. But the children are awfully nice children.
+      Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice. Prince Henry smart boy, too&mdash;oh,
+      a smart boy. Queen Mary poured the tea, and I handed round bread and
+      butter. She told me I made a very good waiter. I said, Thank you, Madam.
+      But I like the children. Very different from the Battenbergs. Oh!&mdash;&rdquo;
+       he wrinkled his nose. &ldquo;I can't stand the Battenbergs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mount Battens,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! Awful mistake, changing the royal name. They were Guelfs, why not
+      remain it? Why, I'll tell you what Battenberg did. He was in the Guards,
+      too&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace and
+      St. James.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria. Man named Joyce, something or
+      other, often used to dine at the Palace. And he was an awfully good
+      imitator&mdash;really clever, you know. Used to imitate the Queen. 'Mr.
+      Joyce,' she said, 'I hear your imitation is very amusing. Will you do it
+      for us now, and let us see what it is like?' 'Oh, no, Madam! I'm afraid I
+      couldn't do it now. I'm afraid I'm not in the humour.' But she would have
+      him do it. And it was really awfully funny. He had to do it. You know what
+      he did. He used to take a table-napkin, and put it on with one corner over
+      his forehead, and the rest hanging down behind, like her veil thing. And
+      then he sent for the kettle-lid. He always had the kettle-lid, for that
+      little crown of hers. And then he impersonated her. But he was awfully
+      good&mdash;so clever. 'Mr. Joyce,' she said. 'We are not amused. Please
+      leave the room.' Yes, that is exactly what she said: 'WE are not amused&mdash;please
+      leave the room.' I like the WE, don't you? And he a man of sixty or so.
+      However, he left the room and for a fortnight or so he wasn't invited&mdash;Wasn't
+      she wonderful&mdash;Queen Victoria?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so, by light transitions, to the Prince of Wales at the front, and
+      thus into the trenches. And then Herbertson was on the subject he was
+      obsessed by. He had come, unconsciously, for this and this only, to talk
+      war to Lilly: or at Lilly. For the latter listened and watched, and said
+      nothing. As a man at night helplessly takes a taxi to find some woman,
+      some prostitute, Herbertson had almost unthinkingly got into a taxi and
+      come battering at the door in Covent Garden, only to talk war to Lilly,
+      whom he knew very little. But it was a driving instinct&mdash;to come and
+      get it off his chest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on and on he talked, over his wine and soda. He was not conceited&mdash;he
+      was not showing off&mdash;far from it. It was the same thing here in this
+      officer as it was with the privates, and the same with this Englishman as
+      with a Frenchman or a German or an Italian. Lilly had sat in a cowshed
+      listening to a youth in the north country: he had sat on the corn-straw
+      that the oxen had been treading out, in Calabria, under the moon: he had
+      sat in a farm-kitchen with a German prisoner: and every time it was the
+      same thing, the same hot, blind, anguished voice of a man who has seen too
+      much, experienced too much, and doesn't know where to turn. None of the
+      glamour of returned heroes, none of the romance of war: only a hot, blind,
+      mesmerised voice, going on and on, mesmerised by a vision that the soul
+      cannot bear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In this officer, of course, there was a lightness and an appearance of
+      bright diffidence and humour. But underneath it all was the same as in the
+      common men of all the combatant nations: the hot, seared burn of
+      unbearable experience, which did not heal nor cool, and whose irritation
+      was not to be relieved. The experience gradually cooled on top: but only
+      with a surface crust. The soul did not heal, did not recover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I used to be awfully frightened,&rdquo; laughed Herbertson. &ldquo;Now you say,
+      Lilly, you'd never have stood it. But you would. You're nervous&mdash;and
+      it was just the nervous ones that did stand it. When nearly all our
+      officers were gone, we had a man come out&mdash;a man called Margeritson,
+      from India&mdash;big merchant people out there. They all said he was no
+      good&mdash;not a bit of good&mdash;nervous chap. No good at all. But when
+      you had to get out of the trench and go for the Germans he was perfect&mdash;perfect&mdash;It
+      all came to him then, at the crisis, and he was perfect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Some things frighten one man, and some another. Now shells would never
+      frighten me. But I couldn't stand bombs. You could tell the difference
+      between our machines and the Germans. Ours was a steady noise&mdash;drrrrrrrr!&mdash;but
+      their's was heavy, drrrrRURUrrrrRURU!&mdash; My word, that got on my
+      nerves....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No I was never hit. The nearest thing was when I was knocked down by an
+      exploding shell&mdash;several times that&mdash;you know. When you shout
+      like mad for the men to come and dig you out, under all the earth. And my
+      word, you do feel frightened then.&rdquo; Herbertson laughed with a twinkling
+      motion to Lilly. But between his brows there was a tension like madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And a funny thing you know&mdash;how you don't notice things. In&mdash;let
+      me see&mdash;1916, the German guns were a lot better than ours. Ours were
+      old, and when they're old you can't tell where they'll hit: whether
+      they'll go beyond the mark, or whether they'll fall short. Well, this day
+      our guns were firing short, and killing our own men. We'd had the order to
+      charge, and were running forward, and I suddenly felt hot water spurting
+      on my neck&mdash;&rdquo; He put his hand to the back of his neck and glanced
+      round apprehensively. &ldquo;It was a chap called Innes&mdash;Oh, an awfully
+      decent sort&mdash;people were in the Argentine. He'd been calling out to
+      me as we were running, and I was just answering. When I felt this hot
+      water on my neck and saw him running past me with no head&mdash;he'd got
+      no head, and he went running past me. I don't know how far, but a long
+      way.... Blood, you know&mdash;Yes&mdash;well&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I hated Chelsea&mdash;I loathed Chelsea&mdash;Chelsea was purgatory
+      to me. I had a corporal called Wallace&mdash;he was a fine chap&mdash;oh,
+      he was a fine chap&mdash;six foot two&mdash;and about twenty-four years
+      old. He was my stand-back. Oh, I hated Chelsea, and parades, and drills.
+      You know, when it's drill, and you're giving orders, you forget what order
+      you've just given&mdash;in front of the Palace there the crowd don't
+      notice&mdash;but it's AWFUL for you. And you know you daren't look round
+      to see what the men are doing. But Wallace was splendid. He was just
+      behind me, and I'd hear him, quite quiet you know, 'It's right wheel,
+      sir.' Always perfect, always perfect&mdash;yes&mdash;well....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know you don't get killed if you don't think you will. Now I never
+      thought I should get killed. And I never knew a man get killed if he
+      hadn't been thinking he would. I said to Wallace I'd rather be out here,
+      at the front, than at Chelsea. I hated Chelsea&mdash;I can't tell you how
+      much. 'Oh no, sir!' he said. 'I'd rather be at Chelsea than here. I'd
+      rather be at Chelsea. There isn't hell like this at Chelsea.' We'd had
+      orders that we were to go back to the real camp the next day. 'Never mind,
+      Wallace,' I said. 'We shall be out of this hell-on-earth tomorrow.' And he
+      took my hand. We weren't much for showing feeling or anything in the
+      guards. But he took my hand. And we climbed out to charge&mdash;Poor
+      fellow, he was killed&mdash;&rdquo; Herbertson dropped his head, and for some
+      moments seemed to go unconscious, as if struck. Then he lifted his face,
+      and went on in the same animated chatty fashion: &ldquo;You see, he had a
+      presentiment. I'm sure he had a presentiment. None of the men got killed
+      unless they had a presentiment&mdash;like that, you know....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Herbertson nodded keenly at Lilly, with his sharp, twinkling, yet obsessed
+      eyes. Lilly wondered why he made the presentiment responsible for the
+      death&mdash;which he obviously did&mdash;and not vice versa. Herbertson
+      implied every time, that you'd never get killed if you could keep yourself
+      from having a presentiment. Perhaps there was something in it. Perhaps the
+      soul issues its own ticket of death, when it can stand no more. Surely
+      life controls life: and not accident.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a funny thing what shock will do. We had a sergeant and he shouted
+      to me. Both his feet were off&mdash;both his feet, clean at the ankle. I
+      gave him morphia. You know officers aren't allowed to use the needle&mdash;might
+      give the man blood poisoning. You give those tabloids. They say they act
+      in a few minutes, but they DON'T. It's a quarter of an hour. And nothing
+      is more demoralising than when you have a man, wounded, you know, and
+      crying out. Well, this man I gave him the morphia before he got over the
+      stunning, you know. So he didn't feel the pain. Well, they carried him in.
+      I always used to like to look after my men. So I went next morning and I
+      found he hadn't been removed to the Clearing Station. I got hold of the
+      doctor and I said, 'Look here! Why hasn't this man been taken to the
+      Clearing Station?' I used to get excited. But after some years they'd got
+      used to me. 'Don't get excited, Herbertson, the man's dying.' 'But,' I
+      said, 'he's just been talking to me as strong as you are.' And he had&mdash;he'd
+      talk as strong and well as you or me, then go quiet for a bit. I said I
+      gave him the morphia before he came round from the stunning. So he'd felt
+      nothing. But in two hours he was dead. The doctor says that the shock does
+      it like that sometimes. You can do nothing for them. Nothing vital is
+      injured&mdash;and yet the life is broken in them. Nothing can be done&mdash;funny
+      thing&mdash;Must be something in the brain&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's obviously not the brain,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;It's deeper than the brain.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Deeper,&rdquo; said Herbertson, nodding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Funny thing where life is. We had a lieutenant. You know we all buried
+      our own dead. Well, he looked as if he was asleep. Most of the chaps
+      looked like that.&rdquo; Herbertson closed his eyes and laid his face aside,
+      like a man asleep and dead peacefully. &ldquo;You very rarely see a man dead
+      with any other look on his face&mdash;you know the other look.&mdash;&rdquo; And
+      he clenched his teeth with a sudden, momentaneous, ghastly distortion.&mdash;&ldquo;Well,
+      you'd never have known this chap was dead. He had a wound here&mdash;in
+      the back of the head&mdash;and a bit of blood on his hand&mdash;and
+      nothing else, nothing. Well, I said we'd give him a decent burial. He lay
+      there waiting&mdash;and they'd wrapped him in a filthy blanket&mdash;you
+      know. Well, I said he should have a proper blanket. He'd been dead lying
+      there a day and a half you know. So I went and got a blanket, a beautiful
+      blanket, out of his private kit&mdash;his people were Scotch, well-known
+      family&mdash;and I got the pins, you know, ready to pin him up properly,
+      for the Scots Guards to bury him. And I thought he'd be stiff, you see.
+      But when I took him by the arms, to lift him on, he sat up. It gave me an
+      awful shock. 'Why he's alive!' I said. But they said he was dead. I
+      couldn't believe it. It gave me an awful shock. He was as flexible as you
+      or me, and looked as if he was asleep. You couldn't believe he was dead.
+      But we pinned him up in his blanket. It was an awful shock to me. I
+      couldn't believe a man could be like that after he'd been dead two
+      days....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Germans were wonderful with the machine guns&mdash;it's a wicked
+      thing, a machine gun. But they couldn't touch us with the bayonet. Every
+      time the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully
+      good. You know when you thrust at the Germans&mdash;so&mdash;if you miss
+      him, you bring your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt
+      comes up and hits up under the jaw. It's one movement, following on with
+      the stab, you see, if you miss him. It was too quick for them&mdash;But
+      bayonet charge was worst, you know. Because your man cries out when you
+      catch him, when you get him, you know. That's what does you....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, oh no, this was no war like other wars. All the machinery of it. No,
+      you couldn't stand it, but for the men. The men are wonderful, you know.
+      They'll be wiped out.... No, it's your men who keep you going, if you're
+      an officer.... But there'll never be another war like this. Because the
+      Germans are the only people who could make a war like this&mdash;and I
+      don't think they'll ever do it again, do you?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, they were wonderful, the Germans. They were amazing. It was
+      incredible, what they invented and did. We had to learn from them, in the
+      first two years. But they were too methodical. That's why they lost the
+      war. They were too methodical. They'd fire their guns every ten minutes&mdash;regular.
+      Think of it. Of course we knew when to run, and when to lie down. You got
+      so that you knew almost exactly what they'd do&mdash;if you'd been out
+      long enough. And then you could time what you wanted to do yourselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last. They sent up
+      enough light at night from their trenches&mdash;you know, those things
+      that burst in the air like electric light&mdash;we had none of that to do&mdash;they
+      did it all for us&mdash;lit up everything. They were more nervous than we
+      were....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was nearly two o'clock when Herbertson left. Lilly, depressed, remained
+      before the fire. Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to the fire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It gives me the bellyache, that damned war,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So it does me,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;All unreal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Real enough for those that had to go through it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, least of all for them,&rdquo; said Lilly sullenly. &ldquo;Not as real as a bad
+      dream. Why the hell don't they wake up and realise it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a fact,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;They're hypnotised by it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And they want to hypnotise me. And I won't be hypnotised. The war was a
+      lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody busts it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was a fact&mdash;you can't bust that. You can't bust the fact that it
+      happened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes you can. It never happened. It never happened to me. No more than my
+      dreams happen. My dreams don't happen: they only seem.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But the war did happen, right enough,&rdquo; smiled Aaron palely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, it didn't. Not to me or to any man, in his own self. It took place in
+      the automatic sphere, like dreams do. But the ACTUAL MAN in every man was
+      just absent&mdash;asleep&mdash;or drugged&mdash;inert&mdash;dream-logged.
+      That's it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You tell 'em so,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do. But it's no good. Because they won't wake up now even&mdash;perhaps
+      never. They'll all kill themselves in their sleep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They wouldn't be any better if they did wake up and be themselves&mdash;that
+      is, supposing they are asleep, which I can't see. They are what they are&mdash;and
+      they're all alike&mdash;and never very different from what they are now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?&rdquo; he asked slowly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't even want to believe in them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But in yourself?&rdquo; Lilly was almost wistful&mdash;and Aaron uneasy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know that I've any more right to believe in myself than in them,&rdquo;
+       he replied. Lilly watched and pondered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That's not true&mdash;I KNEW the war was false: humanly
+      quite false. I always knew it was false. The Germans were false, we were
+      false, everybody was false.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And not you?&rdquo; asked Aaron shrewishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war and
+      all that horrible movement was false for me. And so I wasn't going to be
+      dragged in. The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what they
+      liked: I wouldn't have joined the WAR. I would like to kill my enemy. But
+      become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the war, that I
+      never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven mothers violated.
+      But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more than one enemy. But not
+      as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism. That never: no, never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement. Aaron made a fine nose. It seemed
+      to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of a hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;you've got men and nations, and you've got the machines
+      of war&mdash;so how are you going to get out of it? League of Nations?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Damn all leagues. Damn all masses and groups, anyhow. All I want is to
+      get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm. The swarm
+      to me is nightmare and nullity&mdash;horrible helpless writhing in a
+      dream. I want to get myself awake, out of it all&mdash;all that
+      mass-consciousness, all that mass-activity&mdash;it's the most horrible
+      nightmare to me. No man is awake and himself. No man who was awake and in
+      possession of himself would use poison gases: no man. His own awake self
+      would scorn such a thing. It's only when the ghastly mob-sleep, the dream
+      helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he becomes completely
+      base and obscene.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha&mdash;well,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;It's the wide-awake ones that invent the
+      poison gas, and use it. Where should we be without it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean that, Aaron?&rdquo; he said, looking into Aaron's face with a hard,
+      inflexible look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's how it looks on the face of it, isn't it?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look here, my friend, it's too late for you to be talking to me about the
+      face of things. If that's how you feel, put your things on and follow
+      Herbertson. Yes&mdash;go out of my room. I don't put up with the face of
+      things here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll do tomorrow morning, won't it?&rdquo; he asked rather mocking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Lilly coldly. &ldquo;But please go tomorrow morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'll go all right,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Everybody's got to agree with you&mdash;that's
+      your price.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lilly did not answer. Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile under
+      his nose. Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of affairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once more
+      to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things. No, and I
+      don't have friends who don't fundamentally agree with me. A friend means
+      one who is at one with me in matters of life and death. And if you're at
+      one with all the rest, then you're THEIR friend, not mine. So be their
+      friend. And please leave me in the morning. You owe me nothing, you have
+      nothing more to do with me. I have had enough of these friendships where I
+      pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than ever
+      they won. A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual. Your heroic
+      officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home. Bah, your
+      Herbertson! The only justification for war is what we learn from it. And
+      what have they learnt?&mdash;Why did so many of them have presentiments,
+      as he called it? Because they could feel inside them, there was nothing to
+      come after. There was no life-courage: only death-courage. Nothing beyond
+      this hell&mdash;only death or love&mdash;languishing&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What could they have seen, anyhow?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not what you see, actually. It's the kind of spirit you keep inside
+      you: the life spirit. When Wallace had presentiments, Herbertson, being
+      officer, should have said: 'None of that, Wallace. You and I, we've got to
+      live and make life smoke.'&mdash;Instead of which he let Wallace be killed
+      and his own heart be broken. Always the death-choice&mdash; And we won't,
+      we simply will not face the world as we've made it, and our own souls as
+      we find them, and take the responsibility. We'll never get anywhere till
+      we stand up man to man and face EVERYTHING out, and break the old forms,
+      but never let our own pride and courage of life be broken.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed. Aaron turned over to sleep,
+      rather resenting the sound of so many words. What difference did it make,
+      anyhow? In the morning, however, when he saw the other man's pale, closed,
+      rather haughty face, he realised that something <i>had</i> happened. Lilly
+      was courteous and even affable: but with a curious cold space between him
+      and Aaron. Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew that he must leave. There was
+      something in Lilly's bearing which just showed him the door. In some
+      surprise and confusion, and in some anger, not unmingled with humorous
+      irony, he put his things in his bag. He put on his hat and coat. Lilly was
+      seated rather stiffly writing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I suppose we shall meet again.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, sure to,&rdquo; said Lilly, rising from his chair. &ldquo;We are sure to run
+      across one another.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When are you going?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a few days' time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, I'll run in and see you before you go, shall I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and then
+      returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called. He took it rather as
+      a slap in the face. But then he knew quite well that Lilly had made a
+      certain call on his, Aaron's soul: a call which he, Aaron, did not at all
+      intend to obey. If in return the soul-caller chose to shut his street-door
+      in the face of the world-friend&mdash;well, let it be quits. He was not
+      sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly enemy or not. He rather
+      thought he did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XI. MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a group
+      of musical people in a village by the sea. He accepted, and spent a
+      pleasant month. It pleased the young men musically-inclined and bohemian
+      by profession to patronise the flautist, whom they declared marvellous.
+      Bohemians with well-to-do parents, they could already afford to squander a
+      little spasmodic and self-gratifying patronage. And Aaron did not mind
+      being patronised. He had nothing else to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the party broke up early in September. The flautist was detained a few
+      days at a country house, for the amusement of the guests. Then he left for
+      London.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In London he found himself at a loose end. A certain fretful dislike of
+      the patronage of indifferent young men, younger than himself, and a
+      certain distaste for regular work in the orchestra made him look round. He
+      wanted something else. He wanted to disappear again. Qualms and emotions
+      concerning his abandoned family overcame him. The early, delicate autumn
+      affected him. He took a train to the Midlands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again, just after dark, he strolled with his little bag across the
+      field which lay at the end of his garden. It had been mown, and the grass
+      was already growing long. He stood and looked at the line of back windows,
+      lighted once more. He smelled the scents of autumn, phlox and moist old
+      vegetation and corn in sheaf. A nostalgia which was half at least
+      revulsion affected him. The place, the home, at once fascinated and
+      revolted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting in his shed, he scrutinised his garden carefully, in the
+      starlight. There were two rows of beans, rather disshevelled. Near at hand
+      the marrow plants sprawled from their old bed. He could detect the perfume
+      of a few carnations. He wondered who it was had planted the garden, during
+      his long absence. Anyhow, there it was, planted and fruited and waning
+      into autumn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The blind was not drawn. It was eight o'clock. The children were going to
+      bed. Aaron waited in his shed, his bowels stirred with violent but only
+      half-admitted emotions. There was his wife, slim and graceful, holding a
+      little mug to the baby's mouth. And the baby was drinking. She looked
+      lonely. Wild emotions attacked his heart. There was going to be a wild and
+      emotional reconciliation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Was there? It seemed like something fearful and imminent. A passion arose
+      in him, a craving for the violent emotional reconciliation. He waited
+      impatiently for the children to be gone to bed, gnawed with restless
+      desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He heard the clock strike nine, then half-past, from the village behind.
+      The children would be asleep. His wife was sitting sewing some little
+      frock. He went lingering down the garden path, stooping to lift the fallen
+      carnations, to see how they were. There were many flowers, but small. He
+      broke one off, then threw it away. The golden rod was out. Even in the
+      little lawn there were asters, as of old.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His wife started to listen, hearing his step. He was filled with a violent
+      conflict of tenderness, like a sickness. He hesitated, tapping at the
+      door, and entered. His wife started to her feet, at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you come for!&rdquo; was her involuntary ejaculation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he, with the familiar odd jerk of his head towards the garden, asked
+      with a faint smile:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who planted the garden?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And he felt himself dropping into the twang of the vernacular, which he
+      had discarded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lottie only stood and stared at him, objectively. She did not think to
+      answer. He took his hat off, and put it on the dresser. Again the familiar
+      act maddened her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you come for?&rdquo; she cried again, with a voice full of hate. Or
+      perhaps it was fear and doubt and even hope as well. He heard only hate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This time he turned to look at her. The old dagger was drawn in her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she recovered herself, and with trembling hand picked up her sewing
+      again. But she still stood at bay, beyond the table. She said nothing. He,
+      feeling tired, sat down on the chair nearest the door. But he reached for
+      his hat, and kept it on his knee. She, as she stood there unnaturally,
+      went on with her sewing. There was silence for some time. Curious
+      sensations and emotions went through the man's frame seeming to destroy
+      him. They were like electric shocks, which he felt she emitted against
+      him. And an old sickness came in him again. He had forgotten it. It was
+      the sickness of the unrecognised and incomprehensible strain between him
+      and her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a time she put down her sewing, and sat again in her chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know how vilely you've treated me?&rdquo; she said, staring across the
+      space at him. He averted his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he answered, not without irony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why?&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I should like to know why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not answer. The way she rushed in made him go vague.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Justify yourself. Say why you've been so vile to me. Say what you had
+      against me,&rdquo; she demanded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I HAD against her,&rdquo; he mused to himself: and he wondered that she
+      used the past tense. He made no answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accuse me,&rdquo; she insisted. &ldquo;Say what I've done to make you treat me like
+      this. Say it. You must THINK it hard enough.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I don't think it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      This speech, by which he merely meant that he did not trouble to formulate
+      any injuries he had against her, puzzled her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't come pretending you love me, NOW. It's too late,&rdquo; she said with
+      contempt. Yet perhaps also hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You might wait till I start pretending,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This enraged her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You vile creature!&rdquo; she exclaimed. &ldquo;Go! What have you come for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To look at YOU,&rdquo; he said sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a few minutes she began to cry, sobbing violently into her apron.
+      And again his bowels stirred and boiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have I done! What have I done! I don't know what I've done that he
+      should be like this to me,&rdquo; she sobbed, into her apron. It was childish,
+      and perhaps true. At least it was true from the childish part of her
+      nature. He sat gloomy and uneasy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She took the apron from her tear-stained face, and looked at him. It was
+      true, in her moments of roused exposure she was a beautiful woman&mdash;a
+      beautiful woman. At this moment, with her flushed, tear-stained, wilful
+      distress, she was beautiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; she challenged. &ldquo;Tell me! Tell me what I've done. Tell me what
+      you have against me. Tell me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Watching like a lynx, she saw the puzzled, hurt look in his face. Telling
+      isn't so easy&mdash;especially when the trouble goes too deep for
+      conscious comprehension. He couldn't <i>tell</i> what he had against her.
+      And he had not the slightest intention of doing what she would have liked
+      him to do, starting to pile up detailed grievances. He knew the detailed
+      grievances were nothing in themselves.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You CAN'T,&rdquo; she cried vindictively. &ldquo;You CAN'T. You CAN'T find anything
+      real to bring against me, though you'd like to. You'd like to be able to
+      accuse me of something, but you CAN'T, because you know there isn't
+      anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She watched him, watched. And he sat in the chair near the door, without
+      moving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're unnatural, that's what you are,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;You're unnatural.
+      You're not a man. You haven't got a man's feelings. You're nasty, and
+      cold, and unnatural. And you're a coward. You're a coward. You run away
+      from me, without telling me what you've got against me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you've had enough, you go away and you don't care what you do,&rdquo; he
+      said, epigrammatic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Enough of what?&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;What have you had enough of? Of me and your
+      children? It's a nice manly thing to say. Haven't I loved you? Haven't I
+      loved you for twelve years, and worked and slaved for you and tried to
+      keep you right? Heaven knows where you'd have been but for me, evil as you
+      are at the bottom. You're evil, that's what it is&mdash;and weak. You're
+      too weak to love a woman and give her what she wants: too weak. Unmanly
+      and cowardly, he runs away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No wonder,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;It IS no wonder, with a nature like yours: weak and
+      unnatural and evil. It IS no wonder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She became quiet&mdash;and then started to cry again, into her apron.
+      Aaron waited. He felt physically weak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who knows what you've been doing all these months?&rdquo; she wept. &ldquo;Who
+      knows all the vile things you've been doing? And you're the father of my
+      children&mdash;the father of my little girls&mdash;and who knows what vile
+      things he's guilty of, all these months?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shouldn't let my imagination run away with me,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;I've been
+      playing the flute in the orchestra of one of the theatres in London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;It's more than that. Don't think I'm going to believe
+      you. I know you, with your smooth-sounding lies. You're a liar, as you
+      know. And I know you've been doing other things besides play a flute in an
+      orchestra. You!&mdash;as if I don't know you. And then coming crawling
+      back to me with your lies and your pretense. Don't think I'm taken in.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should be sorry,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coming crawling back to me, and expecting to be forgiven,&rdquo; she went on.
+      &ldquo;But no&mdash;I don't forgive&mdash;and I can't forgive&mdash;never&mdash;not
+      as long as I live shall I forgive what you've done to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can wait till you're asked, anyhow,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you can wait,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;And you shall wait.&rdquo; She took up her
+      sewing, and stitched steadily, as if calmly. Anyone glancing in would have
+      imagined a quiet domestic hearth at that moment. He, too, feeling
+      physically weak, remained silent, feeling his soul absent from the scene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again she suddenly burst into tears, weeping bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the children,&rdquo; she sobbed, rocking herself with grief and chagrin.
+      &ldquo;What have I been able to say to the children&mdash;what have I been able
+      to tell them?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What HAVE you told them?&rdquo; he asked coldly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I told them you'd gone away to work,&rdquo; she sobbed, laying her head on her
+      arms on the table. &ldquo;What else could I tell them? I couldn't tell them the
+      vile truth about their father. I couldn't tell THEM how evil you are.&rdquo; She
+      sobbed and moaned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wondered what exactly the vile truth would have been, had she <i>started</i>
+      to tell it. And he began to feel, coldly and cynically, that among all her
+      distress there was a luxuriating in the violent emotions of the scene in
+      hand, and the situation altogether.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then again she became quiet, and picked up her sewing. She stitched
+      quietly, wistfully, for some time. Then she looked up at him&mdash;a long
+      look of reproach, and sombre accusation, and wifely tenderness. He turned
+      his face aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know you've been wrong to me, don't you?&rdquo; she said, half wistfully,
+      half menacing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt her wistfulness and her menace tearing him in his bowels and
+      loins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do know, don't you?&rdquo; she insisted, still with the wistful appeal, and
+      the veiled threat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do, or you would answer,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You've still got enough that's
+      right in you, for you to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She waited. He sat still, as if drawn by hot wires.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then she slipped across to him, put her arms round him, sank on her knees
+      at his side, and sank her face against his thigh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say you know how wrong you are. Say you know how cruel you've been to
+      me,&rdquo; she pleaded. But under her female pleading and appeal he felt the
+      iron of her threat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You DO know it,&rdquo; she murmured, looking up into his face as she crouched
+      by his knee. &ldquo;You DO know it. I can see in your eyes that you know it. And
+      why have you come back to me, if you don't know it! Why have you come back
+      to me? Tell me!&rdquo; Her arms gave him a sharp, compulsory little clutch round
+      the waist. &ldquo;Tell me! Tell me!&rdquo; she murmured, with all her appeal liquid in
+      her throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But him, it half overcame, and at the same time, horrified. He had a
+      certain horror of her. The strange liquid sound of her appeal seemed to
+      him like the swaying of a serpent which mesmerises the fated, fluttering,
+      helpless bird. She clasped her arms round him, she drew him to her, she
+      half roused his passion. At the same time she coldly horrified and
+      repelled him. He had not the faintest feeling, at the moment, of his own
+      wrong. But she wanted to win his own self-betrayal out of him. He could
+      see himself as the fascinated victim, falling to this cajoling, awful
+      woman, the wife of his bosom. But as well, he had a soul outside himself,
+      which looked on the whole scene with cold revulsion, and which was as
+      unchangeable as time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I don't feel wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You DO!&rdquo; she said, giving him a sharp, admonitory clutch. &ldquo;You DO. Only
+      you're silly, and obstinate, babyish and silly and obstinate. An obstinate
+      little boy&mdash;you DO feel wrong. And you ARE wrong. And you've got to
+      say it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But quietly he disengaged himself and got to his feet, his face pale and
+      set, obstinate as she said. He put his hat on, and took his little bag.
+      She watched him curiously, still crouching by his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go,&rdquo; he said, putting his hand on the latch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly she sprang to her feet and clutched him by the shirt-neck, her
+      hand inside his soft collar, half strangling him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You villain,&rdquo; she said, and her face was transfigured with passion as he
+      had never seen it before, horrible. &ldquo;You villain!&rdquo; she said thickly. &ldquo;What
+      have you come here for?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His soul went black as he looked at her. He broke her hand away from his
+      shirt collar, bursting the stud-holes. She recoiled in silence. And in one
+      black, unconscious movement he was gone, down the garden and over the
+      fence and across the country, swallowed in a black unconsciousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She, realising, sank upon the hearth-rug and lay there curled upon
+      herself. She was defeated. But she, too, would never yield. She lay quite
+      motionless for some time. Then she got up, feeling the draught on the
+      floor. She closed the door, and drew down the blind. Then she looked at
+      her wrist, which he had gripped, and which pained her. Then she went to
+      the mirror and looked for a long time at her white, strained, determined
+      face. Come life, come death, she, too would never yield. And she realised
+      now that he would never yield.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She was faint with weariness, and would be glad to get to bed and sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron meanwhile had walked across the country and was looking for a place
+      to rest. He found a cornfield with a half-built stack, and sheaves in
+      stook. Ten to one some tramp would have found the stack. He threw a dozen
+      sheaves together and lay down, looking at the stars in the September sky.
+      He, too, would never yield. The illusion of love was gone for ever. Love
+      was a battle in which each party strove for the mastery of the other's
+      soul. So far, man had yielded the mastery to woman. Now he was fighting
+      for it back again. And too late, for the woman would never yield.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But whether woman yielded or not, he would keep the mastery of his own
+      soul and conscience and actions. He would never yield himself up to her
+      judgment again. He would hold himself forever beyond her jurisdiction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Henceforth, life single, not life double.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked at the sky, and thanked the universe for the blessedness of
+      being alone in the universe. To be alone, to be oneself, not to be driven
+      or violated into something which is not oneself, surely it is better than
+      anything. He thought of Lottie, and knew how much more truly herself she
+      was when she was alone, with no man to distort her. And he was thankful
+      for the division between them. Such scenes as the last were too horrible
+      and unreal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for future unions, too soon to think about it. Let there be clean and
+      pure division first, perfected singleness. That is the only way to final,
+      living unison: through sheer, finished singleness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XII. NOVARA
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Having no job for the autumn, Aaron fidgetted in London. He played at some
+      concerts and some private shows. He was one of an odd quartette, for
+      example, which went to play to Lady Artemis Hooper, when she lay in bed
+      after her famous escapade of falling through the window of her taxi-cab.
+      Aaron had that curious knack, which belongs to some people, of getting
+      into the swim without knowing he was doing it. Lady Artemis thought his
+      flute lovely, and had him again to play for her. Aaron looked at her and
+      she at him. She, as she reclined there in bed in a sort of half-light,
+      well made-up, smoking her cigarettes and talking in a rather raucous
+      voice, making her slightly rasping witty comments to the other men in the
+      room&mdash;of course there were other men, the audience&mdash;was a shock
+      to the flautist. This was the bride of the moment! Curious how raucous her
+      voice sounded out of the cigarette smoke. Yet he liked her&mdash;the
+      reckless note of the modern, social freebooter. In himself was a touch of
+      the same quality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you love playing?&rdquo; she asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said, with that shadow of irony which seemed like a smile on his
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Live for it, so to speak,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I make my living by it,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that's not really how you take it?&rdquo; she said. He eyed her. She
+      watched him over her cigarette. It was a personal moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think about it,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't be so good if you did. You're awfully
+      lucky, you know, to be able to pour yourself down your flute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You think I go down easy?&rdquo; he laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; she replied, flicking her cigarette broadcast. &ldquo;That's the point.
+      What should you say, Jimmy?&rdquo; she turned to one of the men. He screwed his
+      eyeglass nervously and stiffened himself to look at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I shouldn't like to say, off-hand,&rdquo; came the small-voiced,
+      self-conscious answer. And Jimmy bridled himself and glanced at Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you find it a tight squeeze, then?&rdquo; she said, turning to Aaron once
+      more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I can't say that,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;What of me goes down goes down easy
+      enough. It's what doesn't go down.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And how much is that?&rdquo; she asked, eying him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A good bit, maybe,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slops over, so to speak,&rdquo; she retorted sarcastically. &ldquo;And which do you
+      enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the lap of
+      Mother Earth&mdash;of Miss, more probably!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Depends,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left him
+      to get off by himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he found London got on his nerves. He felt it rubbed him the wrong way.
+      He was flattered, of course, by his own success&mdash;and felt at the same
+      time irritated by it. This state of mind was by no means acceptable.
+      Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly, the first place&mdash;or a
+      place among the first. Among the musical people he frequented, he found
+      himself on a callow kind of equality with everybody, even the stars and
+      aristocrats, at one moment, and a backstairs outsider the next. It was all
+      just as the moment demanded. There was a certain excitement in slithering
+      up and down the social scale, one minute chatting in a personal
+      tete-a-tete with the most famous, or notorious, of the society beauties:
+      and the next walking in the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby
+      lodging in Bloomsbury. Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm
+      that lay at the bottom of his soul, and which burned there like an
+      unhealthy bile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore he determined to clear out&mdash;to disappear. He had a letter
+      from Lilly, from Novara. Lilly was drifting about. Aaron wrote to Novara,
+      and asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak of. &ldquo;Come
+      if you want to. Bring your flute. And if you've no money, put on a good
+      suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside the best cafe in any
+      Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get on with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a sporting chance. Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
+      wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
+      Franks'. He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London. But
+      it didn't.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a wet,
+      dark evening. He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody. With some slight
+      dismay he faced the big, crowded station. The stream of people carried him
+      automatically through the barrier, a porter having seized his bag, and
+      volleyed various unintelligible questions at him. Aaron understood not one
+      word. So he just wandered after the blue blouse of the porter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired off
+      more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space of
+      darkness outside the station. Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he nodded
+      and said &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo; But there were no cabs. So once more the blue-bloused
+      porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over his
+      shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and a sort
+      of theatre place.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One carriage stood there in the rain&mdash;yes, and it was free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keb? Yes&mdash;orright&mdash;sir. Whe'to? Where you go? Sir William
+      Franks? Yes, I know. Long way go&mdash;go long way. Sir William Franks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cabman spattered his few words of English. Aaron gave the porter an
+      English shilling. The porter let the coin lie in the middle of his palm,
+      as if it were a live beetle, and darted to the light of the carriage to
+      examine the beast, exclaiming volubly. The cabman, wild with interest,
+      peered down from the box into the palm of the porter, and carried on an
+      impassioned dialogue. Aaron stood with one foot on the step.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What you give&mdash;he? One franc?&rdquo; asked the driver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A shilling,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One sheeling. Yes. I know that. One sheeling English&rdquo;&mdash;and the
+      driver went off into impassioned exclamations in Torinese. The porter,
+      still muttering and holding his hand as if the coin might sting him,
+      filtered away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Orright. He know&mdash;sheeling&mdash;orright. English moneys, eh? Yes,
+      he know. You get up, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And away went Aaron, under the hood of the carriage, clattering down the
+      wide darkness of Novara, over a bridge apparently, past huge rain-wet
+      statues, and through more rainy, half-lit streets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They stopped at last outside a sort of park wall with trees above. The big
+      gates were just beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir William Franks&mdash;there.&rdquo; In a mixture of Italian and English the
+      driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right. Aaron got
+      down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How much?&rdquo; said Aaron to the driver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ten franc,&rdquo; said the fat driver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink ten-shilling
+      note. He waved it in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not good, eh? Not good moneys?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron, rather indignantly. &ldquo;Good English money. Ten shillings.
+      Better than ten francs, a good deal. Better&mdash;better&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good&mdash;you say? Ten sheeling&mdash;&rdquo; The driver muttered and
+      muttered, as if dissatisfied. But as a matter of fact he stowed the note
+      in his waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron
+      curiously, and drove away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished himself
+      somewhere else. However, he rang the bell. There was a huge barking of
+      dogs on the other side. Presently a light switched on, and a woman,
+      followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-opened doorway.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sir William Franks?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Si, signore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate. Huge dogs jumped
+      round. He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the park.
+      The woman fastened the gate&mdash;Aaron saw a door&mdash;and through an
+      uncurtained window a man writing at a desk&mdash;rather like the clerk in
+      an hotel office. He was going with his two bags to the open door, when the
+      woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian. It was evident he
+      must not go on. So he put down the bags. The man stood a few yards away,
+      watchfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what she
+      was saying, but could not. The dogs still barked spasmodically, drops fell
+      from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is Mr. Lilly here? Mr. Lilly?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Signor Lillee. No, Signore&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And off the woman went in Italian. But it was evident Lilly was not at the
+      house. Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had gone to an
+      hotel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He made out that the woman was asking him for his name&mdash;&ldquo;Meester&mdash;?
+      Meester&mdash;?&rdquo; she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sisson. Mr. Sisson,&rdquo; said Aaron, who was becoming impatient. And he found
+      a visiting card to give her. She seemed appeased&mdash;said something
+      about telephone&mdash;and left him standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high trees.
+      Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk reach the
+      telephone. There was a long pause. At length the woman came back and
+      motioned to him to go up&mdash;up the drive which curved and disappeared
+      under the dark trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go up there?&rdquo; said Aaron, pointing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was evidently the intention. So he picked up his bags and strode
+      forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive in
+      the darkness. It was a steep incline. He saw trees and the grass slopes.
+      There was a tang of snow in the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly, up ahead, a brilliant light switched on. He continued uphill
+      through the trees along the path, towards it, and at length, emerged at
+      the foot of a great flight of steps, above which was a wide glass
+      entrance, and an Italian manservant in white gloves hovering as if on the
+      brink.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron emerged from the drive and climbed the steps. The manservant came
+      down two steps and took the little bag. Then he ushered Aaron and the big
+      bag into a large, pillared hall, with thick Turkish carpet on the floor,
+      and handsome appointments. It was spacious, comfortable and warm; but
+      somewhat pretentious; rather like the imposing hall into which the heroine
+      suddenly enters on the film.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron dropped his heavy bag, with relief, and stood there, hat in hand, in
+      his damp overcoat in the circle of light, looking vaguely at the yellow
+      marble pillars, the gilded arches above, the shadowy distances and the
+      great stairs. The butler disappeared&mdash;reappeared in another moment&mdash;and
+      through an open doorway came the host. Sir William was a small, clean old
+      man with a thin, white beard and a courtly deportment, wearing a black
+      velvet dinner jacket faced with purple silk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do, Mr. Sisson. You come straight from England?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William held out his hand courteously and benevolently, smiling an old
+      man's smile of hospitality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Lilly has gone away?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. He left us several days ago.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron hesitated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You didn't expect me, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, oh, yes. Yes, oh, yes. Very glad to see you&mdash;well, now, come in
+      and have some dinner&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At this moment Lady Franks appeared&mdash;short, rather plump, but erect
+      and definite, in a black silk dress and pearls round her throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do you do? We are just at dinner,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You haven't eaten? No&mdash;well,
+      then&mdash;would you like a bath now, or&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was evident the Franks had dispensed much hospitality: much of it
+      charitable. Aaron felt it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'll wash my hands and come straight in, shall I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, perhaps that would be better&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I am a nuisance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all&mdash;Beppe&mdash;&rdquo; and she gave instructions in Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another footman appeared, and took the big bag. Aaron took the little one
+      this time. They climbed the broad, turning stairs, crossed another
+      handsome lounge, gilt and ormolu and yellow silk chairs and scattered
+      copies of <i>The Graphic</i> or of <i>Country Life</i>, then they
+      disappeared through a doorway into a much narrower flight of stairs. Man
+      can so rarely keep it up all the way, the grandeur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two black and white chamber-maids appeared. Aaron found himself in a blue
+      silk bedroom, and a footman unstrapping his bag, which he did not want
+      unstrapped. Next minute he was beckoned and allured by the Italian
+      servants down the corridor, and presented to the handsome, spacious
+      bathroom, which was warm and creamy-coloured and glittering with massive
+      silver and mysterious with up-to-date conveniences. There he was left to
+      his own devices, and felt like a small boy finding out how it works. For
+      even the mere turning on of the taps was a problem in silver mechanics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In spite of all the splendours and the elaborated convenience, he washed
+      himself in good hot water, and wished he were having a bath, chiefly
+      because of the wardrobe of marvellous Turkish towels. Then he clicked his
+      way back to his bedroom, changed his shirt and combed his hair in the blue
+      silk bedroom with the Greuze picture, and felt a little dim and
+      superficial surprise. He had fallen into country house parties before, but
+      never into quite such a plushy sense of riches. He felt he ought to have
+      his breath taken away. But alas, the cinema has taken our breath away so
+      often, investing us in all the splendours of the splendidest American
+      millionaire, or all the heroics and marvels of the Somme or the North
+      Pole, that life has now no magnate richer than we, no hero nobler than we
+      have been, on the film. <i>Connu</i>! <i>Connu</i>! Everything life has to
+      offer is known to us, couldn't be known better, from the film.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron tied his tie in front of a big Venice mirror, and nothing was a
+      surprise to him. He found a footman hovering to escort him to the
+      dining-room&mdash;a real Italian footman, uneasy because milady's dinner
+      was unsettled. He entered the rather small dining-room, and saw the people
+      at table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was told various names: bowed to a young, slim woman with big blue eyes
+      and dark hair like a photograph, then to a smaller rather colourless young
+      woman with a large nose: then to a stout, rubicund, bald colonel, and to a
+      tall, thin, Oxford-looking major with a black patch over his eye&mdash;both
+      these men in khaki: finally to a good-looking, well-nourished young man in
+      a dinner-jacket, and he sat down to his soup, on his hostess' left hand.
+      The colonel sat on her right, and was confidential. Little Sir William,
+      with his hair and his beard white like spun glass, his manner very
+      courteous and animated, the purple facings of his velvet jacket very
+      impressive, sat at the far end of the table jesting with the ladies and
+      showing his teeth in an old man's smile, a little bit affected, but
+      pleasant, wishing everybody to be happy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron ate his soup, trying to catch up. Milady's own confidential Italian
+      butler, fidelity itself, hovered quivering near, spiritually helping the
+      newcomer to catch up. Two nice little entree dishes, specially prepared
+      for Aaron to take the place of the bygone fish and vol au-vents of the
+      proper dinner, testified to the courtesy and charity of his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, eating rapidly, he had more or less caught up by the time the sweets
+      came. So he swallowed a glass of wine and looked round. His hostess with
+      her pearls, and her diamond star in her grey hair, was speaking of Lilly
+      and then of music to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hear you are a musician. That's what I should have been if I had had my
+      way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What instrument?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the piano. Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says. I think the flute can
+      be so attractive. But I feel, of course you have more range with the
+      piano. I love the piano&mdash;and orchestra.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her. But she
+      came back in snatches. She was a woman who reminded him a little of Queen
+      Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her attention always
+      given to the successful issue of her duties, the remainder at the disposal
+      of her guests. It was an old-fashioned, not unpleasant feeling: like
+      retrospect. But she had beautiful, big, smooth emeralds and sapphires on
+      her fingers. Money! What a curious thing it is! Aaron noticed the
+      deference of all the guests at table: a touch of obsequiousness: before
+      the money! And the host and hostess accepted the deference, nay, expected
+      it, as their due. Yet both Sir William and Lady Franks knew that it was
+      only money and success. They had both a certain afterthought, knowing
+      dimly that the game was but a game, and that they were the helpless
+      leaders in the game. They had a certain basic ordinariness which prevented
+      their making any great hits, and which kept them disillusioned all the
+      while. They remembered their poor and insignificant days.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden. We came
+      back from London last week. I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which do you like best?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the Russian. I think <i>Ivan</i>. It is such fine music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I find <i>Ivan</i> artificial.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you? Oh, I don't think so. No, I don't think you can say that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron wondered at her assurance. She seemed to put him just a tiny bit in
+      his place, even in an opinion on music. Money gave her that right, too.
+      Curious&mdash;the only authority left. And he deferred to her opinion:
+      that is, to her money. He did it almost deliberately. Yes&mdash;what did
+      he believe in, besides money? What does any man? He looked at the black
+      patch over the major's eye. What had he given his eye for?&mdash;the
+      nation's money. Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise we might be where
+      the wretched Austrians are. Instead of which&mdash;how smooth his hostess'
+      sapphires!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I think he is a
+      greater artist. But perhaps it is just personal preference.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. <i>Boris</i> is wonderful. Oh, some of the scenes in <i>Boris</i>!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And even more <i>Kovantchina</i>,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I wish we could go back
+      to melody pure and simple. Yet I find <i>Kovantchina</i>, which is all
+      mass music practically, gives me more satisfaction than any other opera.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you really? I shouldn't say so: oh, no&mdash;but you can't mean that
+      you would like all music to go back to melody pure and simple! Just a
+      flute&mdash;just a pipe! Oh, Mr. Sisson, you are bigoted for your
+      instrument. I just LIVE in harmony&mdash;chords, chords!&rdquo; She struck
+      imaginary chords on the white damask, and her sapphires swam blue. But at
+      the same time she was watching to see if Sir William had still got beside
+      his plate the white medicine <i>cachet</i> which he must swallow at every
+      meal. Because if so, she must remind him to swallow it. However, at that
+      very moment, he put it on his tongue. So that she could turn her attention
+      again to Aaron and the imaginary chord on the white damask; the thing she
+      just lived in. But the rubicund bald colonel, more rubicund after wine,
+      most rubicund now the Marsala was going, snatched her attention with a
+      burly homage to her femininity, and shared his fear with her with a boyish
+      gallantry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the women had gone up, Sir William came near and put his hand on
+      Aaron's shoulder. It was evident the charm was beginning to work. Sir
+      William was a self-made man, and not in the least a snob. He liked the
+      fundamental ordinariness in Aaron, the commonness of the common man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well now, Mr. Sisson, we are very glad to see you! Very glad, indeed. I
+      count Mr. Lilly one of the most interesting men it has ever been my good
+      fortune to know. And so for your own sake, and for Mr. Lilly's sake, we
+      are very glad to see you. Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson some Marsala&mdash;and
+      take some yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Sir,&rdquo; said the well-nourished young man in nice evening
+      clothes. &ldquo;You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I will, I will. I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson. Major, where
+      are you wandering off to? Come and take a glass with us, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks, Sir William,&rdquo; drawled the young major with the black patch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Colonel&mdash;I hope you are in good health and spirits.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never better, Sir William, never better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed. Try my Marsala&mdash;I think
+      it is quite good. Port is beyond us for the moment&mdash;for the moment&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again. He made quite a
+      handsome picture: but he was frail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson? Towards Rome?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I came to meet Lilly,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time. Never was such a
+      man for crossing frontiers. Wonderful person, to be able to do it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where has he gone?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think to Geneva for the moment. But he certainly talked of Venice. You
+      yourself have no definite goal?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! You have not come to Italy to practice your art?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall HAVE to practice it: or else&mdash;no, I haven't come for that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you will HAVE to practice it. Ah, yes! We are all under the necessity
+      to eat. And you have a family in England? Am I not right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite. I've got a family depending on me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art. Well&mdash;shall
+      we join the ladies? Coffee will no doubt be served.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you take my arm, Sir?&rdquo; said the well-nourished Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, thank you,&rdquo; the old man motioned him away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they went upstairs to where the three women were sitting in the library
+      round the fire, chattering not very interested. The entry of Sir William
+      at once made a stir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl in white, with the biggish nose, fluttered round him. She was
+      Arthur's wife. The girl in soft blue spread herself on the couch: she was
+      the young Major's wife, and she had a blue band round her hair. The
+      Colonel hovered stout and fidgetty round Lady Franks and the liqueur
+      stand. He and the Major were both in khaki&mdash;belonging to the service
+      on duty in Italy still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Coffee appeared&mdash;and Sir William doled out <i>creme de menthe</i>.
+      There was no conversation&mdash;only tedious words. The little party was
+      just commonplace and dull&mdash;boring. Yet Sir William, the self-made
+      man, was a study. And the young, Oxford-like Major, with his English
+      diffidence and his one dark, pensive, baffled eye was only waiting to be
+      earnest, poor devil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl in white had been a sort of companion to Lady Franks, so that
+      Arthur was more or less a son-in-law. In this capacity, he acted. Aaron
+      strayed round uneasily looking at the books, bought but not read, and at
+      the big pictures above. It was Arthur who fetched out the little boxes
+      containing the orders conferred on Sir William for his war-work: and
+      perhaps more, for the many thousands of pounds he had spent on his
+      war-work.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were three orders: one British, and quite important, a large silver
+      star for the breast: one Italian, smaller, and silver and gold; and one
+      from the State of Ruritania, in silver and red-and-green enamel, smaller
+      than the others.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come now, William,&rdquo; said Lady Franks, &ldquo;you must try them all on. You must
+      try them all on together, and let us see how you look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little, frail old man, with his strange old man's blue eyes and his
+      old man's perpetual laugh, swelled out his chest and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, am I to appear in all my vanities?&rdquo; And he laughed shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course you are. We want to see you,&rdquo; said the white girl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed we do! We shouldn't mind all appearing in such vanities&mdash;what,
+      Lady Franks!&rdquo; boomed the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think not,&rdquo; replied his hostess. &ldquo;When a man has honours
+      conferred on him, it shows a poor spirit if he isn't proud of them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course I am proud of them!&rdquo; said Sir William. &ldquo;Well then, come and
+      have them pinned on. I think it's wonderful to have got so much in one
+      life-time&mdash;wonderful,&rdquo; said Lady Franks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Sir William is a wonderful man,&rdquo; said the Colonel. &ldquo;Well&mdash;we
+      won't say so before him. But let us look at him in his orders.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Arthur, always ready on these occasions, had taken the large and shining
+      British star from its box, and drew near to Sir William, who stood
+      swelling his chest, pleased, proud, and a little wistful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;This one first, Sir,&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William stood very still, half tremulous, like a man undergoing an
+      operation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it goes just here&mdash;the level of the heart. This is where it
+      goes.&rdquo; And carefully he pinned the large, radiating ornament on the black
+      velvet dinner-jacket of the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is the first&mdash;and very becoming,&rdquo; said Lady Franks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very becoming! Very becoming!&rdquo; said the tall wife of the Major&mdash;she
+      was a handsome young woman of the tall, frail type.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think so, my dear?&rdquo; said the old man, with his eternal smile: the
+      curious smile of old people when they are dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not only becoming, Sir,&rdquo; said the Major, bending his tall, slim figure
+      forwards. &ldquo;But a reassuring sign that a nation knows how to distinguish
+      her valuable men.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite!&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;I think it is a very great honour to have got
+      it. The king was most gracious, too&mdash; Now the other. That goes beside
+      it&mdash;the Italian&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William stood there undergoing the operation of the pinning-on. The
+      Italian star being somewhat smaller than the British, there was a slight
+      question as to where exactly it should be placed. However, Arthur decided
+      it: and the old man stood before the company with his two stars on his
+      breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now the Ruritanian,&rdquo; said Lady Franks eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That doesn't go on the same level with the others, Lady Franks,&rdquo; said
+      Arthur. &ldquo;That goes much lower down&mdash;about here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you sure?&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;Doesn't it go more here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No no, no no, not at all. Here! Isn't it so, Sybil?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think so,&rdquo; said Sybil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Sir William stood quite silent, his breast prepared, peering over the
+      facings of his coat to see where the star was going. The Colonel was
+      called in, and though he knew nothing about it, he agreed with Arthur, who
+      apparently did know something. So the star was pinned quite low down. Sir
+      William, peeping down, exclaimed:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, that is most curious now! I wear an order over the pit of my
+      stomach! I think that is very curious: a curious place to wear an order.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stand up! Stand up and let us look!&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;There now, isn't
+      it handsome? And isn't it a great deal of honour for one man? Could he
+      have expected so much, in one life-time? I call it wonderful. Come and
+      look at yourself, dear&rdquo;&mdash;and she led him to a mirror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's more, all thoroughly deserved,&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think so,&rdquo; said the Colonel, fidgetting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, nobody has deserved them better,&rdquo; cooed Sybil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor on more humane and generous grounds,&rdquo; said the Major, <i>sotto voce.</i>
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The effort to save life, indeed,&rdquo; returned the Major's young wife:
+      &ldquo;splendid!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William stood naively before the mirror and looked at his three stars
+      on his black velvet dinner-jacket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Almost directly over the pit of my stomach,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I hope that is not
+      a decoration for my greedy APPETITE.&rdquo; And he laughed at the young women.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I assure you it is in position, Sir,&rdquo; said Arthur. &ldquo;Absolutely correct. I
+      will read it out to you later.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aren't you satisfied? Aren't you a proud man! Isn't it wonderful?&rdquo; said
+      Lady Franks. &ldquo;Why, what more could a man want from life? He could never
+      EXPECT so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my dear. I AM a proud man. Three countries have honoured me&mdash;&rdquo;
+       There was a little, breathless pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And not more than they ought to have done,&rdquo; said Sybil.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well! Well! I shall have my head turned. Let me return to my own humble
+      self. I am too much in the stars at the moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William turned to Arthur to have his decorations removed. Aaron,
+      standing in the background, felt the whole scene strange, childish, a
+      little touching. And Lady Franks was so obviously trying to <i>console</i>
+      her husband: to console the frail, excitable old man with his honours. But
+      why console him? Did he need consolation? And did she? It was evident that
+      only the hard-money woman in her put any price on the decorations.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron came forward and examined the orders, one after the other. Just
+      metal playthings of curious shiny silver and gilt and enamel. Heavy the
+      British one&mdash;but only like some heavy buckle, a piece of metal merely
+      when one turned it over. Somebody dropped the Italian cross, and there was
+      a moment of horror. But the lump of metal took no hurt. Queer to see the
+      things stowed in their boxes again. Aaron had always imagined these
+      mysterious decorations as shining by nature on the breasts of heroes.
+      Pinned-on pieces of metal were a considerable come-down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The orders were put away, the party sat round the fire in the comfortable
+      library, the men sipping more <i>creme de menthe</i>, since nothing else
+      offered, and the couple of hours in front promising the tedium of
+      small-talk of tedious people who had really nothing to say and no
+      particular originality in saying it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron, however, had reckoned without his host. Sir William sat upright in
+      his chair, with all the determination of a frail old man who insists on
+      being level with the young. The new guest sat in a lower chair, smoking,
+      that curious glimmer on his face which made him so attractive, and which
+      only meant that he was looking on the whole scene from the outside, as it
+      were, from beyond a fence. Sir William came almost directly to the attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so, Mr. Sisson, you have no definite purpose in coming to Italy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, none,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I wanted to join Lilly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But when you had joined him&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, nothing&mdash;stay here a time, in this country, if I could earn my
+      keep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&mdash;earn your keep? So you hope to earn your keep here? May I ask
+      how?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By my flute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Italy is a poor country.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't want much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have a family to provide for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They are provided for&mdash;for a couple of years.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, indeed! Is that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man got out of Aaron the detailed account of his circumstances&mdash;how
+      he had left so much money to be paid over to his wife, and had received
+      only a small amount for himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see you are like Lilly&mdash;you trust to Providence,&rdquo; said Sir
+      William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Providence or fate,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lilly calls it Providence,&rdquo; said Sir William. &ldquo;For my own part, I always
+      advise Providence plus a banking account. I have every belief in
+      Providence, plus a banking account. Providence and no banking account I
+      have observed to be almost invariably fatal. Lilly and I have argued it.
+      He believes in casting his bread upon the waters. I sincerely hope he
+      won't have to cast himself after his bread, one of these days. Providence
+      with a banking account. Believe in Providence once you have secured enough
+      to live on. I should consider it disastrous to believe in Providence
+      BEFORE. One can never be SURE of Providence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can you be sure of, then?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, in moderation, I can believe in a little hard cash, and in my own
+      ability to earn a little hard cash.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps Lilly believes in his own ability, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Not so. Because he will never directly work to earn money. He works&mdash;and
+      works quite well, I am told: but only as the spirit moves him, and never
+      with any eye to the market. Now I call that TEMPTING Providence, myself.
+      The spirit may move him in quite an opposite direction to the market&mdash;then
+      where is Lilly? I have put it to him more than once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The spirit generally does move him dead against the market,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+      &ldquo;But he manages to scrape along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In a state of jeopardy: all the time in a state of jeopardy,&rdquo; said the
+      old man. &ldquo;His whole existence, and that of his wife, is completely
+      precarious. I found, in my youth, the spirit moved me to various things
+      which would have left me and my wife starving. So I realised in time, this
+      was no good. I took my spirit in hand, therefore, and made him pull the
+      cart which mankind is riding in. I harnessed him to the work of productive
+      labour. And so he brought me my reward.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But every man according to his belief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't see,&rdquo; said Sir William, &ldquo;how a man can BELIEVE in a Providence
+      unless he sets himself definitely to the work of earning his daily bread,
+      and making provision for future needs. That's what Providence means to me&mdash;making
+      provision for oneself and one's family. Now, Mr. Lilly&mdash;and you
+      yourself&mdash;you say you believe in a Providence that does NOT compel
+      you to earn your daily bread, and make provision. I confess myself I
+      cannot see it: and Lilly has never been able to convince me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence,&rdquo; said Aaron, &ldquo;and I don't
+      believe Lilly does. But I believe in chance. I believe, if I go my own
+      way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always throw something in
+      my way: enough to get along with.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I just feel like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And if you are ever quite without success&mdash;and nothing to fall back
+      on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can work at something.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In case of illness, for example?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can go to a hospital&mdash;or die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! However, you are more logical than Lilly. He seems to believe
+      that he has the Invisible&mdash;call it Providence if you will&mdash;on
+      his side, and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch, or
+      let him down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain, and
+      NEVER works for his own ends. I don't quite see how he works. Certainly he
+      seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent unworthily. Yet for
+      some reason or other he calls this true, genuine activity, and has a
+      contempt for actual work by which a man makes provision for his years and
+      for his family. In the end, he will have to fall back on charity. But when
+      I say so, he denies it, and says that in the end we, the men who work and
+      make provision, will have to fall back on him. Well, all I can say is,
+      that SO FAR he is in far greater danger of having to fall back on me, than
+      I on him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph. But it
+      smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in his
+      life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't suppose he will do much falling back,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, he is young yet. You are both young. You are squandering your
+      youth. I am an old man, and I see the end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What end, Sir William?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Charity&mdash;and poverty&mdash;and some not very congenial 'job,' as you
+      call it, to put bread in your mouth. No, no, I would not like to trust
+      myself to your Providence, or to your Chance. Though I admit your Chance
+      is a sounder proposition than Lilly's Providence. You speculate with your
+      life and your talent. I admit the nature which is a born speculator. After
+      all, with your flute, you will speculate in other people's taste for
+      luxury, as a man may speculate in theatres or <i>trains de luxe</i>. You
+      are the speculator. That may be your way of wisdom. But Lilly does not
+      even speculate. I cannot see his point. I cannot see his point. I cannot
+      see his point. Yet I have the greatest admiration for his mentality.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man had fired up during this conversation&mdash;and all the others
+      in the room had gone silent. Lady Franks was palpably uneasy. She alone
+      knew how frail the old man was&mdash;frailer by far than his years. She
+      alone knew what fear of his own age, what fear of death haunted him now:
+      fear of his own non-existence. His own old age was an agony to him; worse
+      than an agony, a horror. He wanted to be young&mdash;to live, to live. And
+      he was old, he was breaking up. The glistening youth of Aaron, the
+      impetuousness of Lilly fascinated him. And both these men seemed calmly to
+      contradict his own wealth and honours.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of normal
+      chit-chat. The Colonel was horribly bored&mdash;so were all the women&mdash;Arthur
+      was indifferent. Only the young Major was implicated, troubled in his
+      earnest and philosophic spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What I can't see,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;is the place that others have in your
+      scheme.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is isn't a scheme,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then, your way of life. Isn't it pretty selfish, to marry a woman
+      and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that always
+      precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or in Chance:
+      which I think worse? What I don't see is where others come in. What would
+      the world be like if everybody lived that way?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Other people can please themselves,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, they can't&mdash;because you take first choice, it seems to me.
+      Supposing your wife&mdash;or Lilly's wife&mdash;asks for security and for
+      provision, as Sir William says. Surely she has a right to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I've no right to it myself&mdash;and I HAVE no right to it, if I don't
+      want it&mdash;then what right has she?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Every right, I should say. All the more since you are improvident.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then she must manage her rights for herself. It's no good her foisting
+      her rights on to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Isn't that pure selfishness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may be. I shall send my wife money as long as I've money to send.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And supposing you have none?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I can't send it&mdash;and she must look out for herself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I call that almost criminal selfishness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't help it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The conversation with the young Major broke off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr. Lilly
+      are not common,&rdquo; said Sir William, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becoming commoner every day, you'll find,&rdquo; interjaculated the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed! Indeed! Well. May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson? I hope
+      you don't object to our catechism?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. Nor your judgment afterwards,&rdquo; said Aaron, grinning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family? I know it is a tender
+      subject. But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could see....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There were no grounds,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;No, there weren't I just left them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mere caprice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it's a caprice to be begotten&mdash;and a caprice to be born&mdash;and
+      a caprice to die&mdash;then that was a caprice, for it was the same.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like birth or death? I don't follow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It happened to me: as birth happened to me once&mdash;and death will
+      happen. It was a sort of death, too: or a sort of birth. But as undeniable
+      as either. And without any more grounds.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A natural event,&rdquo; said Sir William.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A natural event,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not that you loved any other woman?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;God save me from it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You just left off loving?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not even that. I went away.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What from?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From it all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;From the woman in particular?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you couldn't go back?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yet you can give no reasons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not any reasons that would be any good. It wasn't a question of reasons.
+      It was a question of her and me and what must be. What makes a child be
+      born out of its mother to the pain and trouble of both of them? I don't
+      know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But that is a natural process.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So is this&mdash;or nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; interposed the Major. &ldquo;Because birth is a universal process&mdash;and
+      yours is a specific, almost unique event.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, unique or not, it so came about. I didn't ever leave off loving her&mdash;not
+      as far as I know. I left her as I shall leave the earth when I die&mdash;because
+      it has to be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you know what I think it is, Mr. Sisson?&rdquo; put in Lady Franks. &ldquo;I think
+      you are just in a wicked state of mind: just that. Mr. Lilly, too. And you
+      must be very careful, or some great misfortune will happen to you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It may,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And it will, mark my word, it will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You almost wish it might, as a judgment on me,&rdquo; smiled Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no, indeed. I should only be too sorry. But I feel it will, unless
+      you are careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll be careful, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, and you can't be too careful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You make me frightened.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would like to make you very frightened indeed, so that you went back
+      humbly to your wife and family.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It would HAVE to be a big fright then, I assure you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, you are really heartless. It makes me angry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned angrily aside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well! Well, well! Life! Life! Young men are a new thing to me!&rdquo;
+       said Sir William, shaking his head. &ldquo;Well, well! What do you say to
+      whiskey and soda, Colonel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, delighted, Sir William,&rdquo; said the Colonel, bouncing up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A night-cap, and then we retire,&rdquo; said Lady Franks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat thinking. He knew Sir William liked him: and that Lady Franks
+      didn't. One day he might have to seek help from Sir William. So he had
+      better placate milady. Wrinkling the fine, half mischievous smile on his
+      face, and trading on his charm, he turned to his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wouldn't mind, Lady Franks, if I said nasty things about my wife and
+      found a lot of fault with her. What makes you angry is that I know it is
+      not a bit more her fault than mine, that we come apart. It can't be
+      helped.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes, indeed. I disapprove of your way of looking at things
+      altogether. It seems to me altogether cold and unmanly and inhuman. Thank
+      goodness my experience of a man has been different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We can't all be alike, can we? And if I don't choose to let you see me
+      crying, that doesn't prove I've never had a bad half hour, does it? I've
+      had many&mdash;ay, and a many.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why are you so WRONG, so wrong in your behaviour?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose I've got to have my bout out: and when it's out, I can alter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I hope you've almost had your bout out,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; said he, with a half-repentant, half-depressed look on his
+      attractive face. The corners of his mouth grimaced slightly under his
+      moustache.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best thing you can do is to go straight back to England, and to her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I'd better ask her if she wants me, first,&rdquo; he said drily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you might do that, too.&rdquo; And Lady Franks felt she was quite getting
+      on with her work of reform, and the restoring of woman to her natural
+      throne. Best not go too fast, either.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say when,&rdquo; shouted the Colonel, who was manipulating the syphon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The men stood up to their drinks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Sisson?&rdquo; asked Lady Franks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May I stay till Monday morning?&rdquo; said Aaron. They were at Saturday
+      evening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Certainly. And you will take breakfast in your room: we all do. At what
+      time? Half past eight?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you very much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then at half past eight the man will bring it in. Goodnight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Once more in his blue silk bedroom, Aaron grimaced to himself and stood in
+      the middle of the room grimacing. His hostess' admonitions were like
+      vitriol in his ears. He looked out of the window. Through the darkness of
+      trees, the lights of a city below. Italy! The air was cold with snow. He
+      came back into his soft, warm room. Luxurious it was. And luxurious the
+      deep, warm bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was still asleep when the man came noiselessly in with the tray: and it
+      was morning. Aaron woke and sat up. He felt that the deep, warm bed, and
+      the soft, warm room had made him sleep too well: robbed him of his night,
+      like a narcotic. He preferred to be more uncomfortable and more aware of
+      the flight of the dark hours. It seemed numbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The footman in his grey house-jacket was neat and Italian and
+      sympathising. He gave good-morning in Italian&mdash;then softly arranged
+      the little table by the bedside, and put out the toast and coffee and
+      butter and boiled egg and honey, with silver and delicate china. Aaron
+      watched the soft, catlike motions of the man. The dark eyes glanced once
+      at the blond man, leaning on his elbow on the pillow. Aaron's face had
+      that watchful, half-amused expression. The man said something in Italian.
+      Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me in English.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with his
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting in
+      bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further heaven
+      great snowy mountains.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Alps,&rdquo; he said in surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gli Alpi&mdash;si, signore.&rdquo; The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes,
+      and silently retired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron watched through the window. It was a frosty morning at the end of
+      September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful,
+      snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting. There
+      they were, hovering round, circling, waiting. They reminded him of
+      marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the
+      red-roofed city. Aaron looked, and looked again. In the near distance,
+      under the house elm-tree tops were yellowing. He felt himself changing
+      inside his skin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he turned away to his coffee and eggs. A little silver egg-cup with a
+      curious little frill round it: honey in a frail, iridescent glass bowl,
+      gold-iridescent: the charm of delicate and fine things. He smiled half
+      mockingly to himself. Two instincts played in him: the one, an instinct
+      for fine, delicate things: he had attractive hands; the other, an
+      inclination to throw the dainty little table with all its niceties out of
+      the window. It evoked a sort of devil in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He took his bath: the man had brought back his things: he dressed and went
+      downstairs. No one in the lounge: he went down to the ground floor: no one
+      in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and its gold arches, its
+      enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet. He stood before the great glass doors.
+      Some red flowers still were blooming in the tubs, on the steps, handsome:
+      and beautiful chrysanthemums in the wide portico. Beyond, yellow leaves
+      were already falling on the green grass and the neat drive. Everywhere was
+      silent and empty. He climbed the wide stairs, sat in the long, upper
+      lounge where the papers were. He wanted his hat and coat, and did not know
+      where to find them. The windows looked on to a terraced garden, the hill
+      rising steeply behind the house. He wanted to go out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five or six
+      manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven, neat, with
+      neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather brooms, and all
+      frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys. They were all of the
+      same neat, smallish size. They were all laughing. They rolled back a great
+      rug as if it were some football game, one flew at the curtains. And they
+      merely looked at Aaron and went on chattering, and laughing and dusting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a moment
+      looking out. The noise went on behind him. So he turned, smiling, and
+      asked for his hat, pointing to his head. They knew at once what he wanted.
+      One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to the hall and to the long
+      cupboard place where hats and coats and sticks were hung. There was his
+      hat; he put it on, while the man chattered to him pleasantly and
+      unintelligibly, and opened for him the back door, into the garden.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIII. WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house. So
+      Aaron found it. He felt himself dashing up the steps into the garden like
+      a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught: that warm and
+      luxurious house. Heaven bless us, we who want to save civilisation. We had
+      better make up our minds what of it we want to save. The kernel may be all
+      well and good. But there is precious little kernel, to a lot of woolly
+      stuffing and poisonous rind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
+      war-neglected. But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air, the
+      flowers showed their colour beside the walks. Many birds dashed about,
+      rather bewildered, having crossed the Alps in their migration southwards.
+      Aaron noted with gratification a certain big magnificence, a certain
+      reckless powerfulness in the still-blossoming, harsh-coloured, autumn
+      flowers. Distinct satisfaction he derived from it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wandered upwards, up the succeeding flights of step; till he came to
+      the upper rough hedge, and saw the wild copse on the hill-crest just
+      above. Passing through a space in the hedge, he climbed the steep last bit
+      of Sir William's lane. It was a little vineyard, with small vines and
+      yellowing leaves. Everywhere the place looked neglected&mdash;but as if
+      man had just begun to tackle it once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the very top, by the wild hedge where spindle-berries hung pink, seats
+      were placed, and from here the view was very beautiful. The hill dropped
+      steep beneath him. A river wound on the near side of the city, crossed by
+      a white bridge. The city lay close clustered, ruddy on the plains,
+      glittering in the clear air with its flat roofs and domes and square
+      towers, strangely naked-seeming in the clear, clean air. And massive in
+      the further nearness, snow-streaked mountains, the tiger-like Alps. Tigers
+      prowling between the north and the south. And this beautiful city lying
+      nearest exposed. The snow-wind brushed her this morning like the icy
+      whiskers of a tiger. And clear in the light lay Novara, wide, fearless,
+      violent Novara. Beautiful the perfect air, the perfect and unblemished
+      Alp-sky. And like the first southern flower, Novara.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat watching in silence. Only the uneasy birds rustled. He watched
+      the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent Alps. He was
+      on the south side. On the other side of the time barrier. His old, sleepy
+      English nature was startled in its sleep. He felt like a man who knows it
+      is time to wake up, and who doesn't want to wake up, to face the
+      responsibility of another sort of day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility. Wake up and
+      enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself. Ach, the horror of
+      responsibility! He had all his life slept and shelved the burden. And he
+      wanted to go on sleeping. It was so hateful to have to get a new grip on
+      his own bowels, a new hard recklessness into his heart, a new and
+      responsible consciousness into his mind and soul. He felt some finger
+      prodding, prodding, prodding him awake out of the sleep of pathos and
+      tragedy and spasmodic passion, and he wriggled, unwilling, oh, most
+      unwilling to undertake the new business.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In fact he ran away again. He gave a last look at the town and its
+      white-fanged mountains, and descended through the garden, round the way of
+      the kitchen garden and garage and stables and pecking chickens, back to
+      the house again. In the hall still no one. He went upstairs to the long
+      lounge. There sat the rubicund, bald, boy-like Colonel reading the <i>Graphic</i>.
+      Aaron sat down opposite him, and made a feeble attempt at conversation.
+      But the Colonel wasn't having any. It was evident he didn't care for the
+      fellow&mdash;Mr. Aaron, that is. Aaron therefore dried up, and began to
+      sit him out, with the aid of <i>The Queen</i>. Came a servant, however,
+      and said that the Signor Colonello was called up from the hospital, on the
+      telephone. The Colonel once departed, Aaron fled again, this time out of
+      the front doors, and down the steep little park to the gates.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Huge dogs and little dogs came bounding forward. Out of the lodge came the
+      woman with the keys, smiling very pleasantly this morning. So, he was in
+      the street. The wide road led him inevitably to the big bridge, with the
+      violent, physical stone statue-groups. Men and women were moving about,
+      and he noticed for the first time the littleness and the momentaneousness
+      of the Italians in the street. Perhaps it was the wideness of the bridge
+      and the subsequent big, open boulevard. But there it was: the people
+      seemed little, upright brisk figures moving in a certain isolation, like
+      tiny figures on a big stage. And he felt himself moving in the space
+      between. All the northern cosiness gone. He was set down with a space
+      round him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Little trams flitted down the boulevard in the bright, sweet light. The
+      barbers' shops were all busy, half the Novarese at that moment ambushed in
+      lather, full in the public gaze. A shave is nothing if not a public act,
+      in the south. At the little outdoor tables of the cafes a very few
+      drinkers sat before empty coffee-cups. Most of the shops were shut. It was
+      too soon after the war for life to be flowing very fast. The feeling of
+      emptiness, of neglect, of lack of supplies was evident everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron strolled on, surprised himself at his gallant feeling of liberty: a
+      feeling of bravado and almost swaggering carelessness which is Italy's
+      best gift to an Englishman. He had crossed the dividing line, and the
+      values of life, though ostensibly and verbally the same, were dynamically
+      different. Alas, however, the verbal and the ostensible, the accursed
+      mechanical ideal gains day by day over the spontaneous life-dynamic, so
+      that Italy becomes as idea-bound and as automatic as England: just a
+      business proposition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Coming to the station, he went inside. There he saw a money-changing
+      window which was open, so he planked down a five-pound note and got
+      two-hundred-and-ten lire. Here was a start. At a bookstall he saw a man
+      buy a big timetable with a large railway map in it. He immediately bought
+      the same. Then he retired to a corner to get his whereabouts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning he must move: where? He looked on the map. The map seemed
+      to offer two alternatives, Milan and Genoa. He chose Milan, because of its
+      musical associations and its cathedral. Milano then. Strolling and still
+      strolling, he found the boards announcing Arrivals and Departures. As far
+      as he could make out, the train for Milan left at 9:00 in the morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So much achieved, he left the big desolating caravanserai of the station.
+      Soldiers were camped in every corner, lying in heaps asleep. In their
+      grey-green uniform, he was surprised at their sturdy limbs and uniformly
+      short stature. For the first time, he saw the cock-feathers of the
+      Bersaglieri. There seemed a new life-quality everywhere. Many worlds, not
+      one world. But alas, the one world triumphing more and more over the many
+      worlds, the big oneness swallowing up the many small diversities in its
+      insatiable gnawing appetite, leaving a dreary sameness throughout the
+      world, that means at last complete sterility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron, however, was too new to the strangeness, he had no eye for the
+      horrible sameness that was spreading like a disease over Italy from
+      England and the north. He plunged into the space in front of the station,
+      and took a new, wide boulevard. To his surprise he ran towards a big and
+      over-animated statue that stood resolutely with its back to the
+      magnificent snow-domes of the wild Alps. Wolves in the street could not
+      have startled him more than those magnificent fierce-gleaming mountains of
+      snow at the street-end, beyond the statue. He stood and wondered, and
+      never thought to look who the gentleman was. Then he turned right round,
+      and began to walk home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon was at one o'clock. It was half-past twelve when he rang at the
+      lodge gates. He climbed through the leaves of the little park, on a
+      side-path, rather reluctantly towards the house. In the hall Lady Franks
+      was discussing with Arthur a fat Pekinese who did not seem very well. She
+      was sure the servants did not obey her orders concerning the Pekinese
+      bitch. Arthur, who was more than indifferent, assured her they did. But
+      she seemed to think that the whole of the male human race was in league
+      against the miserable specimen of a she-dog. She almost cried, thinking
+      her Queenie <i>might</i> by some chance meet with, perhaps, a harsh word
+      or look. Queenie apparently fattened on the secret detestation of the male
+      human species.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't bear to think that a dumb creature might be ill-treated,&rdquo; she
+      said to Aaron. &ldquo;Thank goodness the Italians are better than they used to
+      be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are they better than they used to be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, much. They have learnt it from us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She then enquired if her guest had slept, and if he were rested from his
+      journey. Aaron, into whose face the faint snow-wind and the sun had
+      brought a glow, replied that he had slept well and enjoyed the morning,
+      thank you. Whereupon Lady Franks knitted her brows and said Sir William
+      had had such a bad night. He had not been able to sleep, and had got up
+      and walked about the room. The least excitement, and she dreaded a
+      break-down. He must have absolute calm and restfulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's one for you and your jawing last night, Aaron, my boy!&rdquo; said our
+      hero to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought Sir William seemed so full of life and energy,&rdquo; he said, aloud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, did you! No, he WANTS to be. But he can't do it. He's very much upset
+      this morning. I have been very anxious about him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sorry to hear that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Franks departed to some duty. Aaron sat alone before the fire. It was
+      a huge fireplace, like a dark chamber shut in by tall, finely-wrought iron
+      gates. Behind these iron gates of curly iron the logs burned and flickered
+      like leopards slumbering and lifting their heads within their cage. Aaron
+      wondered who was the keeper of the savage element, who it was that would
+      open the iron grille and throw on another log, like meat to the lions. To
+      be sure the fire was only to be looked at: like wild beasts in the Zoo.
+      For the house was warm from roof to floor. It was strange to see the blue
+      air of sunlight outside, the yellow-edged leaves falling in the wind, the
+      red flowers shaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gong sounded softly through the house. The Colonel came in heartily
+      from the garden, but did not speak to Aaron. The Major and his wife came
+      pallid down the stairs. Lady Franks appeared, talking domestic-secretarial
+      business with the wife of Arthur. Arthur, well-nourished and half at home,
+      called down the stairs. And then Sir William descended, old and frail now
+      in the morning, shaken: still he approached Aaron heartily, and asked him
+      how he did, and how he had spent his morning. The old man who had made a
+      fortune: how he expected homage: and how he got it! Homage, like most
+      things, is just a convention and a social trick. Aaron found himself
+      paying homage, too, to the old man who had made a fortune. But also,
+      exacting a certain deference in return, from the old man who had made a
+      fortune. Getting it, too. On what grounds? Youth, maybe. But mostly, scorn
+      for fortunes and fortune-making. Did he scorn fortunes and fortune-making?
+      Not he, otherwise whence this homage for the old man with much money?
+      Aaron, like everybody else, was rather paralysed by a million sterling,
+      personified in one old man. Paralysed, fascinated, overcome. All those
+      three. Only having no final control over his own make-up, he could not
+      drive himself into the money-making or even into the money-having habit.
+      And he had just wit enough to threaten Sir William's golden king with his
+      own ivory queen and knights of wilful life. And Sir William quaked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and how have you spent your morning?&rdquo; asked the host.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I went first to look at the garden.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, not much to see now. They have been beautiful with flowers, once. But
+      for two and a half years the house has been a hospital for officers&mdash;and
+      even tents in the park and garden&mdash;as many as two hundred wounded and
+      sick at a time. We are only just returning to civil life. And flowers need
+      time. Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;British officers&mdash;for two and a half years.
+      But did you go up, now, to the belvedere?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the top&mdash;where the vines are? I never expected the mountains.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never expected the mountains? Pray, why not? They are always there!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I was never there before. I never knew they were there, round the
+      town. I didn't expect it like that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! So you found our city impressive?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very! Ah, very! A new world to me. I feel I've come out of myself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, it is a wonderful sight&mdash;a wonderful sight&mdash; But you have
+      not been INTO the town?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station: and
+      a statue, and mountains behind it. Oh, I've had a full morning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A full morning! That is good, that is good!&rdquo; The old man looked again at
+      the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live in him
+      vicariously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come,&rdquo; said the hostess. &ldquo;Luncheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat again on his hostess' left hand. The Colonel was more affable
+      now it was meal-time. Sir William was again in a good humour, chaffing the
+      young ladies with an old man's gallantry. But now he insisted on drawing
+      Aaron into the play. And Aaron did not want to be drawn. He did not one
+      bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young women. Between him and Sir
+      William there was a curious rivalry&mdash;unconscious on both sides. The
+      old knight had devoted an energetic, adventurous, almost an artistic
+      nature to the making of his fortune and the developing of later
+      philanthropies. He had no children. Aaron was devoting a similar nature to
+      anything but fortune-making and philanthropy. The one held life to be a
+      storing-up of produce and a conservation of energy: the other held life to
+      be a sheer spending of energy and a storing-up of nothing but experience.
+      There they were, in opposition, the old man and the young. Sir William
+      kept calling Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of the table: and
+      Aaron kept on refusing to join. He hated long distance answers, anyhow.
+      And in his mood of the moment he hated the young women. He had a
+      conversation with Arthur about statues: concerning which Aaron knew
+      nothing, and Arthur less than nothing. Then Lady Franks turned the
+      conversation to the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William had
+      equipped rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station: but that
+      such was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross&mdash;or some
+      such body, locally&mdash;that Sir William's huts had been left empty&mdash;standing
+      unused&mdash;while the men had slept on the stone floor of the station,
+      night after night, in icy winter. There was evidently much bitter feeling
+      as a result of Sir William's philanthropy. Apparently even the honey of
+      lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian mouth: at least the
+      official mouth. Which gall had been spat back at the charitable, much to
+      his pain. It is in truth a difficult world, particularly when you have
+      another race to deal with. After which came the beef-olives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Lady Franks, &ldquo;I had such a dreadful dream last night, such a
+      dreadful dream. It upset me so much. I have not been able to get over it
+      all day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was it?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Tell it, and break it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; said his hostess, &ldquo;I dreamed I was asleep in my room&mdash;just as
+      I actually was&mdash;and that it was night, yet with a terrible sort of
+      light, like the dead light before dawn, so that one could see. And my maid
+      Giuseppina came running into my room, saying: 'Signora! Signora! Si alza!
+      Subito! Signora! Vengono su!'&mdash;and I said, 'Chi? Chi sono chi
+      vengono? Chi?'&mdash;'I Novaresi! I Novaresi vengono su. Vengono qui!'&mdash;I
+      got out of bed and went to the window. And there they were, in the dead
+      light, rushing up to the house, through the trees. It was so awful, I
+      haven't been able to forget it all day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me what the words are in English,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;get up, get up&mdash;the Novaresi, the people of Novara
+      are coming up&mdash;vengono su&mdash;they are coming up&mdash;the Novara
+      people&mdash;work-people. I can't forget it. It was so real, I can't
+      believe it didn't actually happen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;It will never happen. I know, that whatever one
+      foresees, and FEELS has happened, never happens in real life. It sort of
+      works itself off through the imagining of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, it was almost more real to me than real life,&rdquo; said his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then it will never happen in real life,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luncheon passed, and coffee. The party began to disperse&mdash;Lady Franks
+      to answer more letters, with the aid of Arthur's wife&mdash;some to sleep,
+      some to walk. Aaron escaped once more through the big gates. This time he
+      turned his back on the town and the mountains, and climbed up the hill
+      into the country. So he went between the banks and the bushes, watching
+      for unknown plants and shrubs, hearing the birds, feeling the influence of
+      a new soil. At the top of the hill he saw over into vineyards, and a new
+      strange valley with a winding river, and jumbled, entangled hills. Strange
+      wild country so near the town. It seemed to keep an almost virgin wildness&mdash;yet
+      he saw the white houses dotted here and there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just below him was a peasant house: and on a little loggia in the sun two
+      peasants in white shirtsleeves and black Sunday suits were sitting
+      drinking wine, and talking, talking. Peasant youths in black hats, their
+      sweethearts in dark stuff dresses, wearing no hat, but a black silk or a
+      white silk scarf, passed slowly along the little road just below the
+      ridge. None looked up to see Aaron sitting there alone. From some hidden
+      place somebody was playing an accordion, a jerky sound in the still
+      afternoon. And away beyond lay the unchanging, mysterious valley, and the
+      infolding, mysterious hills of Italy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of the hill
+      in new and deserted suburb streets&mdash;unfinished streets of seemingly
+      unfinished houses. Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois families were
+      taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout, pallid mamas in
+      rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed, and long lads in
+      short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering. Alien they felt,
+      alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but particularly a
+      foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd. Aaron wandered and wandered, finding
+      the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished street after street. He had
+      a great disinclination to ask his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last he recognised the bank and the little stream of water that ran
+      along the street side. So he was back in time for tea. A hospital nurse
+      was there, and two other strange women. Arthur played the part of host.
+      Sir William came in from a walk with the dogs, but retired to his room
+      without taking tea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so the evening fell. Aaron sat in the hall at some distance from the
+      fire, which burned behind its wrought iron gates. He was tired now with
+      all his impressions, and dispirited. He thought of his wife and children
+      at home: of the church-bells ringing so loudly across the field beyond his
+      garden end: of the dark-clad people trailing unevenly across the two
+      paths, one to the left, one to the right, forking their way towards the
+      houses of the town, to church or to chapel: mostly to chapel. At this hour
+      he himself would be dressed in his best clothes, tying his bow, ready to
+      go out to the public house. And his wife would be resenting his holiday
+      departure, whilst she was left fastened to the children.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rather tired and dispirited in this alien place, he wondered if he wished
+      himself back. But the moment he actually <i>realised</i> himself at home,
+      and felt the tension of barrenness which it meant, felt the curious and
+      deadly opposition of his wife's will against his own nature, the almost
+      nauseating ache which it amounted to, he pulled himself together and
+      rejoiced again in his new surroundings. Her will, her will, her terrible,
+      implacable, cunning will! What was there in the female will so diabolical,
+      he asked himself, that it could press like a flat sheet of iron against a
+      man all the time? The female will! He realised now that he had a horror of
+      it. It was flat and inflexible as a sheet of iron. But also it was cunning
+      as a snake that could sing treacherous songs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of two people at a deadlock, he always reminded himself, there is not one
+      only wholly at fault. Both must be at fault. Having a detached and logical
+      soul, he never let himself forget this truth. Take Lottie! He had loved
+      her. He had never loved any other woman. If he had had his other affairs&mdash;it
+      was out of spite or defiance or curiosity. They meant nothing. He and
+      Lottie had loved one another. And the love had developed almost at once
+      into a kind of combat. Lottie had been the only child of headstrong,
+      well-to-do parents. He also had been the only child of his widowed mother.
+      Well then, both he and Lottie had been brought up to consider themselves
+      the first in whatsoever company they found themselves. During the early
+      months of the marriage he had, of course, continued the spoiling of the
+      young wife. But this never altered the fact that, by his very nature, he
+      considered himself as first and almost as single in any relationship.
+      First and single he felt, and as such he bore himself. It had taken him
+      years to realise that Lottie also felt herself first and single: under all
+      her whimsicalness and fretfulness was a conviction as firm as steel: that
+      she, as woman, was the centre of creation, the man was but an adjunct.
+      She, as woman, and particularly as mother, was the first great source of
+      life and being, and also of culture. The man was but the instrument and
+      the finisher. She was the source and the substance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sure enough, Lottie had never formulated this belief inside herself. But
+      it was formulated for her in the whole world. It is the substantial and
+      professed belief of the whole white world. She did but inevitably
+      represent what the whole world around her asserted: the life-centrality of
+      woman. Woman, the life-bearer, the life-source.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearly all men agree to the assertion. Practically all men, even while
+      demanding their selfish rights as superior males, tacitly agree to the
+      fact of the sacred life-bearing priority of woman. Tacitly, they yield the
+      worship to that which is female. Tacitly, they conspire to agree that all
+      that is productive, all that is fine and sensitive and most essentially
+      noble, is woman. This, in their productive and religious souls, they
+      believe. And however much they may react against the belief, loathing
+      their women, running to prostitutes, or beer or <i>anything</i>, out of
+      reaction against this great and ignominious dogma of the sacred priority
+      of women, still they do but profane the god they worship. Profaning woman,
+      they still inversely worship her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But in Aaron was planted another seed. He did not know it. He started off
+      on the good old tack of worshipping his woman while his heart was honest,
+      and profaning her in his fits of temper and revolt. But he made a bad
+      show. Born in him was a spirit which could not worship woman: no, and
+      would not. Could not and would not. It was not in him. In early days, he
+      tried to pretend it was in him. But through his plaintive and
+      homage-rendering love of a young husband was always, for the woman,
+      discernible the arrogance of self-unyielding male. He never yielded
+      himself: never. All his mad loving was only an effort. Afterwards, he was
+      as devilishly unyielded as ever. And it was an instinct in her, that her
+      man must yield to her, so that she should envelop him yielding, in her
+      all-beneficent love. She was quite sure that her love was all-beneficent.
+      Of this no shadow of doubt. She was quite sure that the highest her man
+      could ever know or ever reach, was to be perfectly enveloped in her
+      all-beneficent love. This was her idea of marriage. She held it not as an
+      idea, but as a profound impulse and instinct: an instinct developed in her
+      by the age in which she lived. All that was deepest and most sacred in he
+      feeling centred in this belief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he outraged her! Oh, from the first day and the first night, she felt
+      he outraged her. True, for some time she had been taken in by his manifest
+      love. But though you can deceive the conscious mind, you can never deceive
+      the deep, unconscious instinct. She could never understand whence arose in
+      her, almost from the first days of marriage with him, her terrible
+      paroxysms of hatred for him. She was in love with him: ah, heaven, how
+      maddeningly she was in love with him: a certain unseizable beauty that was
+      his, and which fascinated her as a snake a bird. But in revulsion, how she
+      hated him! How she abhorred him! How she despised and shuddered at him! He
+      seemed a horrible thing to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then again, oh, God, the agony of her desire for him. The agony of her
+      long, long desire for him. He was a passionate lover. He gave her,
+      ostensibly, all she asked for. He withheld from her nothing, no
+      experience, no degree of intimacy. She was his initiate, or he hers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And yet, oh, horror for a woman, he withheld everything from her. He
+      withheld the very centre of himself. For a long time, she never realised.
+      She was dazed and maddened only. But as months of married experience
+      passed into years of married torment, she began to understand. It was
+      that, after their most tremendous, and, it seemed to her, heaven-rending
+      passion&mdash;yea, when for her every veil seemed rent and a terrible and
+      sacred creative darkness covered the earth&mdash;then&mdash;after all this
+      wonder and miracle&mdash;in crept a poisonous grey snake of
+      disillusionment, a poisonous grey snake of disillusion that bit her to
+      madness, so that she really was a mad woman, demented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why? Why? He never gave himself. He never came to her, <i>really</i>. He
+      withheld himself. Yes, in those supreme and sacred times which for her
+      were the whole culmination of life and being, the ecstasy of unspeakable
+      passional conjunction, he was not really hers. He was withheld. He
+      withheld the central core of himself, like the devil and hell-fiend he
+      was. He cheated and made play with her tremendous passional soul, her
+      sacred sex passion, most sacred of all things for a woman. All the time,
+      some central part of him stood apart from her, aside, looking on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Oh, agony and horror for a passionate, fierce-hearted woman! She who loved
+      him. She who loved him to madness. She who would have died for him. She
+      who did die with him, many terrible and magnificent connubial deaths, in
+      his arms, her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband! How bitter the word grew to her! Her husband! and him never
+      once given, given wholly to her! Her husband&mdash;and in all the frenzied
+      finality of desire, she never <i>fully</i> possessed him, not once. No,
+      not once. As time went on, she learned it for inevitable. Not once!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then, how she hated him! Cheated, foiled, betrayed, forced to love him
+      or to hate him: never able to be at peace near him nor away from him: poor
+      Lottie, no wonder she was as a mad woman. She was strictly as a woman
+      demented, after the birth of her second child. For all her instinct, all
+      her impulse, all her desire, and above all, all her <i>will</i>, was to
+      possess her man in very fulness once: just once: and once and for all.
+      Once, just once: and it would be once and for all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But never! Never! Not once! Never! Not for one single solitary second! Was
+      it not enough to send a woman mad! Was it not enough to make her demented!
+      Yes, and mad she was. She made his life a hell for him. She bit him to the
+      bone with her frenzy of rage, chagrin, and agony. She drove him mad, too:
+      mad, so that he beat her: mad so that he longed to kill her. But even in
+      his greatest rages it was the same: he never finally lost himself: he
+      remained, somewhere in the centre, in possession of himself. She sometimes
+      wished he would kill her: or that she would kill him. Neither event
+      happened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And neither of them understood what was happening. How should they? They
+      were both dazed, horrified, and mortified. He took to leaving her alone as
+      much as was possible. But when he <i>had</i> to come home, there was her
+      terrible will, like a flat, cold snake coiled round his soul and squeezing
+      him to death. Yes, she did not relent. She was a good wife and mother. All
+      her duties she fulfilled. But she was not one to yield. <i>He</i> must
+      yield. That was written in eternal letters, on the iron tablet of her
+      will. <i>He</i> must yield. She the woman, the mother of his children, how
+      should she ever even think to yield? It was unthinkable. He, the man, the
+      weak, the false, the treacherous, the half-hearted, it was he who must
+      yield. Was not hers the divine will and the divine right? Ha, she would be
+      less than woman if she ever capitulated, abandoned her divine
+      responsibility as woman! No, <i>he</i> must yield.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So, he was unfaithful to her. Piling reproach after reproach upon himself,
+      he added adultery to his brutality. And this was the beginning of the end.
+      She was more than maddened: but he began to grow silent, unresponsive, as
+      if he did not hear her. He was unfaithful to her: and oh, in such a low
+      way. Such shame, such shame! But he only smiled carelessly now, and asked
+      her what she wanted. She had asked for all she got. That he reiterated.
+      And that was all he would do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Terrible was, that she found even his smile of insolent indifference
+      half-beautiful. Oh, bitter chain to bear! But she summoned up all her
+      strange woman's will. She fought against his fascination, the fascination
+      he exerted over her. With fearful efforts of will she fought against it,
+      and mastered it. And then, suddenly, horror and agony of it, up it would
+      rush in her again, her unbearable desire for him, the longing for his
+      contact, his quality of beauty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That was a cross hard to bear. Yet even that she bore. And schooled
+      herself into a fretful, petulant manner of indifference. Her odd,
+      whimsical petulance hid a will which he, and he alone, knew to be stronger
+      than steel, strong as a diabolical, cold, grey snake that presses and
+      presses and cannot-relax: nay, cannot relax. She became the same as he.
+      Even in her moments of most passionate desire for him, the cold and
+      snake-like tension of her will never relaxed, and the cold, snake-like eye
+      of her intention never closed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So, till it reached a deadlock. Each will was wound tense, and so fixed.
+      Fixed! There was neither any relaxing or any increase of pressure. Fixed.
+      Hard like a numbness, a grip that was solidifying and turning to stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He realised, somehow, that at this terrible passive game of fixed tension
+      she would beat him. Her fixed female soul, her wound-up female will would
+      solidify into stone&mdash;whereas his must break. In him something must
+      break. It was a cold and fatal deadlock, profitless. A life-automatism of
+      fixed tension that suddenly, in him, did break. His will flew loose in a
+      recoil: a recoil away from her. He left her, as inevitably as a broken
+      spring flies out from its hold.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not that he was broken. He would not do her even that credit. He had only
+      flown loose from the old centre-fixture. His will was still entire and
+      unabated. Only he did not know: he did not understand. He swung wildly
+      about from place to place, as if he were broken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then suddenly, on this Sunday evening in the strange country, he realised
+      something about himself. He realised that he had never intended to yield
+      himself fully to her or to anything: that he did not intend ever to yield
+      himself up entirely to her or to anything: that his very being pivoted on
+      the fact of his isolate self-responsibility, aloneness. His intrinsic and
+      central aloneness was the very centre of his being. Break it, and he broke
+      his being. Break this central aloneness, and he broke everything. It was
+      the great temptation, to yield himself: and it was the final sacrilege.
+      Anyhow, it was something which, from his profoundest soul, he did not
+      intend to do. By the innermost isolation and singleness of his own soul he
+      would abide though the skies fell on top of one another, and seven heavens
+      collapsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Vaguely he realised this. And vaguely he realised that this had been the
+      root cause of his strife with Lottie: Lottie, the only person who had
+      mattered at all to him in all the world: save perhaps his mother. And his
+      mother had not mattered, no, not one-half nor one-fifth what Lottie had
+      mattered. So it was: there was, for him, only her significant in the
+      universe. And between him and her matters were as they were.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He coldly and terribly hated her, for a moment. Then no more. There was no
+      solution. It was a situation without a solution. But at any rate, it was
+      now a defined situation. He could rest in peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thoughts something in this manner ran through Aaron's subconscious mind as
+      he sat still in the strange house. He could not have fired it all off at
+      any listener, as these pages are fired off at any chance reader.
+      Nevertheless there it was, risen to half consciousness in him. All his
+      life he had <i>hated</i> knowing what he felt. He had wilfully, if not
+      consciously, kept a gulf between his passional soul and his open mind. In
+      his mind was pinned up a nice description of himself, and a description of
+      Lottie, sort of authentic passports to be used in the conscious world.
+      These authentic passports, self-describing: nose short, mouth normal,
+      etc.; he had insisted that they should do all the duty of the man himself.
+      This ready-made and very banal idea of himself as a really quite nice
+      individual: eyes blue, nose short, mouth normal, chin normal; this he had
+      insisted was really himself. It was his conscious mask.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now at last, after years of struggle, he seemed suddenly to have dropped
+      his mask on the floor, and broken it. His authentic self-describing
+      passport, his complete and satisfactory idea of himself suddenly became a
+      rag of paper, ridiculous. What on earth did it matter if he was nice or
+      not, if his chin was normal or abnormal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His mask, his idea of himself dropped and was broken to bits. There he sat
+      now maskless and invisible. That was how he strictly felt: invisible and
+      undefined, rather like Wells' <i>Invisible Man</i>. He had no longer a
+      mask to present to people: he was present and invisible: they <i>could</i>
+      not really think anything about him, because they could not really see
+      him. What did they see when they looked at him? Lady Franks, for example.
+      He neither knew nor cared. He only knew he was invisible to himself and
+      everybody, and that all thinking about what he was like was only a silly
+      game of Mrs. Mackenzie's Dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So there. The old Aaron Sisson was as if painfully transmuted, as the
+      Invisible Man when he underwent his transmutations. Now he was gone, and
+      no longer to be seen. His visibility lost for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then what? Sitting there as an invisible presence, the preconceived
+      world melted also and was gone. Lady Franks, Sir William, all the guests,
+      they talked and maneuvered with their visible personalities, manipulating
+      the masks of themselves. And underneath there was something invisible and
+      dying&mdash;something fading, wilting: the essential plasm of themselves:
+      their invisible being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Well now, and what next? Having in some curious manner tumbled from the
+      tree of modern knowledge, and cracked and rolled out from the shell of the
+      preconceived idea of himself like some dark, night-lustrous chestnut from
+      the green ostensibility of the burr, he lay as it were exposed but
+      invisible on the floor, knowing, but making no conceptions: knowing, but
+      having no idea. Now that he was finally unmasked and exposed, the accepted
+      idea of himself cracked and rolled aside like a broken chestnut-burr, the
+      mask split and shattered, he was at last quiet and free. He had dreaded
+      exposure: and behold, we cannot be exposed, for we are invisible. We
+      cannot be exposed to the looks of others, for our very being is
+      night-lustrous and unseeable. Like the Invisible Man, we are only revealed
+      through our clothes and our masks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his own powerful but subconscious fashion Aaron realized this. He was a
+      musician. And hence even his deepest <i>ideas</i>: were not word-ideas,
+      his very thoughts were not composed of words and ideal concepts. They too,
+      his thoughts and his ideas, were dark and invisible, as electric
+      vibrations are invisible no matter how many words they may purport. If I,
+      as a word-user, must translate his deep conscious vibrations into finite
+      words, that is my own business. I do but make a translation of the man. He
+      would speak in music. I speak with words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The inaudible music of his conscious soul conveyed his meaning in him
+      quite as clearly as I convey it in words: probably much more clearly. But
+      in his own mode only: and it was in his own mode only he realised what I
+      must put into words. These words are my own affair. His mind was music.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Don't grumble at me then, gentle reader, and swear at me that this damned
+      fellow wasn't half clever enough to think all these smart things, and
+      realise all these fine-drawn-out subtleties. You are quite right, he
+      wasn't, yet it all resolved itself in him as I say, and it is for you to
+      prove that it didn't.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his now silent, maskless state of wordless comprehension, he knew that
+      he had never wanted to surrender himself utterly to Lottie: nor to his
+      mother: nor to anybody. The last extreme of self-abandon in love was for
+      him an act of false behaviour. His own nature inside him fated him not to
+      take this last false step, over the edge of the abyss of selflessness.
+      Even if he wanted to, he could not. He might struggle on the edge of the
+      precipice like an assassin struggling with his own soul, but he could not
+      conquer. For, according to all the current prejudice and impulse in one
+      direction, he too had believed that the final achievement, the
+      consummation of human life, was this flinging oneself over the precipice,
+      down the bottomless pit of love. Now he realised that love, even in its
+      intensest, was only an attribute of the human soul: one of its
+      incomprehensible gestures. And to fling down the whole soul in one gesture
+      of finality in love was as much a criminal suicide as to jump off a
+      church-tower or a mountain-peak. Let a man give himself as much as he
+      liked in love, to seven thousand extremities, he must never give himself
+      <i>away</i>. The more generous and the more passionate a soul, the more it
+      <i>gives</i> itself. But the more absolute remains the law, that it shall
+      never give itself away. Give thyself, but give thyself not away. That is
+      the lesson written at the end of the long strange lane of love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The <i>idee fixe</i> of today is that every individual shall not only give
+      himself, but shall achieve the last glory of giving himself away. And
+      since this takes two&mdash;you can't even make a present of yourself
+      unless you've got somebody to receive the present; since this last
+      extra-divine act takes two people to perform it, you've got to take into
+      count not only your giver but your receiver. Who is going to be the giver
+      and who the receiver.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why, of course, in our long-drawn-out Christian day, man is given and
+      woman is recipient. Man is the gift, woman the receiver. This is the
+      sacrament we live by; the holy Communion we live for. That man gives
+      himself to woman in an utter and sacred abandon, all, all, all himself
+      given, and taken. Woman, eternal woman, she is the communicant. She
+      receives the sacramental body and spirit of the man. And when she's got
+      it, according to her passionate and all-too-sacred desire, completely,
+      when she possesses her man at last finally and ultimately, without blemish
+      or reservation in the perfection of the sacrament: then, also, poor woman,
+      the blood and the body of which she has partaken become insipid or
+      nauseous to her, she is driven mad by the endless meal of the marriage
+      sacrament, poisoned by the sacred communion which was her goal and her
+      soul's ambition.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      We have pushed a process into a goal. The aim of any process is not the
+      perpetuation of that process, but the completion thereof. Love is a
+      process of the incomprehensible human soul: love also incomprehensible,
+      but still only a process. The process should work to a completion, not to
+      some horror of intensification and extremity wherein the soul and body
+      ultimately perish. The completion of the process of love is the arrival at
+      a state of simple, pure self-possession, for man and woman. Only that.
+      Which isn't exciting enough for us sensationalists. We prefer abysses and
+      maudlin self-abandon and self-sacrifice, the degeneration into a sort of
+      slime and merge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Perhaps, truly, the process of love is never accomplished. But it moves in
+      great stages, and at the end of each stage a true goal, where the soul
+      possesses itself in simple and generous singleness. Without this, love is
+      a disease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron, crossing a certain border-line and finding himself alone
+      completely, accepted his loneliness or singleness as a fulfilment, a state
+      of fulfilment. The long fight with Lottie had driven him at last to
+      himself, so that he was quiet as a thing which has its root deep in life,
+      and has lost its anxiety. As for considering the lily, it is not a matter
+      of consideration. The lily toils and spins hard enough, in her own way.
+      But without that strain and that anxiety with which we try to weave
+      ourselves a life. The lily is life-rooted, life-central. She <i>cannot</i>
+      worry. She is life itself, a little, delicate fountain playing creatively,
+      for as long or as short a time as may be, and unable to be anxious. She
+      may be sad or sorry, if the north wind blows. But even then, anxious she
+      cannot be. Whether her fountain play or cease to play, from out the cold,
+      damp earth, she cannot be anxious. She may only be glad or sorry, and
+      continue her way. She is perfectly herself, whatever befall! even if
+      frosts cut her off. Happy lily, never to be saddled with an <i>idee fixe</i>,
+      never to be in the grip of a monomania for happiness or love or
+      fulfilment. It is not <i>laisser aller</i>. It is life-rootedness. It is
+      being by oneself, life-living, like the much-mooted lily. One toils, one
+      spins, one strives: just as the lily does. But like her, taking one's own
+      life-way amidst everything, and taking one's own life-way alone. Love too.
+      But there also, taking one's way alone, happily alone in all the wonders
+      of communion, swept up on the winds, but never swept away from one's very
+      self. Two eagles in mid-air, maybe, like Whitman's Dalliance of Eagles.
+      Two eagles in mid-air, grappling, whirling, coming to their
+      intensification of love-oneness there in mid-air. In mid-air the love
+      consummation. But all the time each lifted on its own wings: each bearing
+      itself up on its own wings at every moment of the mid-air love
+      consummation. That is the splendid love-way.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+        ...............
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      The party was festive at dinner-time, the women in their finest dresses,
+      new flowers on the table, the best wine going. It was Sunday evening.
+      Aaron too was dressed&mdash;and Lady Franks, in black lace and pearls, was
+      almost gay. There were quails for dinner. The Colonel was quite happy. An
+      air of conviviality gathered round the table during the course of the
+      meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope,&rdquo; said Aaron, &ldquo;that we shall have some music tonight.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I want so much to hear your flute,&rdquo; said his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I your piano,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am very weak&mdash;very out of practise. I tremble at the thought of
+      playing before a musician. But you must not be too critical.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; said Aaron, &ldquo;I am not a man to be afraid of.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, we will see,&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;But I am afraid of music itself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I think it is risky.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Risky! I don't see that! Music risky? Bach? Beethoven! No, I don't agree.
+      On the contrary, I think it is most elevating&mdash;most morally
+      inspiring. No, I tremble before it because it is so wonderful and
+      elevating.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I often find it makes me feel diabolical,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is your misfortune, I am sure,&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;Please do take
+      another&mdash;but perhaps you don't like mushrooms?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron quite liked mushrooms, and helped himself to the <i>entree</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But perhaps,&rdquo; said she, &ldquo;you are too modern. You don't care for Bach or
+      Beethoven or Chopin&mdash;dear Chopin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I find them all quite as modern as I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that so! Yes. For myself I am quite old-fashioned&mdash;though I can
+      appreciate Strauss and Stravinsky as well, some things. But my old things&mdash;ah,
+      I don't think the moderns are so fine. They are not so deep. They haven't
+      fathomed life so deeply.&rdquo; Lady Franks sighed faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They don't care for depths,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, they haven't the capacity. But I like big, deep music. Oh, I love
+      orchestra. But my instrument is the piano. I like the great masters, Bach,
+      Beethoven. They have such faith. You were talking of faith&mdash;believing
+      that things would work out well for you in the end. Beethoven inspires
+      that in me, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He makes you feel that all will be well with you at last?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, he does. He makes me feel faith in my PERSONAL destiny. And I do
+      feel that there is something in one's special fate. I feel that I myself
+      have a special kind of fate, that will always look after me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you can trust to it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I can. It ALWAYS turns out right. I think something has gone wrong&mdash;and
+      then, it always turns out right. Why when we were in London&mdash;when we
+      were at lunch one morning it suddenly struck me, haven't I left my fur
+      cloak somewhere? It was rather cold, so I had taken it with me, and then
+      never put it on. And I hadn't brought it home. I had left it somewhere.
+      But whether in a taxi, or in a shop, or in a little show of pictures I had
+      been to, I couldn't remember. I COULD NOT remember. And I thought to
+      myself: have I lost my cloak? I went round to everywhere I could think of:
+      no-trace of it. But I didn't give it up. Something prompted me not to give
+      it up: quite distinctly, I felt something telling me that I should get it
+      back. So I called at Scotland Yard and gave the information. Well, two
+      days later I had a notice from Scotland Yard, so I went. And there was my
+      cloak. I had it back. And that has happened to me almost every time. I
+      almost always get my things back. And I always feel that something looks
+      after me, do you know: almost takes care of me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But do you mean when you lose things&mdash;or in your life?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean when I lose things&mdash;or when I want to get something I want&mdash;I
+      am very nearly ALWAYS successful. And I always feel there is some sort of
+      higher power which does it for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Finds your cloak for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Wasn't it extraordinary? I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland
+      Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you. And I always feel, as I say,
+      that there is some higher power which helps me. Do you feel the same?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, not that way, worse luck. I lost a batch of music a month ago which
+      didn't belong to me&mdash;and which I couldn't replace. But I never could
+      recover it: though I'm sure nobody wanted it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very unfortunate! Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that gets
+      stolen most.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren't all
+      gifted alike with guardian angels.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Apparently not. And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you know,
+      that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For always recovering your property?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and succeeding in my undertakings.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I had no fairy godmother.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;I think I had. And very glad I am of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; said Aaron, looking at his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the dinner sailed merrily on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But does Beethoven make you feel,&rdquo; said Aaron as an afterthought, &ldquo;in the
+      same way&mdash;that you will always find the things you have lost?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be
+      returned to me. Just as I found my cloak. And that if I enter into an
+      undertaking, it will be successful.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And your life has been always successful?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;almost always. We have succeeded with almost everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, yes,&rdquo; said Aaron, looking at her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her
+      satisfaction. She had had her suffering, sure enough. But none the less,
+      she was in the main satisfied. She sat there, a good hostess, and expected
+      the homage due to her success. And of course she got it. Aaron himself did
+      his little share of shoe-licking, and swallowed the taste of boot-polish
+      with a grimace, knowing what he was about.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dinner wound gaily to an end. The ladies retired. Sir William left his
+      seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next to Aaron,
+      summoning the other three men to cluster near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, Colonel,&rdquo; said the host, &ldquo;send round the bottle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the port,
+      actually port, in those bleak, post-war days!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, Mr. Sisson,&rdquo; said Sir William, &ldquo;we will drink to your kind
+      Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by so
+      doing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, sir; no, sir! The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly. Mr. Sisson put
+      his money on kindly fortune, I believe,&rdquo; said Arthur, who rosy and fresh
+      with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous <i>bonne bouchee</i> for
+      a finely-discriminating cannibal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, indeed! A much more ingratiating lady to lift our glasses to.
+      Mr. Sisson's kindly fortune. <i>Fortuna gentil-issima</i>! Well, Mr.
+      Sisson, and may your Lady Fortune ever smile on you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William lifted his glass with an odd little smirk, some touch of a
+      strange, prim old satyr lurking in his oddly inclined head. Nay, more than
+      satyr: that curious, rather terrible iron demon that has fought with the
+      world and wrung wealth from it, and which knows all about it. The devilish
+      spirit of iron itself, and iron machines. So, with his strange, old smile
+      showing his teeth rather terribly, the old knight glowered sightlessly
+      over his glass at Aaron. Then he drank: the strange, careful, old-man's
+      gesture in drinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Aaron, &ldquo;if Fortune is a female&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fortune! Fortune! Why, Fortune is a lady. What do you say, Major?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She has all the airs of one, Sir William,&rdquo; said the Major, with the
+      wistful grimness of his age and culture. And the young fellow stared like
+      a crucified cyclops from his one eye: the black shutter being over the
+      other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And all the graces,&rdquo; capped Sir William, delighted with himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, quite!&rdquo; said the Major. &ldquo;For some, all the airs, and for others, all
+      the graces.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, my boy,&rdquo; said Sir William. &ldquo;Not that
+      your heart is faint. On the contrary&mdash;as we know, and your country
+      knows. But with Lady Fortune you need another kind of stout heart&mdash;oh,
+      quite another kind.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I believe it, sir: and the kind of stout heart which I am afraid I
+      haven't got,&rdquo; said the Major.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; said the old man. &ldquo;Show the white feather before you've tackled
+      the lady! Fill the Major's glass, Colonel. I am quite sure we will none of
+      us ever say die.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not likely. Not if we know it,&rdquo; said the Colonel, stretching himself
+      heartily inside his tunic. He was becoming ruddier than the cherry. All he
+      cared about at the moment was his gay little port glass. But the Major's
+      young cheek was hollow and sallow, his one eye terribly pathetic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you, Mr. Sisson,&rdquo; said Sir William, &ldquo;mean to carry all before you by
+      taking no thought for the morrow. Well, now, we can only wish you
+      success.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't want to carry all before me,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I should be sorry. I
+      want to walk past most of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can you tell us where to? I am intrigued, as Sybil says, to know where
+      you will walk to. Come now. Enlighten us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nowhere, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But is that satisfactory? Can you find it satisfactory?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is it even true?&rdquo; said the Major. &ldquo;Isn't it quite as positive an act to
+      walk away from a situation as to walk towards it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear boy, you can't merely walk away from a situation. Believe that.
+      If you walk away from Rome, you walk into the Maremma, or into the Alban
+      Hills, or into the sea&mdash;but you walk into something. Now if I am
+      going to walk away from Rome, I prefer to choose my direction, and
+      therefore my destination.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you can't,&rdquo; said the Major.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What can't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Choose. Either your direction or your destination.&rdquo; The Major was
+      obstinate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really!&rdquo; said Sir William. &ldquo;I have not found it so. I have not found it
+      so. I have had to keep myself hard at work, all my life, choosing between
+      this or that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we,&rdquo; said the Major, &ldquo;have no choice, except between this or
+      nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really! I am afraid,&rdquo; said Sir William, &ldquo;I am afraid I am too old&mdash;or
+      too young&mdash;which shall I say?&mdash;to understand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too young, sir,&rdquo; said Arthur sweetly. &ldquo;The child was always father to the
+      man, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I confess the Major makes me feel childish,&rdquo; said the old man. &ldquo;The
+      choice between this or nothing is a puzzler to me. Can you help me out,
+      Mr. Sisson? What do you make of this this-or-nothing business? I can
+      understand neck-or-nothing&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I prefer the NOTHING part of it to the THIS part of it,&rdquo; said Aaron,
+      grinning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Colonel,&rdquo; said the old man, &ldquo;throw a little light on this nothingness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Sir William,&rdquo; said the Colonel. &ldquo;I am all right as I am.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As a matter of fact, so are we all, perfectly A-one,&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron broke into a laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the top and bottom of it,&rdquo; he laughed, flushed with wine, and
+      handsome. We're all as right as ninepence. Only it's rather nice to talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo; said Sir William. &ldquo;We're all as right as ninepence! We're all as
+      right ninepence. So there well leave it, before the Major has time to say
+      he is twopence short.&rdquo; Laughing his strange old soundless laugh, Sir
+      William rose and made a little bow. &ldquo;Come up and join the ladies in a
+      minute or two,&rdquo; he said. Arthur opened the door for him and he left the
+      room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The four men were silent for a moment&mdash;then the Colonel whipped up
+      the decanter and filled his glass. Then he stood up and clinked glasses
+      with Aaron, like a real old sport.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Luck to you,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thanks,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're going in the morning?&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What train?&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eight-forty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;then we shan't see you again. Well&mdash;best of luck.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Best of luck&mdash;&rdquo; echoed the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same to you,&rdquo; said Aaron, and they all peered over their glasses and
+      quite loved one another for a rosy minute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to know, though,&rdquo; said the hollow-cheeked young Major with
+      the black flap over his eye, &ldquo;whether you do really mean you are all right&mdash;that
+      it is all right with you&mdash;or whether you only say so to get away from
+      the responsibility.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean I don't really care&mdash;I don't a damn&mdash;let the devil take
+      it all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil doesn't want it, either,&rdquo; said the Major.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then let him leave it. I don't care one single little curse about it
+      all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be damned. What is there to care about?&rdquo; said the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, what?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all the same, whether you care or don't care. So I say it's much
+      easier not to care,&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course it is,&rdquo; said the Colonel gaily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I think so, too,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you are! We're all as right as ninepence&mdash;what? Good old
+      sport! Here's yours!&rdquo; cried the Colonel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall have to be going up,&rdquo; said Arthur, wise in his generation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they went into the hall, Arthur suddenly put one arm round Aaron's
+      waist, and one arm round the Colonel's, and the three did a sudden little
+      barn-dance towards the stairs. Arthur was feeling himself quite let loose
+      again, back in his old regimental mess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Approaching the foot of the stairs, he let go again. He was in that rosy
+      condition when united-we-stand. But unfortunately it is a complicated job
+      to climb the stairs in unison. The whole lot tends to fall backwards.
+      Arthur, therefore, rosy, plump, looking so good to eat, stood still a
+      moment in order to find his own neatly-slippered feet. Having found them,
+      he proceeded to put them carefully one before the other, and to his
+      enchantment found that this procedure was carrying him magically up the
+      stairs. The Colonel, like a drowning man, clutched feebly for the straw of
+      the great stair-rail&mdash;and missed it. He would have gone under, but
+      that Aaron's hand gripped his arm. So, orientating once more like a
+      fragile tendril, he reached again for the banister rail, and got it. After
+      which, lifting his feet as if they were little packets of sand tied to his
+      trouser buttons, he manipulated his way upwards. Aaron was in that
+      pleasant state when he saw what everybody else was doing and was
+      unconscious of what he did himself. Whilst tall, gaunt, erect, like a
+      murdered Hamlet resurrected in khaki, with the terrible black shutter over
+      his eye, the young Major came last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arthur was making a stern fight for his composure. His whole future
+      depended on it. But do what he would, he could not get the flushed,
+      pleased, mess-happy look off his face. The Colonel, oh, awful man, did a
+      sort of plump roly-poly-cake-walk, like a fat boy, right to the very door
+      of that santum-sanctorum, the library. Aaron was inwardly convulsed. Even
+      the Major laughed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Arthur stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat. All four
+      started to compose themselves, like actors going on the stage, outside
+      that library door. And then Arthur softly, almost wistfully, opened and
+      held the door for the others to pass. The Colonel slunk meekly in, and sat
+      in a chair in the background. The Major stalked in expressionless, and
+      hovered towards the sofa where his wife sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a rather cold-water-down-your-back feeling in the library. The
+      ladies had been waiting for coffee. Sir William was waiting, too.
+      Therefore in a little tension, half silent, the coffee was handed round.
+      Lady Franks was discussing something with Arthur's wife. Arthur's wife was
+      in a cream lace dress, and looking what is called lovely. The Major's wife
+      was in amethyst chiffon with dark-red roses, and was looking blindingly
+      beautiful. The Colonel was looking into his coffee-cup as wistfully as if
+      it contained the illusion of tawny port. The Major was looking into space,
+      as if there and there alone, etc. Arthur was looking for something which
+      Lady Franks had asked for, and which he was much too flushed to find. Sir
+      William was looking at Aaron, and preparing for another <i>coeur a coeur</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I doubt if you will care for Milan. It is one of the
+      least Italian of all the towns, in my opinion. Venice, of course, is a
+      thing apart. I cannot stand, myself, that miserable specimen the modern
+      Roman. He has most of the vices of the old Romans and none of the virtues.
+      The most congenial town, perhaps, for a stranger, is Florence. But it has
+      a very bad climate.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Franks rose significantly and left the room, accompanied by Arthur's
+      wife. Aaron knew, silently, that he was summoned to follow. His hostess
+      had her eye on him this evening. But always postponing his obedience to
+      the cool commands of women, he remained talking with his host in the
+      library, and sipping <i>creme de menthe</i>! Came the ripple of the
+      pianoforte from the open doorway down at the further end of the room. Lady
+      Franks was playing, in the large drawing-room. And the ripple of the music
+      contained in it the hard insistence of the little woman's will. Coldly,
+      and decidedly, she intended there should be no more unsettling
+      conversations for the old Sir William. Aaron was to come forthwith into
+      the drawing room. Which Aaron plainly understood&mdash;and so he didn't
+      go. No, he didn't go, though the pianoforte rippled and swelled in volume.
+      No, and he didn't go even when Lady Franks left off playing and came into
+      the library again. There he sat, talking with Sir William. Let us do
+      credit to Lady Franks' will-power, and admit that the talk was quite empty
+      and distracted&mdash;none of the depths and skirmishes of the previous
+      occasions. None the less, the talk continued. Lady Franks retired,
+      discomfited, to her piano again. She would never break in upon her lord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So now Aaron relented. He became more and more distracted. Sir William
+      wandered away like some restless, hunted soul. The Colonel still sat in
+      his chair, nursing his last drop of <i>creme de menthe</i> resentfully. He
+      did not care for the green toffee-stuff. Arthur was busy. The Major lay
+      sprawled in the last stages of everything on the sofa, holding his wife's
+      hand. And the music came pathetically through the open folding-doors. Of
+      course, she played with feeling&mdash;it went without saying. Aaron's soul
+      felt rather tired. But she had a touch of discrimination also.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose and went to the drawing-room. It was a large, vacant-seeming,
+      Empire sort of drawing-room, with yellow silk chairs along the walls and
+      yellow silk panels upon the walls, and a huge, vasty crystal chandelier
+      hanging from a faraway-above ceiling. Lady Franks sat at a large black
+      Bechstein piano at one end of this vacant yellow state-room. She sat, a
+      little plump elderly lady in black lace, for all the world like Queen
+      Victoria in Max Beerbohm's drawing of Alfred Tennyson reading to her
+      Victorian Majesty, with space before her. Arthur's wife was bending over
+      some music in a remote corner of the big room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron seated himself on one of the chairs by the wall, to listen.
+      Certainly it was a beautiful instrument. And certainly, in her way, she
+      loved it. But Aaron remembered an anthem in which he had taken part as a
+      boy.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                    His eye is on the sparrow
+                    So I know He watches me.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      For a long time he had failed to catch the word <i>sparrow</i>, and had
+      heard:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                    His eye is on the spy-hole
+                    So I know He watches me.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Which was just how it had all seemed to him, as a boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now, as ever, he felt the eye was on the spy-hole. There sat the woman
+      playing music. But her inward eye was on the spy-hole of her vital affairs&mdash;her
+      domestic arrangements, her control of her household, guests and husband
+      included. The other eye was left for the music, don't you know.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sir William appeared hovering in the doorway, not at all liking the
+      defection of Mr. Aaron. Then he retreated. He seemed not to care for
+      music. The Major's wife hovered&mdash;felt it her duty to <i>aude</i>, or
+      play audience&mdash;and entered, seating herself in a breath of lilac and
+      amethyst again at the near distance. The Major, after a certain beating
+      about the bush, followed and sat wrapt in dim contemplation near his wife.
+      Arthur luckily was still busy with something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron of course made proper musical remarks in the intervals&mdash;Arthur's
+      wife sorted out more pieces. Arthur appeared&mdash;and then the Colonel.
+      The Colonel tip-toed beautifully across the wide blank space of the Empire
+      room, and seated himself on a chair, rather in the distance, with his back
+      to the wall, facing Aaron. When Lady Franks finished her piece, to
+      everybody's amazement the Colonel clapped gaily to himself and said Bravo!
+      as if at a Cafe Chantant, looking round for his glass. But there was no
+      glass. So he crossed his neatly-khakied legs, and looked rapt again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Franks started with a <i>vivace</i> Schumann piece. Everybody
+      listened in sanctified silence, trying to seem to like it. When suddenly
+      our Colonel began to spring and bounce in his chair, slinging his loose
+      leg with a kind of rapture up and down in the air, and capering upon his
+      posterior, doing a sitting-down jig to the Schumann <i>vivace</i>. Arthur,
+      who had seated himself at the farthest extremity of the room, winked with
+      wild bliss at Aaron. The Major tried to look as if he noticed nothing, and
+      only succeeded in looking agonised. His wife studied the point of her
+      silver shoe minutely, and peeped through her hair at the performance.
+      Aaron grimly chuckled, and loved the Colonel with real tenderness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the game went on while the <i>vivace</i> lasted. Up and down bounced
+      the plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent toe
+      higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig. Rosy and
+      unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to. The
+      broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way. Let him enjoy
+      himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled salon.
+      Aaron felt quite cheered up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, now,&rdquo; he thought to himself, &ldquo;this man is in entire command of a
+      very important branch of the British Service in Italy. We are a great race
+      still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Lady Franks must have twigged. Her playing went rather stiff. She came
+      to the end of the <i>vivace</i> movement, and abandoned her piece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I always prefer Schumann in his <i>vivace</i> moods,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you?&rdquo; said Lady Franks. &ldquo;Oh, I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing. Arthur seemed to get further
+      away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote end of the
+      room, near the gallery doors. The Colonel became quiet, pensive. The
+      Major's wife eyed the young woman in white lace, and seemed not to care
+      for lace. Arthur seemed to be trying to push himself backwards through the
+      wall. Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and voluminous
+      crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the room's
+      centre. And Arthur's wife sang sweet little French songs, and <i>Ye Banks
+      and Braes</i>, and <i>Caro mio ben</i>, which goes without saying: and so
+      on. She had quite a nice voice and was quite adequately trained. Which is
+      enough said. Aaron had all his nerves on edge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he had to play the flute. Arthur strolled upstairs with him,
+      arm-in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I find music in the home rather a strain, you know,&rdquo; said Arthur.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cruel strain. I quite agree,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mind it so much in the theatre&mdash;or even a concert&mdash;where
+      there are a lot of other people to take the edge off&mdash; But after a
+      good dinner&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's medicine,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, you know, it really is, to me. It affects my inside.&rdquo; Aaron
+      laughed. And then, in the yellow drawing-room, blew into his pipe and
+      played. He knew so well that Arthur, the Major, the Major's wife, the
+      Colonel, and Sir William thought it merely an intolerable bore. However,
+      he played. His hostess even accompanied him in a Mozart bit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIV. XX SETTEMBRE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was awakened in the morning by the soft entrance of the butler with
+      the tray: it was just seven o'clock. Lady Franks' household was punctual
+      as the sun itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But our hero roused himself with a wrench. The very act of lifting himself
+      from the pillow was like a fight this morning. Why? He recognized his own
+      wrench, the pain with which he struggled under the necessity to move. Why
+      shouldn't he want to move? Why not? Because he didn't want the day in
+      front&mdash;the plunge into a strange country, towards nowhere, with no
+      aim in view. True, he said that ultimately he wanted to join Lilly. But
+      this was hardly more than a sop, an excuse for his own irrational
+      behaviour. He was breaking loose from one connection after another; and
+      what for? Why break every tie? Snap, snap, snap went the bonds and
+      ligatures which bound him to the life that had formed him, the people he
+      had loved or liked. He found all his affections snapping off, all the ties
+      which united him with his own people coming asunder. And why? In God's
+      name, why? What was there instead?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was nothingness. There was just himself, and blank nothingness. He
+      had perhaps a faint sense of Lilly ahead of him; an impulse in that
+      direction, or else merely an illusion. He could not persuade himself that
+      he was seeking for love, for any kind of unison or communion. He knew well
+      enough that the thought of any loving, any sort of real coming together
+      between himself and anybody or anything, was just objectionable to him. No&mdash;he
+      was not moving <i>towards</i> anything: he was moving almost violently
+      away from everything. And that was what he wanted. Only that. Only let him
+      <i>not</i> run into any sort of embrace with anything or anybody&mdash;this
+      was what he asked. Let no new connection be made between himself and
+      anything on earth. Let all old connections break. This was his craving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet he struggled under it this morning as under the lid of a tomb. The
+      terrible sudden weight of inertia! He knew the tray stood ready by the
+      bed: he knew the automobile would be at the door at eight o'clock, for
+      Lady Franks had said so, and he half divined that the servant had also
+      said so: yet there he lay, in a kind of paralysis in this bed. He seemed
+      for the moment to have lost his will. Why go forward into more
+      nothingness, away from all that he knew, all he was accustomed to and all
+      he belonged to?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, with a click he sat up. And the very instant he had poured his
+      coffee from the little silver coffee-pot into his delicate cup, he was
+      ready for anything and everything. The sense of silent adventure took him,
+      the exhilarated feeling that he was fulfilling his own inward destiny.
+      Pleasant to taste was the coffee, the bread, the honey&mdash;delicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man brought his clothes, and again informed him that the automobile
+      would be at the door at eight o'clock: or at least so he made out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can walk,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Milady ha comandato l'automobile,&rdquo; said the man softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was evident that if Milady had ordered it, so it must be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron left the still-sleeping house, and got into the soft and
+      luxurious car. As he dropped through the park he wondered that Sir William
+      and Lady Franks should be so kind to him: a complete stranger. But so it
+      was. There he sat in their car. He wondered, also, as he ran over the
+      bridge and into the city, whether this soft-running automobile would ever
+      rouse the socialistic bile of the work-people. For the first time in his
+      life, as he sat among the snug cushions, he realised what it might be to
+      be rich and uneasy: uneasy, even if not afraid, lurking there inside an
+      expensive car.&mdash;Well, it wasn't much of a sensation anyhow: and
+      riches were stuffy, like wadded upholstery on everything. He was glad to
+      get out into the fresh air of the common crowd. He was glad to be in the
+      bleak, not-very-busy station. He was glad to be part of common life. For
+      the very atmosphere of riches seems to be stuffed and wadded, never any
+      real reaction. It was terrible, as if one's very body, shoulders and arms,
+      were upholstered and made cushiony. Ugh, but he was glad to shake off
+      himself the atmosphere of wealth and motor-cars, to get out of it all. It
+      was like getting out of quilted clothes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; thought Aaron, &ldquo;if this is all it amounts to, to be rich, you can
+      have riches. They talk about money being power. But the only sort of power
+      it has over me is to bring on a kind of numbness, which I fairly hate. No
+      wonder rich people don't seem to be really alive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The relief of escaping quite took away his self-conscious embarrassment at
+      the station. He carried his own bags, bought a third-class ticket, and got
+      into the train for Milan without caring one straw for the comments or the
+      looks of the porters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It began to rain. The rain ran across the great plain of north Italy.
+      Aaron sat in his wood-seated carriage and smoked his pipe in silence,
+      looking at the thick, short Lombards opposite him without heeding them. He
+      paid hardly any outward attention to his surroundings, but sat involved in
+      himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Milan he had been advised to go to the Hotel Britannia, because it was
+      not expensive, and English people went there. So he took a carriage, drove
+      round the green space in front of Milan station, and away into the town.
+      The streets were busy, but only half-heartedly so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It must be confessed that every new move he made was rather an effort.
+      Even he himself wondered why he was struggling with foreign porters and
+      foreign cabmen, being talked at and not understanding a word. But there he
+      was. So he went on with it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hotel was small and congenial. The hotel porter answered in English.
+      Aaron was given a little room with a tiny balcony, looking on to a quiet
+      street. So, he had a home of his own once more. He washed, and then
+      counted his money. Thirty-seven pounds he had: and no more. He stood on
+      the balcony and looked at the people going by below. Life seems to be
+      moving so quick, when one looks down on it from above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across the road was a large stone house with its green shutters all
+      closed. But from the flagpole under the eaves, over the central window of
+      the uppermost floor&mdash;the house was four storeys high&mdash;waved the
+      Italian flag in the melancholy damp air. Aaron looked at it&mdash;the red,
+      white and green tricolour, with the white cross of Savoy in the centre. It
+      hung damp and still. And there seemed a curious vacancy in the city&mdash;something
+      empty and depressing in the great human centre. Not that there was really
+      a lack of people. But the spirit of the town seemed depressed and empty.
+      It was a national holiday. The Italian flag was hanging from almost every
+      housefront.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Aaron sat in the restaurant
+      of the hotel drinking tea, for he was rather tired, and looking through
+      the thin curtains at the little square outside, where people passed:
+      little groups of dark, aimless-seeming men, a little bit poorer looking&mdash;perhaps
+      rather shorter in stature&mdash;but very much like the people in any other
+      town. Yet the feeling of the city was so different from that of London.
+      There seemed a curious emptiness. The rain had ceased, but the pavements
+      were still wet. There was a tension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly there was a noise of two shots, fired in rapid succession. Aaron
+      turned startled to look into the quiet piazza. And to his amazement, the
+      pavements were empty, not a soul was in sight. Two minutes before the
+      place was busy with passers-by, and a newspaper man selling the Corriere,
+      and little carriages rattling through. Now, as if by magic, nobody,
+      nothing. It was as if they had all melted into thin air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The waiter, too, was peeping behind the curtain. A carriage came trotting
+      into the square&mdash;an odd man took his way alone&mdash;the traffic
+      began to stir once more, and people reappeared as suddenly as they had
+      disappeared. Then the waiter ran hastily and furtively out and craned his
+      neck, peering round the square. He spoke with two youths&mdash;rather
+      loutish youths. Then he returned to his duty in the hotel restaurant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was it? What were the shots?&rdquo; Aaron asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh&mdash;somebody shooting at a dog,&rdquo; said the man negligently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At a dog!&rdquo; said Aaron, with round eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He finished his tea, and went out into the town. His hotel was not far
+      from the cathedral square. Passing through the arcade, he came in sight of
+      the famous cathedral with its numerous spines pricking into the afternoon
+      air. He was not as impressed as he should have been. And yet there was
+      something in the northern city&mdash;this big square with all the trams
+      threading through, the little yellow Continental trams: and the spiny bulk
+      of the great cathedral, like a grey-purple sea-urchin with many spines, on
+      the one side, the ornamental grass-plots and flower beds on the other: the
+      big shops going all along the further strands, all round: and the endless
+      restless nervous drift of a north Italian crowd, so nervous, so twitchy;
+      nervous and twitchy as the slipping past of the little yellow tram-cars;
+      it all affected him with a sense of strangeness, nervousness, and
+      approaching winter. It struck him the people were afraid of themselves:
+      afraid of their own souls, and that which was in their own souls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Turning up the broad steps of the cathedral, he entered the famous
+      building. The sky had cleared, and the freshened light shone coloured in
+      living tablets round the wonderful, towering, rose-hearted dusk of the
+      great church. At some altars lights flickered uneasily. At some unseen
+      side altar mass was going on, and a strange ragged music fluttered out on
+      the incense-dusk of the great and lofty interior, which was all shadow,
+      all shadow, hung round with jewel tablets of light. Particularly beautiful
+      the great east bay, above the great altar. And all the time, over the
+      big-patterned marble floor, the faint click and rustle of feet coming and
+      going, coming and going, like shallow uneasy water rustled back and forth
+      in a trough. A white dog trotted pale through the under-dusk, over the
+      pale, big-patterned floor. Aaron came to the side altar where mass was
+      going on, candles ruddily wavering. There was a small cluster of kneeling
+      women&mdash;a ragged handful of on-looking men&mdash;and people wandering
+      up and wandering away, young women with neatly dressed black hair, and
+      shawls, but without hats; fine young women in very high heels; young men
+      with nothing to do; ragged men with nothing to do. All strayed faintly
+      clicking over the slabbed floor, and glanced at the flickering altar where
+      the white-surpliced boys were curtseying and the white-and-gold priest
+      bowing, his hands over his breast, in the candle-light. All strayed,
+      glanced, lingered, and strayed away again, as if the spectacle were not
+      sufficiently holding. The bell chimed for the elevation of the Host. But
+      the thin trickle of people trickled the same, uneasily, over the slabbed
+      floor of the vastly-upreaching shadow-foliaged cathedral.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smell of incense in his nostrils, Aaron went out again by a side door,
+      and began to walk along the pavements of the cathedral square, looking at
+      the shops. Some were closed, and had little notices pinned on them. Some
+      were open, and seemed half-stocked with half-elegant things. Men were
+      carrying newspapers. In the cafes a few men were seated drinking vermouth.
+      In the doorway of the restaurants waiters stood inert, looking out on the
+      streets. The curious heart-eating <i>ennui</i> of the big town on a
+      holiday came over our hero. He felt he must get out, whatever happened. He
+      could not bear it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went back to his hotel and up to his room. It was still only five
+      o'clock. And he did not know what to do with himself. He lay down on the
+      bed, and looked at the painting on his bedroom ceiling. It was a terrible
+      business in reckitt's blue and browny gold, with awful heraldic beasts,
+      rather worm-wriggly, displayed in a blue field.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he lay thinking of nothing and feeling nothing except a certain
+      weariness, or dreariness, or tension, or God-knows-what, he heard a loud
+      hoarse noise of humanity in the distance, something frightening. Rising,
+      he went on to his little balcony. It was a sort of procession, or march of
+      men, here and there a red flag fluttering from a man's fist. There had
+      been a big meeting, and this was the issue. The procession was irregular,
+      but powerful, men four abreast. They emerged irregularly from the small
+      piazza to the street, calling and vociferating. They stopped before a shop
+      and clotted into a crowd, shouting, becoming vicious. Over the shop-door
+      hung a tricolour, a national flag. The shop was closed, but the men began
+      to knock at the door. They were all workmen, some in railway men's caps,
+      mostly in black felt hats. Some wore red cotton neck-ties. They lifted
+      their faces to the national flag, and as they shouted and gesticulated
+      Aaron could see their strong teeth in their jaws. There was something
+      frightening in their lean, strong Italian jaws, something inhuman and
+      possessed-looking in their foreign, southern-shaped faces, so much more
+      formed and demon-looking than northern faces. They had a demon-like set
+      purpose, and the noise of their voices was like a jarring of steel
+      weapons. Aaron wondered what they wanted. There were no women&mdash;all
+      men&mdash;a strange male, slashing sound. Vicious it was&mdash;the head of
+      the procession swirling like a little pool, the thick wedge of the
+      procession beyond, flecked with red flags.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A window opened above the shop, and a frowsty-looking man, yellow-pale,
+      was quickly and nervously hauling in the national flag. There were shouts
+      of derision and mockery&mdash;a great overtone of acrid derision&mdash;the
+      flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared. And the procession moved on.
+      Almost every shop had a flag flying. And every one of these flags now
+      disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later, in obedience to the
+      command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that marched and clotted slowly
+      down the street, having its own way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one flag remained flying&mdash;the big tricolour that floated from
+      the top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel. The ground floor of
+      this house consisted of shop-premises&mdash;now closed. There was no sign
+      of any occupant. The flag floated inert aloft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and all
+      were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which stirred
+      damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves of the house
+      opposite. Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped almost unmoved from
+      the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl itself up of its own
+      accord, in obedience to the will of the masses. Then he looked down at the
+      packed black shoulders of the mob below, and at the curious clustering
+      pattern of a sea of black hats. He could hardly see anything but hats and
+      shoulders, uneasily moving like boiling pitch away beneath him. But the
+      shouts began to come up hotter and hotter. There had been a great ringing
+      of a door-bell and battering on the shop-door. The crowd&mdash;the swollen
+      head of the procession&mdash;talked and shouted, occupying the centre of
+      the street, but leaving the pavement clear. A woman in a white blouse
+      appeared in the shop-door. She came out and looked up at the flag and
+      shook her head and gesticulated with her hands. It was evidently not her
+      flag&mdash;she had nothing to do with it. The leaders again turned to the
+      large house-door, and began to ring all the bells and to knock with their
+      knuckles. But no good&mdash;there was no answer. They looked up again at
+      the flag. Voices rose ragged and ironical. The woman explained something
+      again. Apparently there was nobody at home in the upper floors&mdash;all
+      entrance was locked&mdash;there was no caretaker. Nobody owned the flag.
+      There it hung under the broad eaves of the strong stone house, and didn't
+      even know that it was guilty. The woman went back into her shop and drew
+      down the iron shutter from inside.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle. The
+      voices rose in pitch and derision. Steam was getting up. There hung the
+      flag. The procession crowded forward and filled the street in a mass
+      below. All the rest of the street was empty and shut up. And still hung
+      the showy rag, red and white and green, up aloft.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Suddenly there was a lull&mdash;then shouts, half-encouraging,
+      half-derisive. And Aaron saw a smallish-black figure of a youth,
+      fair-haired, not more than seventeen years old, clinging like a monkey to
+      the front of the house, and by the help of the heavy drain-pipe and the
+      stone-work ornamentation climbing up to the stone ledge that ran under
+      ground-floor windows, up like a sudden cat on to the projecting footing.
+      He did not stop there, but continued his race like some frantic lizard
+      running up the great wall-front, working away from the noise below, as if
+      in sheer fright. It was one unending wriggling movement, sheer up the
+      front of the impassive, heavy stone house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The flag hung from a pole under one of the windows of the top storey&mdash;the
+      third floor. Up went the wriggling figure of the possessed youth. The
+      cries of the crowd below were now wild, ragged ejaculations of excitement
+      and encouragement. The youth seemed to be lifted up, almost magically on
+      the intense upreaching excitement of the massed men below. He passed the
+      ledge of the first floor, like a lizard he wriggled up and passed the
+      ledge or coping of the second floor, and there he was, like an
+      upward-climbing shadow, scrambling on to the coping of the third floor.
+      The crowd was for a second electrically still as the boy rose there erect,
+      cleaving to the wall with the tips of his fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he did not hesitate for one breath. He was on his feet and running
+      along the narrow coping that went across the house under the third floor
+      windows, running there on that narrow footing away above the street,
+      straight to the flag. He had got it&mdash;he had clutched it in his hand,
+      a handful of it. Exactly like a great flame rose the simultaneous yell of
+      the crowd as the boy jerked and got the flag loose. He had torn it down. A
+      tremendous prolonged yell, touched with a snarl of triumph, and searing
+      like a puff of flame, sounded as the boy remained for one moment with the
+      flag in his hand looking down at the crowd below. His face was odd and
+      elated and still. Then with the slightest gesture he threw the flag from
+      him, and Aaron watched the gaudy remnant falling towards the many faces,
+      whilst the noise of yelling rose up unheard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a great clutch and hiss in the crowd. The boy still stood
+      unmoved, holding by one hand behind him, looking down from above, from his
+      dangerous elevation, in a sort of abstraction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the next thing Aaron was conscious of was the sound of trumpets. A
+      sudden startling challenge of trumpets, and out of nowhere a sudden rush
+      of grey-green carabinieri battering the crowd wildly with truncheons. It
+      was so sudden that Aaron <i>heard</i> nothing any more. He only saw.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In utmost amazement he saw the greeny-grey uniformed carabinieri rushing
+      thick and wild and indiscriminate on the crowd: a sudden new excited crowd
+      in uniforms attacking the black crowd, beating them wildly with
+      truncheons. There was a seething moment in the street below. And almost
+      instantaneously the original crowd burst into a terror of frenzy. The mob
+      broke as if something had exploded inside it. A few black-hatted men
+      fought furiously to get themselves free of the hated soldiers; in the
+      confusion bunches of men staggered, reeled, fell, and were struggling
+      among the legs of their comrades and of the carabinieri. But the bulk of
+      the crowd just burst and fled&mdash;in every direction. Like drops of
+      water they seemed to fly up at the very walls themselves. They darted into
+      any entry, any doorway. They sprang up the walls and clambered into the
+      ground-floor windows. They sprang up the walls on to window-ledges, and
+      then jumped down again, and ran&mdash;clambering, wriggling, darting,
+      running in every direction; some cut, blood on their faces, terror or
+      frenzy of flight in their hearts. Not so much terror as the frenzy of
+      running away. In a breath the street was empty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all the time, there above on the stone coping stood the long-faced,
+      fair-haired boy, while four stout carabinieri in the street below stood
+      with uplifted revolvers and covered him, shouting that if he moved they
+      would shoot. So there he stood, still looking down, still holding with his
+      left hand behind him, covered by the four revolvers. He was not so much
+      afraid as twitchily self-conscious because of his false position.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile down below the crowd had dispersed&mdash;melted momentaneously.
+      The carabinieri were busy arresting the men who had fallen and been
+      trodden underfoot, or who had foolishly let themselves be taken; perhaps
+      half a dozen men, half a dozen prisoners; less rather than more. The
+      sergeant ordered these to be secured between soldiers. And last of all the
+      youth up above, still covered by the revolvers, was ordered to come down.
+      He turned quite quietly, and quite humbly, cautiously picked his way along
+      the coping towards the drain-pipe. He reached this pipe and began, in
+      humiliation, to climb down. It was a real climb down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once in the street he was surrounded by the grey uniforms. The soldiers
+      formed up. The sergeant gave the order. And away they marched, the
+      dejected youth a prisoner between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then were heard a few scattered yells of derision and protest, a few
+      shouts of anger and derision against the carabinieri. There were once more
+      gangs of men and groups of youths along the street. They sent up an
+      occasional shout. But always over their shoulders, and pretending it was
+      not they who shouted. They were all cowed and hang-dog once more, and made
+      not the slightest effort to save the youth. Nevertheless, they prowled and
+      watched, ready for the next time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So, away went the prisoner and the grey-green soldiers, and the street was
+      left to the little gangs and groups of hangdog, discontented men, all
+      thoroughly out of countenance. The scene was ended.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked round, dazed. And then for the first time he noticed, on the
+      next balcony to his own, two young men: young gentlemen, he would have
+      said. The one was tall and handsome and well-coloured, might be Italian.
+      But the other with his pale thin face and his rimless monocle in his eye,
+      he was surely an Englishman. He was surely one of the young officers
+      shattered by the war. A look of strange, arch, bird-like pleasure was on
+      his face at this moment: if one could imagine the gleaming smile of a
+      white owl over the events that had just passed, this was the impression
+      produced on Aaron by the face of the young man with the monocle. The other
+      youth, the ruddy, handsome one, had knitted his brows in mock distress,
+      and was glancing with a look of shrewd curiosity at Aaron, and with a look
+      of almost self-satisfied excitement first to one end of the street, then
+      to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But imagine, Angus, it's all over!&rdquo; he said, laying his hand on the arm
+      of the monocled young man, and making great eyes&mdash;not without a
+      shrewd glance in Aaron's direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you see him fall!&rdquo; replied Angus, with another strange gleam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. But was he HURT&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I should think so. He fell right back out of that on to
+      those stones!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how perfectly AWFUL! Did you ever see anything like it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. It's one of the funniest things I ever did see. I saw nothing quite
+      like it, even in the war&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Aaron withdrew into his room. His mind and soul were in a whirl. He
+      sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while. When he
+      did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what. But strange,
+      strange his soul passed into his instrument. Or passed half into his
+      instrument. There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or to ferment into
+      gold old wine of wisdom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the
+      chamber-maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the
+      restaurant. The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young
+      Englishmen seated at a table in a corner just behind him. Their hair was
+      brushed straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head
+      bright and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in
+      cameo. Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking round the
+      room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some bird-creature,
+      and seeming to see nothing. He had evidently been very ill: was still very
+      ill. His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken, almost withered. He
+      forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it. Probably the latter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you think, Francis,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;of making a plan to see Florence
+      and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going straight to
+      Rome?&rdquo; He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated words, in a
+      public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South Wales.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Angus,&rdquo; came the graceful voice of Francis, &ldquo;I thought we had
+      settled to go straight through via Pisa.&rdquo; Francis was graceful in
+      everything&mdash;in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
+      head, in the modulation of his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, but I see we can go either way&mdash;either Pisa or Florence. And I
+      thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto. I
+      believe they're very lovely,&rdquo; came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
+      ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words &ldquo;very lovely,&rdquo; as if it were
+      a new experience to him to be using them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm SURE they're marvellous. I'm quite sure they're marvellously
+      beautiful,&rdquo; said Francis, in his assured, elegant way. &ldquo;Well, then, Angus&mdash;suppose
+      we do that, then?&mdash;When shall we start?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Angus was the nervous insister. Francis was quite occupied with his own
+      thoughts and calculations and curiosity. For he was very curious, not to
+      say inquisitive. And at the present moment he had a new subject to ponder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple, and
+      who, with his fine sharp ears, caught every word that they said. Aaron's
+      back was broad enough, and his shoulders square, and his head rather small
+      and fairish and well-shaped&mdash;and Francis was intrigued. He wanted to
+      know, was the man English. He <i>looked</i> so English&mdash;yet he might
+      be&mdash;he might perhaps be Danish, Scandinavian, or Dutch. Therefore,
+      the elegant young man watched and listened with all his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The waiter who had brought Aaron his soup now came very free and easy, to
+      ask for further orders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you like to drink? Wine? Chianti? Or white wine? Or beer?&rdquo;&mdash;The
+      old-fashioned &ldquo;Sir&rdquo; was dropped. It is too old-fashioned now, since the
+      war.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What SHOULD I drink?&rdquo; said Aaron, whose acquaintance with wines was not
+      very large.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half-litre of Chianti: that is very good,&rdquo; said the waiter, with the air
+      of a man who knew only too well how to bring up his betters, and train
+      them in the way they should go.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the waiter
+      most desired. &ldquo;All right! Yes! All Right!&rdquo; This is the pith, the marrow,
+      the sum and essence of the English language to a southerner. Of course it
+      is not <i>all right</i>. It is <i>Or-rye</i>&mdash;and one word at that.
+      The blow that would be given to most foreign waiters, if they were forced
+      to realize that the famous <i>orye</i> was really composed of two words,
+      and spelt <i>all right</i>, would be too cruel, perhaps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half litre Chianti. Orye,&rdquo; said the waiter. And we'll let him say it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;ENGLISH!&rdquo; whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. &ldquo;I
+      THOUGHT so. The flautist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of Aaron,
+      without apparently seeing anything. &ldquo;Yes. Obviously English,&rdquo; said Angus,
+      pursing like a bird.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but I heard him,&rdquo; whispered Francis emphatically. &ldquo;Quite,&rdquo; said
+      Angus. &ldquo;But quite inoffensive.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but Angus, my dear&mdash;he's the FLAUTIST. Don't you remember? The
+      divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin.&mdash;But
+      PERFECTLY DIVINE!!! I adore the flute above all things&mdash;&rdquo; And Francis
+      placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes&mdash;Lay this to the
+      credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. So do I,&rdquo; said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle, and
+      seeing nothing. &ldquo;I wonder what he's doing here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you think we might ASK him?&rdquo; said Francis, in a vehement whisper.
+      &ldquo;After all, we are the only three English people in the place.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For the moment, apparently we are,&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;But the English are all
+      over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in the street.
+      Don't forget that, Francesco.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, Angus, I don't. The point is, his flute is PERFECTLY DIVINE&mdash;and
+      he seems quite attractive in himself. Don't you think so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, quite,&rdquo; said Angus, whose observations had got no further than the
+      black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket. That there was a man inside he
+      had not yet paused to consider.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite a musician,&rdquo; said Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The hired sort,&rdquo; said Angus, &ldquo;most probably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But he PLAYS&mdash;he plays most marvellously. THAT you can't get away
+      from, Angus.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I quite agree,&rdquo; said Angus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then? Don't you think we might hear him again? Don't you think we
+      might get him to play for us?&mdash;But I should love it more than
+      anything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I should, too,&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;You might ask him to coffee and a
+      liqueur.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to&mdash;most awfully. But do you think I might?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. He won't mind being offered a coffee and liqueur. We can give
+      him something decent&mdash;Where's the waiter?&rdquo; Angus lifted his pinched,
+      ugly bare face and looked round with weird command for the waiter. The
+      waiter, having not much to do, and feeling ready to draw these two weird
+      young birds, allowed himself to be summoned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's the wine list? What liqueurs have you got?&rdquo; demanded Angus
+      abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The waiter rattled off a list, beginning with Strega and ending with
+      cherry brandy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Grand Marnier,&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;And leave the bottle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he looked with arch triumph at Francis, like a wicked bird. Francis
+      bit his finger moodily, and glowered with handsome, dark-blue uncertain
+      eyes at Mr. Aaron, who was just surveying the <i>Frutte</i>, which
+      consisted of two rather old pomegranates and various pale yellow apples,
+      with a sprinkling of withered dried figs. At the moment, they all looked
+      like a <i>Natura Morta</i> arrangement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But do you think I might&mdash;?&rdquo; said Francis moodily. Angus pursed his
+      lips with a reckless brightness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not? I see no reason why you shouldn't,&rdquo; he said. Whereupon Francis
+      cleared his throat, disposed of his serviette, and rose to his feet,
+      slowly but gracefully. Then he composed himself, and took on the air he
+      wished to assume at the moment. It was a nice degage air, half naive and
+      half enthusiastic. Then he crossed to Aaron's table, and stood on one
+      lounging hip, gracefully, and bent forward in a confidential manner, and
+      said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do excuse me. But I MUST ask you if it was you we heard playing the flute
+      so perfectly wonderfully, just before dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voice was confidential and ingratiating. Aaron, relieved from the
+      world's stress and seeing life anew in the rosy glow of half a litre of
+      good old Chianti&mdash;the war was so near but gone by&mdash;looked up at
+      the dark blue, ingenuous, well-adapted eyes of our friend Francis, and
+      smiling, said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I saw you on the balcony as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, did you notice us?&rdquo; plunged Francis. &ldquo;But wasn't it an extraordinary
+      affair?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I couldn't make it out, could you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh,&rdquo; cried Francis. &ldquo;I never try. It's all much too new and complicated
+      for me.&mdash;But perhaps you know Italy?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Neither do we. And we feel rather stunned. We had only just arrived&mdash;and
+      then&mdash;Oh!&rdquo; Francis put up his hand to his comely brow and rolled his
+      eyes. &ldquo;I feel perfectly overwhelmed with it still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He here allowed himself to sink friendlily into the vacant chair opposite
+      Aaron's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I thought it was a bit exciting,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I wonder what will
+      become of him&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;Of the one who climbed for the flag, you mean? No!&mdash;But
+      wasn't it perfectly marvellous! Oh, incredible, quite incredible!&mdash;And
+      then your flute to finish it all! Oh! I felt it only wanted that.&mdash;I
+      haven't got over it yet. But your playing was MARVELLOUS, really
+      marvellous. Do you know, I can't forget it. You are a professional
+      musician, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you mean I play for a living,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I have played in
+      orchestras in London.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! Of course! I knew you must be a professional. But don't you
+      give private recitals, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I never have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; cried Francis, catching his breath. &ldquo;I can't believe it. But you
+      play MARVELLOUSLY! Oh, I just loved it, it simply swept me away, after
+      that scene in the street. It seemed to sum it all up, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did it,&rdquo; said Aaron, rather grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But won't you come and have coffee with us at our table?&rdquo; said Francis.
+      &ldquo;We should like it most awfully if you would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, thank you,&rdquo; said Aaron, half-rising.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you haven't had your dessert,&rdquo; said Francis, laying a fatherly
+      detaining hand on the arm of the other man. Aaron looked at the detaining
+      hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dessert isn't much to stop for,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I can take with me what I
+      want.&rdquo; And he picked out a handful of dried figs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two went across to Angus' table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're going to take coffee together,&rdquo; said Francis complacently, playing
+      the host with a suave assurance that was rather amusing and charming in
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I'm very glad,&rdquo; said Angus. Let us give the show away: he was being
+      wilfully nice. But he <i>was</i> quite glad; to be able to be so nice.
+      Anything to have a bit of life going: especially a bit of pleased life. He
+      looked at Aaron's comely, wine-warmed face with gratification.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have a Grand Marnier,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I don't know how bad it is. Everything
+      is bad now. They lay it down to the war as well. It used to be quite a
+      decent drink. What the war had got to do with bad liqueurs, I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat down in a chair at their table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But let us introduce ourselves,&rdquo; said Francis. &ldquo;I am Francis&mdash;or
+      really Franz Dekker&mdash;And this is Angus Guest, my friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And my name is Aaron Sisson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What! What did you say?&rdquo; said Francis, leaning forward. He, too, had
+      sharp ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aaron Sisson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aaron Sisson! Oh, but how amusing! What a nice name!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No better than yours, is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine! Franz Dekker! Oh, much more amusing, <i>I</i> think,&rdquo; said Francis
+      archly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, well, it's a matter of opinion. You're the double decker, not me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The double decker!&rdquo; said Francis archly. &ldquo;Why, what do you mean!&mdash;&rdquo;
+       He rolled his eyes significantly. &ldquo;But may I introduce my friend Angus
+      Guest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You've introduced me already, Francesco,&rdquo; said Angus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So sorry,&rdquo; said Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Guest!&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis suddenly began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;May he not be Guest?&rdquo; he asked, fatherly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very likely,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Not that I was ever good at guessing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis tilted his eyebrows. Fortunately the waiter arrived with the
+      coffee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; said Francis, &ldquo;will you have your coffee black, or with milk?&rdquo;
+       He was determined to restore a tone of sobriety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The coffee was sipped in sober solemnity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is music your line as well, then?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, we're painters. We're going to work in Rome.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To earn your living?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The amount of discretion, modesty, and reserve which Francis put into
+      these two syllables gave Aaron to think that he had two real young swells
+      to deal with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; continued Francis. &ldquo;I was only JUST down from Oxford when the war
+      came&mdash;and Angus had been about ten months at the Slade&mdash;But I
+      have always painted.&mdash;So now we are going to work, really hard, in
+      Rome, to make up for lost time.&mdash;Oh, one has lost so much time, in
+      the war. And such PRECIOUS time! I don't know if ever one will even be
+      able to make it up again.&rdquo; Francis tilted his handsome eyebrows and put
+      his head on one side with a wise-distressed look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;One will never be able to make it up. What is more, one
+      will never be able to start again where one left off. We're shattered old
+      men, now, in one sense. And in another sense, we're just pre-war babies.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The speech was uttered with an odd abruptness and didacticism which made
+      Aaron open his eyes. Angus had that peculiar manner: he seemed to be
+      haranguing himself in the circle of his own thoughts, not addressing
+      himself to his listener.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So his listener listened on the outside edge of the young fellow's crowded
+      thoughts. Francis put on a distressed air, and let his attention wander.
+      Angus pursed his lips and his eyes were stretched wide with a kind of
+      pleasure, like a wicked owl which has just joyfully hooted an ill omen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell me,&rdquo; said Francis to Aaron. &ldquo;Where were YOU all the time during the
+      war?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was doing my job,&rdquo; said Aaron. Which led to his explaining his origins.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Really! So your music is quite new! But how interesting!&rdquo; cried Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron explained further.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so the war hardly affected you? But what did you FEEL about it,
+      privately?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't feel much. I didn't know what to feel. Other folks did such a
+      lot of feeling, I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, quite!&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;Everybody had such a lot of feelings on
+      somebody else's behalf, that nobody ever had time to realise what they
+      felt themselves. I know I was like that. The feelings all came on to me
+      from the outside: like flies settling on meat. Before I knew where I was I
+      was eaten up with a swarm of feelings, and I found myself in the trenches.
+      God knows what for. And ever since then I've been trying to get out of my
+      swarm of feelings, which buzz in and out of me and have nothing to do with
+      me. I realised it in hospital. It's exactly like trying to get out of a
+      swarm of nasty dirty flies. And every one you kill makes you sick, but
+      doesn't make the swarm any less.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Angus pursed and bridled and looked like a pleased, wicked white
+      owl. Then he polished his monocle on a very choice silk handkerchief, and
+      fixed it unseeing in his left eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Francis was not interested in his friend's experiences. For Francis
+      had had a job in the War Office&mdash;whereas Angus was a war-hero with
+      shattered nerves. And let him depreciate his own experiences as much as he
+      liked, the young man with the monocle kept tight hold on his prestige as a
+      war hero. Only for himself, though. He by no means insisted that anyone
+      else should be war-bitten.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis was one of those men who, like women, can set up the sympathetic
+      flow and make a fellow give himself away without realising what he is
+      doing. So there sat our friend Aaron, amusingly unbosoming himself of all
+      his history and experiences, drawn out by the arch, subtle attentiveness
+      of the handsome Francis. Angus listened, too, with pleased amusedness on
+      his pale, emaciated face, pursing his shrunken jaw. And Aaron sipped
+      various glasses of the liqueur, and told all his tale as if it was a
+      comedy. A comedy it seemed, too, at that hour. And a comedy no doubt it
+      was. But mixed, like most things in this life. Mixed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was quite late before this seance broke up: and the waiter itching to
+      get rid of the fellows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, now,&rdquo; said Francis, as he rose from the table and settled his
+      elegant waist, resting on one hip, as usual. &ldquo;We shall see you in the
+      morning, I hope. You say you are going to Venice. Why? Have you some
+      engagement in Venice?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I only was going to look for a friend&mdash;Rawdon
+      Lilly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Rawdon Lilly! Why, is he in Venice? Oh, I've heard SUCH a lot about him.
+      I should like so much to meet him. But I heard he was in Germany&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know where he is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Angus! Didn't we hear that Lilly was in Germany?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe it was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked rather blank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But have you anything to take you to Venice? It's such a bad climate in
+      the winter. Why not come with us to Florence?&rdquo; said Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron wavered. He really did not know what to do.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Think about it,&rdquo; said Francis, laying his hand on Aaron's arm. &ldquo;Think
+      about it tonight. And we'll meet in the morning. At what time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Any time,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, say eleven. We'll meet in the lounge here at eleven. Will that suit
+      you? All right, then. It's so awfully nice meeting you. That marvellous
+      flute.&mdash;And think about Florence. But do come. Don't disappoint us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XV. A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The next day but one, the three set off for Florence. Aaron had made an
+      excursion from Milan with the two young heroes, and dined with them
+      subsequently at the most expensive restaurant in the town. Then they had
+      all gone home&mdash;and had sat in the young men's bedroom drinking tea,
+      whilst Aaron played the flute. Francis was really musical, and enchanted.
+      Angus enjoyed the novelty, and the moderate patronage he was able to
+      confer. And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he was paying for his
+      treat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So behold them setting off for Florence in the early morning. Angus and
+      Francis had first-class tickets: Aaron took a third-class.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and have lunch with us on the train,&rdquo; said Angus. &ldquo;I'll order three
+      places, and we can lunch together.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, come and lunch with us. It will be much nicer. And we shall enjoy it
+      as well,&rdquo; said Angus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course! Ever so much nicer! Of course!&rdquo; cried Francis. &ldquo;Yes, why not,
+      indeed! Why should you hesitate?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then,&rdquo; said Aaron, not without some feeling of constraint.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they separated. The young men settled themselves amidst the red plush
+      and crochet-work, looking, with their hair plastered smoothly back, quite
+      as first class as you could wish, creating quite the right impression on
+      the porters and the travelling Italians. Aaron went to his third-class,
+      further up the train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, <i>au revoir</i>, till luncheon,&rdquo; cried Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train was fairly full in the third and second classes. However, Aaron
+      got his seat, and the porter brought on his bags, after disposing of the
+      young men's luggage. Aaron gave the tip uneasily. He always hated tipping&mdash;it
+      seemed humiliating both ways. And the airy aplomb of the two young
+      cavaliers, as they settled down among the red plush and the
+      obsequiousness, and said &ldquo;Well, then, <i>au revoir</i> till luncheon,&rdquo; was
+      peculiarly unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The porter thinks I'm their servant&mdash;their valet,&rdquo; said Aaron to
+      himself, and a curious half-amused, half-contemptuous look flickered on
+      his face. It annoyed him. The falsity occasioned by the difference in the
+      price of the tickets was really humiliating. Aaron had lived long enough
+      to know that as far as manhood and intellect went&mdash;nay, even
+      education&mdash;he was not the inferior of the two young &ldquo;gentlemen.&rdquo; He
+      knew quite well that, as far as intrinsic nature went, they did not
+      imagine him an inferior: rather the contrary. They had rather an
+      exaggerated respect for him and his life-power, and even his origin. And
+      yet&mdash;they had the inestimable cash advantage&mdash;and they were
+      going to keep it. They knew it was nothing more than an artificial cash
+      superiority. But they gripped it all the more intensely. They were the
+      upper middle classes. They were Eton and Oxford. And they were going to
+      hang on to their privileges. In these days, it is a fool who abdicates
+      before he's forced to. And therefore:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;<i>au revoir</i> till luncheon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They were being so awfully nice. And inwardly they were not condescending.
+      But socially, they just had to be. The world is made like that. It wasn't
+      their own private fault. It was no fault at all. It was just the mode in
+      which they were educated, the style of their living. And as we know, <i>le
+      style, c'est l'homme</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Angus came of very wealthy iron people near Merthyr. Already he had a very
+      fair income of his own. As soon as the law-business concerning his
+      father's and his grandfather's will was settled, he would be well off. And
+      he knew it, and valued himself accordingly. Francis was the son of a
+      highly-esteemed barrister and politician of Sydney, and in his day would
+      inherit his father's lately-won baronetcy. But Francis had not very much
+      money: and was much more class-flexible than Angus. Angus had been born in
+      a house with a park, and of awful, hard-willed, money-bound people.
+      Francis came of a much more adventurous, loose, excitable family, he had
+      the colonial newness and adaptability. He knew, for his own part, that
+      class superiority was just a trick, nowadays. Still, it was a trick that
+      paid. And a trick he was going to play as long as it did pay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While Aaron sat, a little pale at the gills, immobile, ruminating these
+      matters, a not very pleasant look about his nose-end, he heard a voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there you ARE! I thought I'd better come and see, so that we can
+      fetch you at lunch time.&mdash;You've got a seat? Are you quite
+      comfortable? Is there anything I could get you? Why, you're in a
+      non-smoker!&mdash;But that doesn't matter, everybody will smoke. Are you
+      sure you have everything? Oh, but wait just one moment&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Francis, long and elegant, with his straight shoulders and his coat
+      buttoned to show his waist, and his face so well-formed and so modern. So
+      modern, altogether. His voice was pleasantly modulated, and never hurried.
+      He now looked as if a thought had struck him. He put a finger to his brow,
+      and hastened back to his own carriage. In a minute, he returned with a new
+      London literary magazine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Something to read&mdash;I shall have to FLY&mdash;See you at lunch,&rdquo; and
+      he had turned and elegantly hastened, but not too fast, back to his
+      carriage. The porter was holding the door for him. So Francis looked
+      pleasantly hurried, but by no means rushed. Oh, dear, no. He took his
+      time. It was not for him to bolt and scramble like a mere Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The people in Aaron's carriage had watched the apparition of the elegant
+      youth intently. For them, he was a being from another sphere&mdash;no
+      doubt a young milordo with power wealth, and glamorous life behind him.
+      Which was just what Francis intended to convey. So handsome&mdash;so very,
+      very impressive in all his elegant calm showiness. He made such a <i>bella
+      figura</i>. It was just what the Italians loved. Those in the first class
+      regions thought he might even be an Italian, he was so attractive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train in motion, the many Italian eyes in the carriage studied Aaron.
+      He, too, was good-looking. But by no means as fascinating as the young
+      milordo. Not half as sympathetic. No good at all at playing a role.
+      Probably a servant of the young signori.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron stared out of the window, and played the one single British role
+      left to him, that of ignoring his neighbours, isolating himself in their
+      midst, and minding his own business. Upon this insular trick our greatness
+      and our predominance depends&mdash;such as it is. Yes, they might look at
+      him. They might think him a servant or what they liked. But he was
+      inaccessible to them. He isolated himself upon himself, and there
+      remained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a lovely day, a lovely, lovely day of early autumn. Over the great
+      plain of Lombardy a magnificent blue sky glowed like mid-summer, the sun
+      shone strong. The great plain, with its great stripes of cultivation&mdash;without
+      hedges or boundaries&mdash;-how beautiful it was! Sometimes he saw oxen
+      ploughing. Sometimes. Oh, so beautiful, teams of eight, or ten, even of
+      twelve pale, great soft oxen in procession, ploughing the dark velvety
+      earth, a driver with a great whip at their head, a man far behind holding
+      the plough-shafts. Beautiful the soft, soft plunging motion of oxen moving
+      forwards. Beautiful the strange, snaky lifting of the muzzles, the swaying
+      of the sharp horns. And the soft, soft crawling motion of a team of oxen,
+      so invisible, almost, yet so inevitable. Now and again straight canals of
+      water flashed blue. Now and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars
+      rose and made avenues or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain.
+      Their top boughs were spangled with gold and green leaf. Sometimes the
+      vine-leaves were gold and red, a patterning. And the great square
+      farm-homesteads, white, red-roofed, with their out-buildings, stood naked
+      amid the lands, without screen or softening. There was something big and
+      exposed about it all. No more the cosy English ambushed life, no longer
+      the cosy littleness of the landscape. A bigness&mdash;and nothing to
+      shelter the unshrinking spirit. It was all exposed, exposed to the sweep
+      of plain, to the high, strong sky, and to human gaze. A kind of boldness,
+      an indifference. Aaron was impressed and fascinated. He looked with new
+      interest at the Italians in the carriage with him&mdash;for this same
+      boldness and indifference and exposed gesture. And he found it in them,
+      too. And again it fascinated him. It seemed so much bigger, as if the
+      walls of life had fallen. Nay, the walls of English life will have to
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sitting there in the third-class carriage, he became happy again. The <i>presence</i>
+      of his fellow-passengers was not so hampering as in England. In England,
+      everybody seems held tight and gripped, nothing is left free. Every
+      passenger seems like a parcel holding his string as fast as he can about
+      him, lest one corner of the wrapper should come undone and reveal what is
+      inside. And every other passenger is forced, by the public will, to hold
+      himself as tight-bound also. Which in the end becomes a sort of
+      self-conscious madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But here, in the third class carriage, there was no tight string round
+      every man. They were not all trussed with self-conscious string as tight
+      as capons. They had a sufficient amount of callousness and indifference
+      and natural equanimity. True, one of them spat continually on the floor,
+      in large spits. And another sat with his boots all unlaced and his collar
+      off, and various important buttons undone. They did not seem to care if
+      bits of themselves did show, through the gaps in the wrapping. Aaron
+      winced&mdash;but he preferred it to English tightness. He was pleased, he
+      was happy with the Italians. He thought how generous and natural they
+      were.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the towns passed by, and the hours, and he seemed at last to have got
+      outside himself and his old conditions. It seemed like a great escape.
+      There was magic again in life&mdash;real magic. Was it illusion, or was it
+      genuine? He thought it was genuine, and opened his soul a if there was no
+      danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lunch-time came. Francis summoned Aaron down the rocking tram. The three
+      men had a table to themselves, and all felt they were enjoying themselves
+      very much indeed. Of course Francis and Angus made a great impression
+      again. But in the dining car were mostly middle-class, well-to-do
+      Italians. And these did not look upon our two young heroes as two young
+      wonders. No, rather with some criticism, and some class-envy. But they
+      were impressed. Oh, they were impressed! How should they not be, when our
+      young gentlemen had such an air! Aaron was conscious all the time that the
+      fellow-diners were being properly impressed by the flower of civilisation
+      and the salt of the earth, namely, young, well-to-do Englishmen. And he
+      had a faint premonition, based on experience perhaps, that
+      fellow-passengers in the end never forgive the man who has &ldquo;impressed&rdquo;
+       them. Mankind loves being impressed. It asks to be impressed. It almost
+      forces those whom it can force to play a role and to make an impression.
+      And afterwards, never forgives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the train ran into Bologna Station, they were still in the restaurant
+      car. Nor did they go at once to their seats. Angus had paid the bill.
+      There was three-quarters-of-an-hour's wait in Bologna.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may as well come down and sit with us,&rdquo; said Francis. &ldquo;We've got
+      nobody in our carriage, so why shouldn't we all stay together during the
+      wait. You kept your own seat, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No, he had forgotten. So when he went to look for it, it was occupied by a
+      stout man who was just taking off his collar and wrapping a white kerchief
+      round his neck. The third class carriages were packed. For those were
+      early days after the war, while men still had pre-war notions and were
+      poor. Ten months would steal imperceptibly by, and the mysterious
+      revolution would be effected. Then, the second class and the first class
+      would be packed, indescribably packed, crowded, on all great trains: and
+      the third class carriages, lo and behold, would be comparatively empty.
+      Oh, marvellous days of bankruptcy, when nobody will condescend to travel
+      third!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, these were still modest, sombre months immediately after the
+      peace. So a large man with a fat neck and a white kerchief, and his collar
+      over his knee, sat in Aaron's seat. Aaron looked at the man, and at his
+      own luggage overhead. The fat man saw him looking and stared back: then
+      stared also at the luggage overhead: and with his almost invisible
+      north-Italian gesture said much plainer than words would have said it: &ldquo;Go
+      to hell. I'm here and I'm going to stop here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was something insolent and unbearable about the look&mdash;and about
+      the rocky fixity of the large man. He sat as if he had insolently taken
+      root in his seat. Aaron flushed slightly. Francis and Angus strolled along
+      the train, outside, for the corridor was already blocked with the mad
+      Bologna rush, and the baggage belonging. They joined Aaron as he stood on
+      the platform.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But where is YOUR SEAT?&rdquo; cried Francis, peering into the packed and
+      jammed compartments of the third class.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That man's sitting in it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which?&rdquo; cried Francis, indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fat one there&mdash;with the collar on his knee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it was your seat&mdash;!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis' gorge rose in indignation. He mounted into the corridor. And in
+      the doorway of the compartment he bridled like an angry horse rearing,
+      bridling his head. Poising himself on one hip, he stared fixedly at the
+      man with the collar on his knee, then at the baggage aloft. He looked down
+      at the fat man as a bird looks down from the eaves of a house. But the man
+      looked back with a solid, rock-like impudence, before which an Englishman
+      quails: a jeering, immovable insolence, with a sneer round the nose and a
+      solid-seated posterior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Francis in English&mdash;none of them had any Italian yet.
+      &ldquo;But,&rdquo; said Francis, turning round to Aaron, &ldquo;that was YOUR SEAT?&rdquo; and he
+      flung his long fore-finger in the direction of the fat man's thighs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes!&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he's TAKEN it&mdash;!&rdquo; cried Francis in indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And knows it, too,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;!&rdquo; and Francis looked round imperiously, as if to summon his
+      bodyguard. But bodyguards are no longer forthcoming, and train-guards are
+      far from satisfactory. The fat man sat on, with a sneer-grin, very faint
+      but very effective, round his nose, and a solidly-planted posterior. He
+      quite enjoyed the pantomime of the young foreigners. The other passengers
+      said something to him, and he answered laconic. Then they all had the
+      faint sneer-grin round their noses. A woman in the corner grinned
+      jeeringly straight in Francis' face. His charm failed entirely this time:
+      and as for his commandingness, that was ineffectual indeed. Rage came up
+      in him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh well&mdash;something must be done,&rdquo; said he decisively. &ldquo;But didn't
+      you put something in the seat to RESERVE it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only that <i>New Statesman</i>&mdash;but he's moved it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The man still sat with the invisible sneer-grin on his face, and that
+      peculiar and immovable plant of his Italian posterior.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mais&mdash;cette place etait RESERVEE&mdash;&rdquo; said Francis, moving to the
+      direct attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man turned aside and ignored him utterly&mdash;then said something to
+      the men opposite, and they all began to show their teeth in a grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis was not so easily foiled. He touched the man on the arm. The man
+      looked round threateningly, as if he had been struck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cette place est reservee&mdash;par ce Monsieur&mdash;&rdquo; said Francis with
+      hauteur, though still in an explanatory tone, and pointing to Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Italian looked him, not in the eyes, but between the eyes, and sneered
+      full in his face. Then he looked with contempt at Aaron. And then he said,
+      in Italian, that there was room for such snobs in the first class, and
+      that they had not any right to come occupying the place of honest men in
+      the third.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gia! Gia!&rdquo; barked the other passengers in the carriage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Loro possono andare prima classa&mdash;PRIMA CLASSA!&rdquo; said the woman in
+      the corner, in a very high voice, as if talking to deaf people, and
+      pointing to Aaron's luggage, then along the train to the first class
+      carriages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;C'e posto la,&rdquo; said one of the men, shrugging his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a jeering quality in the hard insolence which made Francis go
+      very red and Augus very white. Angus stared like a death's-head behind his
+      monocle, with death-blue eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, never mind. Come along to the first class. I'll pay the difference.
+      We shall be much better all together. Get the luggage down, Francis. It
+      wouldn't be possible to travel with this lot, even if he gave up the seat.
+      There's plenty of room in our carriage&mdash;and I'll pay the extra,&rdquo; said
+      Angus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He knew there was one solution&mdash;and only one&mdash;Money.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Francis bit his finger. He felt almost beside himself&mdash;and quite
+      powerless. For he knew the guard of the train would jeer too. It is not so
+      easy to interfere with honest third-class Bolognesi in Bologna station,
+      even if they <i>have</i> taken another man's seat. Powerless, his brow
+      knitted, and looking just like Mephistopheles with his high forehead and
+      slightly arched nose, Mephistopheles in a rage, he hauled down Aaron's bag
+      and handed it to Angus. So they transferred themselves to the first-class
+      carriage, while the fat man and his party in the third-class watched in
+      jeering, triumphant silence. Solid, planted, immovable, in static triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron sat with the others amid the red plush, whilst the train began
+      its long slow climb of the Apennines, stinking sulphurous through tunnels
+      innumerable. Wonderful the steep slopes, the great chestnut woods, and
+      then the great distances glimpsed between the heights, Firenzuola away and
+      beneath, Turneresque hills far off, built of heaven-bloom, not of earth.
+      It was cold at the summit-station, ice and snow in the air, fierce. Our
+      travellers shrank into the carriage again, and wrapped themselves round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the train began its long slither downhill, still through a whole
+      necklace of tunnels, which fortunately no longer stank. So down and down,
+      till the plain appears in sight once more, the Arno valley. But then began
+      the inevitable hitch that always happens in Italian travel. The train
+      began to hesitate&mdash;to falter to a halt, whistling shrilly as if in
+      protest: whistling pip-pip-pip in expostulation as it stood forlorn among
+      the fields: then stealing forward again and stealthily making pace,
+      gathering speed, till it had got up a regular spurt: then suddenly the
+      brakes came on with a jerk, more faltering to a halt, more whistling and
+      pip-pip-pipping, as the engine stood jingling with impatience: after which
+      another creak and splash, and another choking off. So on till they landed
+      in Prato station: and there they sat. A fellow passenger told them, there
+      was an hour to wait here: an hour. Something had happened up the line.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I propose we make tea,&rdquo; said Angus, beaming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not! Of course. Let us make tea. And I will look for water.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron and Francis went to the restaurant bar and filled the little pan
+      at the tap. Angus got down the red picnic case, of which he was so fond,
+      and spread out the various arrangements on the floor of the coupe. He soon
+      had the spirit-lamp burning, the water heating. Francis proposed that he
+      and Aaron should dash into Prato and see what could be bought, whilst the
+      tea was in preparation. So off they went, leaving Angus like a busy old
+      wizard manipulating his arrangements on the floor of the carriage, his
+      monocle beaming with bliss. The one fat fellow&mdash;passenger with a
+      lurid striped rug over his knees watched with acute interest. Everybody
+      who passed the doorway stood to contemplate the scene with pleasure.
+      Officials came and studied the situation with appreciation. Then Francis
+      and Aaron returned with a large supply of roast chestnuts, piping hot, and
+      hard dried plums, and good dried figs, and rather stale rusks. They found
+      the water just boiling, Angus just throwing in the tea-egg, and the
+      fellow-passenger just poking his nose right in, he was so thrilled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of
+      civilisation. The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs and
+      rusks were spread out: Francis flew for salt to the man at the bar, and
+      came back with a little paper of rock-salt: the brown tea was dispensed in
+      the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-case: and the picnic
+      was in full swing. Angus, being in the height of his happiness, now sat on
+      the seat cross-legged, with his feet under him, in the authentic Buddha
+      fashion, and on his face the queer rapt alert look, half a smile, also
+      somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass of brown tea in his hand. He was as
+      rapt and immobile as if he really were in a mystic state. Yet it was only
+      his delight in the tea-party. The fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and
+      said in broken French, was it good. In equally fragmentary French Francis
+      said very good, and offered the fat passenger some. He, however, held up
+      his hand in protest, as if to say not for any money would he swallow the
+      hot-watery stuff. And he pulled out a flask of wine. But a handful of
+      chestnuts he accepted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who
+      protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively. The fellow
+      passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began to
+      smile good-naturedly. Then the fellow-passenger&mdash;he was stout and
+      fifty and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees&mdash;pointed
+      out the Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled
+      again. And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too. So he put
+      aside his rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes in
+      his hands, and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him. But his
+      knees were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril, and he could
+      no more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself. So he desisted
+      suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and official heads in
+      the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their teeth and teasing
+      him. But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes with admiration. They
+      loved the novelty and the fun. And on the thin, elegant Angus in his new
+      London clothes, they looked really puzzled, as he sat there immobile,
+      gleaming through his monocle like some Buddha going wicked, perched
+      cross-legged and ecstatic on the red velvet seat. They marvelled that the
+      lower half of him could so double up, like a foot-rule. So they stared
+      till they had seen enough. When they suddenly said &ldquo;Buon 'appetito,&rdquo;
+       withdrew their heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and departed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the train set off also&mdash;and shortly after six arrived in
+      Florence. It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence. The young men
+      had engaged a room at Bertolini's hotel, on the Lungarno. Bertolini's was
+      not expensive&mdash;but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure
+      hotel life. However, he went along with the other two, trusting to find a
+      cheaper place on the morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was growing quite dark as they drove to the hotel, but still was light
+      enough to show the river rustling, the Ponte Vecchio spanning its little
+      storeys across the flood, on its low, heavy piers: and some sort of magic
+      of the darkening, varied houses facing, on the other side of the stream.
+      Of course they were all enchanted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I knew,&rdquo; said Francis, &ldquo;we should love it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was told he could have a little back room and pension terms for
+      fifteen lire a day, if he stayed at least fifteen days. The exchange was
+      then at forty-five. So fifteen lire meant just six-shillings-and-six pence
+      a day, without extras. Extras meant wine, tea, butter, and light. It was
+      decided he should look for something cheaper next day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the tone of the young men, he now gathered that they would prefer it if
+      he took himself off to a cheaper place. They wished to be on their own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then,&rdquo; said Francis, &ldquo;you will be in to lunch here, won't you? Then
+      we'll see you at lunch.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was as if both the young men had drawn in their feelers now. They were
+      afraid of finding the new man an incubus. They wanted to wash their hands
+      of him. Aaron's brow darkened.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+             &ldquo;Perhaps it was right your love to dissemble
+              But why did you kick me down stairs?...&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      Then morning found him out early, before his friends had arisen. It was
+      sunny again. The magic of Florence at once overcame him, and he forgot the
+      bore of limited means and hotel costs. He went straight out of the hotel
+      door, across the road, and leaned on the river parapet. There ran the
+      Arno: not such a flood after all, but a green stream with shoals of
+      pebbles in its course. Across, and in the delicate shadow of the early
+      sun, stood the opposite Lungarno, the old flat houses, pink, or white, or
+      grey stone, with their green shutters, some closed, some opened. It had a
+      flowery effect, the skyline irregular against the morning light. To the
+      right the delicate Trinita bridge, to the left, the old bridge with its
+      little shops over the river. Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses of green,
+      sky-bloomed country: Tuscany.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows over
+      the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and shouldering
+      one another affectionately, drawing a load of country produce, then horses
+      in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid palls, slowly pulling the
+      long narrow carts of the district: and men hu-huing!&mdash;and people
+      calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise of Florence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Angus! Do come and look! OH, so lovely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-silk
+      pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the river
+      towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if to catch
+      there his cry of delight. The whole pose was classic and effective: and
+      very amusing. How the Italians would love it!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
+      towards the Ponte Vecchio. He passed the bridge&mdash;and passed the
+      Uffizi&mdash;watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato. Then he
+      noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana&mdash;male
+      and physical and melodramatic&mdash;and then the corner house. It was a
+      big old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves. There
+      was a notice plate by the door&mdash;&ldquo;Pension Nardini.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He came to a full stop. He stared at the notice-plate, stared at the glass
+      door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead soldier on the
+      arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; <i>Mentana</i>&mdash;and the
+      date! Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was. Then at last he summoned
+      his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the first stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited some time before anybody appeared. Then a maid-servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I have a room?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into a
+      heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic
+      grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour.
+      Arrived at length a stout young lady&mdash;handsome, with big dark-blue
+      Italian eyes&mdash;but anaemic and too stout.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh!&rdquo; she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good-morning,&rdquo; said Aaron awkwardly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you know,
+      to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady. Will you
+      sit?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can I have a room?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A room! Yes, you can.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What terms?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Terms! Oh! Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension&mdash;if you stay&mdash;How
+      long will you stay?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At least a month, I expect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A month! Oh yes. Yes, ten francs a day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For everything?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everything. Yes, everything. Coffee, bread, honey or jam in the morning:
+      lunch at half-past twelve; tea in the drawing-room, half-past four: dinner
+      at half-past seven: all very nice. And a warm room with the sun&mdash;Would
+      you like to see?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron was led up the big, rambling old house to the top floor&mdash;then
+      along a long old corridor&mdash;and at last into a big bedroom with two
+      beds and a red tiled floor&mdash;a little dreary, as ever&mdash;but the
+      sun just beginning to come in, and a lovely view on to the river, towards
+      the Ponte Vecchio, and at the hills with their pines and villas and
+      verdure opposite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he would settle. The signorina would send a man for his bags, at half
+      past two in the afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At luncheon Aaron found the two friends, and told them of his move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very nice for you! Ten francs a day&mdash;but that is nothing. I am
+      so pleased you've found something. And when will you be moving in?&rdquo; said
+      Francis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At half-past two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so soon. Yes, just as well.&mdash;But we shall see you from time to
+      time, of course. What did you say the address was? Oh, yes&mdash;just near
+      the awful statue. Very well. We can look you up any time&mdash;and you
+      will find us here. Leave a message if we should happen not to be in&mdash;we've
+      got lots of engagements&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVI. FLORENCE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The very afternoon after Aaron's arrival in Florence the sky became dark,
+      the wind cold, and rain began steadily to fall. He sat in his big, bleak
+      room above the river, and watched the pale green water fused with yellow,
+      the many-threaded streams fuse into one, as swiftly the surface flood came
+      down from the hills. Across, the dark green hills looked darker in the
+      wet, the umbrella pines held up in vain above the villas. But away below,
+      on the Lungarno, traffic rattled as ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron went down at five o'clock to tea, and found himself alone next a
+      group of women, mostly Swedes or Danish or Dutch, drinking a peculiar
+      brown herb-brew which tasted like nothing else on earth, and eating two
+      thick bits of darkish bread smeared with a brown smear which hoped it was
+      jam, but hoped in vain. Unhappily he sat in the gilt and red, massively
+      ornate room, while the foreign women eyed him. Oh, bitter to be a male
+      under such circumstances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He escaped as soon as possible back to his far-off regions, lonely and
+      cheerless, away above. But he rather liked the far-off remoteness in the
+      big old Florentine house: he did not mind the peculiar dark, uncosy
+      dreariness. It was not really dreary: only indifferent. Indifferent to
+      comfort, indifferent to all homeliness and cosiness. The over-big
+      furniture trying to be impressive, but never to be pretty or bright or
+      cheerful. There it stood, ugly and apart. And there let it stand.&mdash;Neither
+      did he mind the lack of fire, the cold sombreness of his big bedroom. At
+      home, in England, the bright grate and the ruddy fire, the thick
+      hearth-rug and the man's arm-chair, these had been inevitable. And now he
+      was glad to get away from it all. He was glad not to have a cosy hearth,
+      and his own arm-chair. He was glad to feel the cold, and to breathe the
+      unwarmed air. He preferred the Italian way of no fires, no heating. If the
+      day was cold, he was willing to be cold too. If it was dark, he was
+      willing to be dark. The cosy brightness of a real home&mdash;it had
+      stifled him till he felt his lungs would burst. The horrors of real
+      domesticity. No, the Italian brutal way was better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he put his overcoat over his knee, and studied some music he had bought
+      in Milan: some Pergolesi and the Scarlatti he liked, and some Corelli. He
+      preferred frail, sensitive, abstract music, with not much feeling in it,
+      but a certain limpidity and purity. Night fell as he sat reading the
+      scores. He would have liked to try certain pieces on his flute. But his
+      flute was too sensitive, it winced from the new strange surroundings, and
+      would not blossom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dinner sounded at last&mdash;at eight o'clock, or something after. He had
+      to learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late. Down he went, down
+      the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases. The dining room was right
+      downstairs. But he had a little table to himself near the door, the
+      elderly women were at some little distance. The only other men were
+      Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife and child
+      and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway down the
+      room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, the food was good enough, and sufficient, and the waiter and the
+      maid-servant cheerful and bustling. Everything felt happy-go-lucky and
+      informal, there was no particular atmosphere. Nobody put on any airs,
+      because nobody in the Nardini took any notice if they did. The little
+      ducal dog yapped, the ducal son shouted, the waiter dropped half a dozen
+      spoons, the old women knitted during the waits, and all went off so badly
+      that it was quite pleasant. Yes, Aaron preferred it to Bertolini's, which
+      was trying to be efficient and correct: though not making any strenuous
+      effort. Still, Bertolini's was much more up to the scratch, there was the
+      tension of proper standards. Whereas here at Nardini's, nothing mattered
+      very much.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was November. When he got up to his far-off room again, Aaron felt
+      almost as if he were in a castle with the drawbridge drawn up. Through the
+      open window came the sound of the swelling Arno, as it rushed and rustled
+      along over its gravel-shoals. Lights spangled the opposite side. Traffic
+      sounded deep below. The room was not really cold, for the summer sun so
+      soaks into these thick old buildings, that it takes a month or two of
+      winter to soak it out.&mdash;The rain still fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the morning it was still November, and the dawn came slowly. And
+      through the open window was the sound of the river's rushing. But the
+      traffic started before dawn, with a bang and a rattle of carts, and a bang
+      and jingle of tram-cars over the not-distant bridge. Oh, noisy Florence!
+      At half-past seven Aaron rang for his coffee: and got it at a few minutes
+      past eight. The signorina had told him to take his coffee in bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rain was still falling. But towards nine o'clock it lifted, and he decided
+      to go out. A wet, wet world. Carriages going by, with huge wet shiny
+      umbrellas, black and with many points, erected to cover the driver and the
+      tail of the horse and the box-seat. The hood of the carriage covered the
+      fare. Clatter-clatter through the rain. Peasants with long wagons and slow
+      oxen, and pale-green huge umbrellas erected for the driver to walk
+      beneath. Men tripping along in cloaks, shawls, umbrellas, anything, quite
+      unconcerned. A man loading gravel in the river-bed, in spite of the wet.
+      And innumerable bells ringing: but innumerable bells. The great soft
+      trembling of the cathedral bell felt in all the air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Anyhow it was a new world. Aaron went along close to the tall thick
+      houses, following his nose. And suddenly he caught sight of the long slim
+      neck of the Palazzo Vecchio up above, in the air. And in another minute he
+      was passing between massive buildings, out into the Piazza della Signoria.
+      There he stood still and looked round him in real surprise, and real joy.
+      The flat empty square with its stone paving was all wet. The great
+      buildings rose dark. The dark, sheer front of the Palazzo Vecchio went up
+      like a cliff, to the battlements, and the slim tower soared dark and
+      hawk-like, crested, high above. And at the foot of the cliff stood the
+      great naked David, white and stripped in the wet, white against the dark,
+      warm-dark cliff of the building&mdash;and near, the heavy naked men of
+      Bandinelli.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first thing he had seen, as he turned into the square, was the back of
+      one of these Bandinelli statues: a great naked man of marble, with a heavy
+      back and strong naked flanks over which the water was trickling. And then
+      to come immediately upon the David, so much whiter, glistening skin-white
+      in the wet, standing a little forward, and shrinking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He may be ugly, too naturalistic, too big, and anything else you like. But
+      the David in the Piazza della Signoria, there under the dark great palace,
+      in the position Michelangelo chose for him, there, standing forward
+      stripped and exposed and eternally half-shrinking, half&mdash;wishing to
+      expose himself, he is the genius of Florence. The adolescent, the white,
+      self-conscious, physical adolescent: enormous, in keeping with the stark,
+      grim, enormous palace, which is dark and bare as he is white and bare. And
+      behind, the big, lumpy Bandinelli men are in keeping too. They may be ugly&mdash;but
+      they are there in their place, and they have their own lumpy reality. And
+      this morning in the rain, standing unbroken, with the water trickling down
+      their flanks and along the inner side of their great thighs, they were
+      real enough, representing the undaunted physical nature of the heavier
+      Florentines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked and looked at the three great naked men. David so much white,
+      and standing forward, self-conscious: then at the great splendid front of
+      the Palazzo Vecchio: and at the fountain splashing water upon its wet, wet
+      figures; and the distant equestrian statue; and the stone-flagged space of
+      the grim square. And he felt that here he was in one of the world's living
+      centres, here, in the Piazza della Signoria. The sense of having arrived&mdash;of
+      having reached a perfect centre of the human world: this he had.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And so, satisfied, he turned round to look at the bronze Perseus which
+      rose just above him. Benvenuto Cellini's dark hero looked female, with his
+      plump hips and his waist, female and rather insignificant: graceful, and
+      rather vulgar. The clownish Bandinellis were somehow more to the point.&mdash;Then
+      all the statuary in the Loggia! But that is a mistake. It looks too much
+      like the yard of a monumental mason.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The great, naked men in the rain, under the dark-grey November sky, in the
+      dark, strong inviolable square! The wonderful hawk-head of the old palace.
+      The physical, self-conscious adolescent, Michelangelo's David, shrinking
+      and exposing himself, with his white, slack limbs! Florence, passionate,
+      fearless Florence had spoken herself out.&mdash;Aaron was fascinated by
+      the Piazza della Signoria. He never went into the town, nor returned from
+      it to his lodging, without contriving to pass through the square. And he
+      never passed through it without satisfaction. Here men had been at their
+      intensest, most naked pitch, here, at the end of the old world and the
+      beginning of the new. Since then, always rather puling and apologetic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron felt a new self, a new life-urge rising inside himself. Florence
+      seemed to start a new man in him. It was a town of men. On Friday morning,
+      so early, he heard the traffic. Early, he watched the rather low,
+      two-wheeled traps of the peasants spanking recklessly over the bridge,
+      coming in to town. And then, when he went out, he found the Piazza della
+      Signoria packed with men: but all, all men. And all farmers, land-owners
+      and land-workers. The curious, fine-nosed Tuscan farmers, with their
+      half-sardonic, amber-coloured eyes. Their curious individuality, their
+      clothes worn so easy and reckless, their hats with the personal twist.
+      Their curious full oval cheeks, their tendency to be too fat, to have a
+      belly and heavy limbs. Their close-sitting dark hair. And above all, their
+      sharp, almost acrid, mocking expression, the silent curl of the nose, the
+      eternal challenge, the rock-bottom unbelief, and the subtle fearlessness.
+      The dangerous, subtle, never-dying fearlessness, and the acrid unbelief.
+      But men! Men! A town of men, in spite of everything. The one manly
+      quality, undying, acrid fearlessness. The eternal challenge of the
+      un-quenched human soul. Perhaps too acrid and challenging today, when
+      there is nothing left to challenge. But men&mdash;who existed without
+      apology and without justification. Men who would neither justify
+      themselves nor apologize for themselves. Just men. The rarest thing left
+      in our sweet Christendom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Altogether Aaron was pleased with himself, for being in Florence. Those
+      were early days after the war, when as yet very few foreigners had
+      returned, and the place had the native sombreness and intensity. So that
+      our friend did not mind being alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The third day, however, Francis called on him. There was a tap at the
+      bedroom door, and the young man entered, all eyes of curiosity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, there you ARE!&rdquo; he cried, flinging his hand and twisting his waist
+      and then laying his hand on his breast. &ldquo;Such a LONG way up to you! But
+      miles&mdash;! Well, how are you? Are you quite all right here? You are?
+      I'm so glad&mdash;we've been so rushed, seeing people that we haven't had
+      a MINUTE. But not a MINUTE! People! People! People! Isn't it amazing how
+      many there are, and how many one knows, and gets to know! But amazing!
+      Endless acquaintances!&mdash;Oh, and such quaint people here! so ODD! So
+      MORE than odd! Oh, extraordinary&mdash;!&rdquo; Francis chuckled to himself over
+      the extraordinariness. Then he seated himself gracefully at Aaron's table.
+      &ldquo;Oh, MUSIC! What? Corelli! So interesting! So very CLEVER, these people,
+      weren't they!&mdash;Corelli and the younger Scarlatti and all that crowd.&rdquo;
+       Here he closed the score again. &ldquo;But now&mdash;LOOK! Do you want to know
+      anybody here, or don't you? I've told them about you, and of course
+      they're dying to meet you and hear you play. But I thought it best not to
+      mention anything about&mdash;about your being hard-up, and all that. I
+      said you were just here on a visit. You see with this kind of people I'm
+      sure it's much the best not to let them start off by thinking you will
+      need them at all&mdash;or that you MIGHT need them. Why give yourself
+      away, anyhow? Just meet them and take them for what they're worth&mdash;and
+      then you can see. If they like to give you an engagement to play at some
+      show or other&mdash;well, you can decide when the time comes whether you
+      will accept. Much better that these kind of people shouldn't get it into
+      their heads at once that they can hire your services. It doesn't do. They
+      haven't enough discrimination for that. Much best make rather a favour of
+      it, than sort of ask them to hire you.&mdash;Don't you agree? Perhaps I'm
+      wrong.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine kindness
+      of the young <i>beau</i>. And more still, he wondered at the profound
+      social disillusionment. This handsome collie dog was something of a social
+      wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment. But with genuine
+      kindheartedness for another wolf. Aaron was touched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I think that's the best way,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You do! Yes, so do I. Oh, they are such queer people! Why is it, do you
+      think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER&mdash;so ultra-English&mdash;INCREDIBLE!&mdash;and
+      at the same time so perfectly impossible? But impossible! Pathological, I
+      assure you.&mdash;And as for their sexual behaviour&mdash;oh, dear, don't
+      mention it. I assure you it doesn't bear mention.&mdash;And all quite
+      flagrant, quite unabashed&mdash;under the cover of this fanatical
+      Englishness. But I couldn't begin to TELL you all the things. It's just
+      incredible.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and bear
+      witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days. But a little
+      gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry you anywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well now,&rdquo; said Francis. &ldquo;What are you doing today?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was not doing anything in particular.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then will you come and have dinner with us&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Francis fixed up the time and the place&mdash;a small restaurant at the
+      other end of the town. Then he leaned out of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fascinating place! Oh, fascinating place!&rdquo; he said, soliloquy. &ldquo;And
+      you've got a superb view. Almost better than ours, I think.&mdash;Well
+      then, half-past seven. We're meeting a few other people, mostly residents
+      or people staying some time. We're not inviting them. Just dropping in,
+      you know&mdash;a little restaurant. We shall see you then! Well then, <i>a
+      rivederci</i> till this evening.&mdash;So glad you like Florence! I'm
+      simply loving it&mdash;revelling. And the pictures!&mdash;Oh&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The party that evening consisted all of men: Francis and Angus, and a
+      writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee, and
+      deaf Walter Rosen. They all snapped and rattled at one another, and were
+      rather spiteful but rather amusing. Francis and Angus had to leave early.
+      They had another appointment. And James Argyle got quite tipsy, and said
+      to Aaron:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, my boy, don't let yourself be led astray by the talk of such people
+      as Algy. Beware of them, my boy, if you've a soul to save. If you've a
+      soul to save!&rdquo; And he swallowed the remains of his litre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Algy's nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked. &ldquo;And if you've a soul
+      to LOSE,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I would warn you very earnestly against Argyle.&rdquo;
+       Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide, that Aaron was
+      almost scared. &ldquo;Quite right, my boy. Ha! Ha! Never a truer thing said!
+      Ha-ha-ha.&rdquo; Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy laugh. &ldquo;They'll teach
+      you to save. Never was such a lot of ripe old savers! Save their old
+      trouser-buttons! Go to them if you want to learn to save. Oh, yes, I
+      advise it seriously. You'll lose nothing&mdash;not even a reputation.&mdash;You
+      may lose a SOUL, of course. But that's a detail, among such a hoard of
+      banknotes and trouser-buttons. Ha-ha! What's a soul, to them&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it to you, is perhaps the more pertinent question,&rdquo; said Algy,
+      flapping his eyelids like some crazy owl. &ldquo;It is you who specialise in the
+      matter of soul, and we who are in need of enlightenment&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, very true, you ARE! You ARE in need of enlightenment. A set of
+      benighted wise virgins. Ha-ha-ha! That's good, that&mdash;benighted wise
+      virgins! What&mdash;&rdquo; Argyle put his red face near to Aaron's, and made a
+      <i>moue</i>, narrowing his eyes quizzically as he peered up from under his
+      level grey eyebrows. &ldquo;Sit in the dark to save the lamp-oil&mdash;And all
+      no good to them.&mdash;When the bridegroom cometh&mdash;! Ha-ha! Good
+      that! Good, my boy!&mdash;The bridegroom&mdash;&rdquo; he giggled to himself.
+      &ldquo;What about the bridegroom, Algy, my boy? Eh? What about him? Better trim
+      your wick, old man, if it's not too late&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We were talking of souls, not wicks, Argyle,&rdquo; said Algy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same thing. Upon my soul it all amounts to the same thing. Where's the
+      soul in a man that hasn't got a bedfellow&mdash;eh?&mdash;answer me that!
+      Can't be done you know. Might as well ask a virgin chicken to lay you an
+      egg.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then there ought to be a good deal of it about,&rdquo; said Algy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of what? Of soul? There ought to be a good deal of soul about?&mdash;Ah,
+      because there's a good deal of&mdash;, you mean.&mdash;Ah, I wish it were
+      so. I wish it were so. But, believe me, there's far more damned chastity
+      in the world, than anything else. Even in this town.&mdash;Call it
+      chastity, if you like. I see nothing in it but sterility. It takes a rat
+      to praise long tails. Impotence set up the praise of chastity&mdash;believe
+      me or not&mdash;but that's the bottom of it. The virtue is made out of the
+      necessity.&mdash;Ha-ha-ha!&mdash;Like them! Like them! Ha-ha! Saving their
+      souls! Why they'd save the waste matter of their bodies if they could.
+      Grieves them to part with it.&mdash;Ha! ha!&mdash;ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause. Argyle was in his cups, which left no more to be said.
+      Algy, quivering and angry, looked disconcertingly round the room as if he
+      were quite calm and collected. The deaf Jewish Rosen was smiling down his
+      nose and saying: &ldquo;What was that last? I didn't catch that last,&rdquo; cupping
+      his ear with his hand in the frantic hope that someone would answer. No
+      one paid any heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall be going,&rdquo; said Algy, looking round. Then to Aaron he said, &ldquo;You
+      play the flute, I hear. May we hear you some time?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron, non-committal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, look here&mdash;come to tea tomorrow. I shall have some friends,
+      and Del Torre will play the piano. Come to tea tomorrow, will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And perhaps you'll bring your flute along.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you do any such thing, my boy. Make them entertain YOU, for once.&mdash;They're
+      always squeezing an entertainment out of somebody&mdash;&rdquo; and Argyle
+      desperately emptied the remains of Algy's wine into his own glass: whilst
+      Algy stood as if listening to something far off, and blinking terribly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Anyhow,&rdquo; he said at length, &ldquo;you'll come, won't you? And bring the flute
+      if you feel like it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you take that flute, my boy,&rdquo; persisted Argyle. &ldquo;Don't think of
+      such a thing. If they want a concert, let them buy their tickets and go to
+      the Teatro Diana. Or to Marchesa del Torre's Saturday morning. She can
+      afford to treat them.&rdquo; Algy looked at Argyle, and blinked. &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;I hope you'll get home all right, Argyle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you for your courtesy, Algy. Won't you lend me your arm?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As Algy was small and frail, somewhat shaky, and as Argyle was a finely
+      built, heavy man of fifty or more, the slap was unkind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid I can't tonight. Good-night&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Algy departed, so did little Mee, who had sat with a little delighted
+      disapproval on his tiny, bird-like face, without saying anything. And even
+      the Jew Rosen put away his deaf-machine and began awkwardly to take his
+      leave. His long nose was smiling to itself complacently at all the things
+      Argyle had been saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he, too, had gone, Argyle arched his brows at Aaron, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my dear fellow, what a lot they are!&mdash;Little Mee&mdash;looking
+      like an innocent little boy. He's over seventy if he's a day. Well over
+      seventy. Well, you don't believe me. Ask his mother&mdash;ask his mother.
+      She's ninety-five. Old lady of ninety-five&mdash;&rdquo; Argyle even laughed
+      himself at his own preposterousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then Algy&mdash;Algy's not a fool, you know. Oh, he can be most
+      entertaining, most witty, and amusing. But he's out of place here. He
+      should be in Kensington, dandling round the ladies' drawing rooms and
+      making his <i>mots</i>. They're rich, you know, the pair of them. Little
+      Mee used to boast that he lived on eleven-and-three-pence a week. Had to,
+      poor chap. But then what does a white mouse like that need? Makes a heavy
+      meal on a cheese-paring. Luck, you know&mdash;but of course he's come into
+      money as well. Rich as Croesus, and still lives on nineteen-and-two-pence
+      a week. Though it's nearly double, of course, what it used to be. No
+      wonder he looks anxious. They disapprove of me&mdash;oh, quite right,
+      quite right from their own point of view. Where would their money be
+      otherwise? It wouldn't last long if I laid hands on it&mdash;&rdquo; he made a
+      devilish quizzing face. &ldquo;But you know, they get on my nerves. Little old
+      maids, you know, little old maids. I'm sure I'm surprised at their
+      patience with me.&mdash;But when people are patient with you, you want to
+      spit gall at them. Don't you? Ha-ha-ha! Poor old Algy.&mdash;Did I lay it
+      on him tonight, or did I miss him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think you got him,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll never forgive me. Depend on it, he'll never forgive me. Ha-ha! I
+      like to be unforgiven. It adds ZEST to one's intercourse with people, to
+      know that they'll never forgive one. Ha-ha-ha! Little old maids, who do
+      their knitting with their tongues. Poor old Algy&mdash;he drops his
+      stitches now. Ha-ha-ha!&mdash;Must be eighty, I should say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron laughed. He had never met a man like Argyle before&mdash;and he
+      could not help being charmed. The other man had a certain wicked
+      whimsicality that was very attractive, when levelled against someone else,
+      and not against oneself. He must have been very handsome in his day, with
+      his natural dignity, and his clean-shaven strong square face. But now his
+      face was all red and softened and inflamed, his eyes had gone small and
+      wicked under his bushy grey brows. Still he had a presence. And his grey
+      hair, almost gone white, was still handsome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what are you going to do in Florence?&rdquo; asked Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron explained.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Make what you can out of them, and then go. Go
+      before they have time to do the dirty on you. If they think you want
+      anything from them, they'll treat you like a dog, like a dog. Oh, they're
+      very frightened of anybody who wants anything of them: frightened to
+      death. I see nothing of them.&mdash;Live by myself&mdash;see nobody. Can't
+      stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties&mdash;simply can't stand
+      it. No, I live alone&mdash;and shall die alone.&mdash;At least, I
+      sincerely hope so. I should be sorry to have any of them hanging round.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter&mdash;he had of course
+      contracted malaria during the war&mdash;was looking purple round the eyes.
+      But Argyle callously sat on. Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat: and
+      he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he took
+      his stick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;I am frayed
+      at the wrists&mdash;look here!&rdquo; He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just
+      frayed through. &ldquo;I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only
+      somebody would bring it out to me.&mdash;Ready then! <i>Avanti!</i>&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the
+      very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his
+      hotel door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But come and see me,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Call for me at twelve o'clock&mdash;or
+      just before twelve&mdash;and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that
+      all right?&mdash;Yes, come just before twelve.&mdash;When?&mdash;Tomorrow?
+      Tomorrow morning? Will you come tomorrow?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron said he would on Monday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't
+      you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. <i>I</i> shan't forget.&mdash;Just
+      before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In
+      Paradise, as the porter always says. <i>Siamo nel paradiso</i>. But he's a
+      <i>cretin</i>. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
+      summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now&mdash;Monday,
+      twelve o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps to
+      his hotel door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a very pleasant flat
+      indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any woman's
+      flat was kept. So today, with its bowls of flowers and its pictures and
+      books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed, fluttering and
+      blinking and making really a charming host, it was all very delightful to
+      the little mob of visitors. They were a curious lot, it is true: everybody
+      rather exceptional. Which though it may be startling, is so very much
+      better fun than everybody all alike. Aaron talked to an old, old Italian
+      elegant in side-curls, who peeled off his grey gloves and studied his
+      formalities with a delightful Mid-Victorian dash, and told stories about a
+      <i>plaint</i> which Lady Surry had against Lord Marsh, and was quite
+      incomprehensible. Out rolled the English words, like plums out of a burst
+      bag, and all completely unintelligible. But the old <i>beau</i> was
+      supremely satisfied. He loved talking English, and holding his listeners
+      spell-bound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre, an American woman
+      from the Southern States, who had lived most of her life in Europe. She
+      was about forty years of age, handsome, well-dressed, and quiet in the
+      buzz of the tea-party. It was evident she was one of Algy's lionesses. Now
+      she sat by Aaron, eating nothing, but taking a cup of tea and keeping
+      still. She seemed sad&mdash;or not well perhaps. Her eyes were heavy. But
+      she was very carefully made up, and very well dressed, though simply: and
+      sitting there, full-bosomed, rather sad, remote-seeming, she suggested to
+      Aaron a modern Cleopatra brooding, Anthony-less.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband, the Marchese, was a little intense Italian in a colonel's
+      grey uniform, cavalry, leather gaiters. He had blue eyes, his hair was cut
+      very short, his head looked hard and rather military: he would have been
+      taken for an Austrian officer, or even a German, had it not been for the
+      peculiar Italian sprightliness and touch of grimace in his mobile
+      countenance. He was rather like a gnome&mdash;not ugly, but odd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he came and stood opposite to Signor di Lanti, and quizzed him in
+      Italian. But it was evident, in quizzing the old buck, the little Marchese
+      was hovering near his wife, in ear-shot. Algy came up with cigarettes, and
+      she at once began to smoke, with that peculiar heavy intensity of a
+      nervous woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron did not say anything&mdash;did not know what to say. He was
+      peculiarly conscious of the woman sitting next to him, her arm near his.
+      She smoked heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of cloud on her
+      level, dark brows. Her hair was dark, but a softish brown, not black, and
+      her skin was fair. Her bosom would be white.&mdash;Why Aaron should have
+      had this thought, he could not for the life of him say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Manfredi, her husband, rolled his blue eyes and grimaced as he laughed at
+      old Lanti. But it was obvious that his attention was diverted sideways,
+      towards his wife. Aaron, who was tired of nursing a tea-cup, placed in on
+      a table and resumed his seat in silence. But suddenly the little Marchese
+      whipped out his cigarette-case, and making a little bow, presented it to
+      Aaron, saying:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you smoke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Turkish that side&mdash;Virginia there&mdash;you see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, Turkish,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little officer in his dove-grey and yellow uniform snapped his box
+      shut again, and presented a light.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are new in Florence?&rdquo; he said, as he presented the match.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Four days,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And I hear you are musical.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I play the flute&mdash;no more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes&mdash;but then you play it as an artist, not as an
+      accomplishment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But how do you know?&rdquo; laughed Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was told so&mdash;and I believe it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's nice of you, anyhow&mdash;But you are a musician too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;we are both musicians&mdash;my wife and I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Manfredi looked at his wife. She flicked the ash off her cigarette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What sort?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, how do you mean, what sort? We are dilettanti, I suppose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;what is your instrument? The piano?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;the pianoforte. And my wife sings. But we are very much out of
+      practice. I have been at the war four years, and we have had our home in
+      Paris. My wife was in Paris, she did not wish to stay in Italy alone. And
+      so&mdash;you see&mdash;everything goes&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you will begin again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. We have begun already. We have music on Saturday mornings. Next
+      Saturday a string quartette, and violin solos by a young Florentine woman&mdash;a
+      friend&mdash;very good indeed, daughter of our Professor Tortoli, who
+      composes&mdash;as you may know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you care to come and hear&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Awfully nice if you would&mdash;&rdquo; suddenly said the wife, quite simply,
+      as if she had merely been tired, and not talking before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to very much&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do come then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While they were making the arrangements, Algy came up in his blandest
+      manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now Marchesa&mdash;might we hope for a song?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;I don't sing any more,&rdquo; came the slow, contralto reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but you can't mean you say that deliberately&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, quite deliberately&mdash;&rdquo; She threw away her cigarette and opened
+      her little gold case to take another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But what can have brought you to such a disastrous decision?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't say,&rdquo; she replied, with a little laugh. &ldquo;The war, probably.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but don't let the war deprive us of this, as of everything else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't be helped,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I have no choice in the matter. The bird has
+      flown&mdash;&rdquo; She spoke with a certain heavy languor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean the bird of your voice? Oh, but that is quite impossible. One
+      can hear it calling out of the leaves every time you speak.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid you can't get him to do any more than call out of the leaves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But&mdash;but&mdash;pardon me&mdash;is it because you don't intend there
+      should be any more song? Is that your intention?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That I couldn't say,&rdquo; said the Marchesa, smoking, smoking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Manfredi. &ldquo;At the present time it is because she WILL not&mdash;not
+      because she cannot. It is her will, as you say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! Dear me!&rdquo; said Algy. &ldquo;But this is really another disaster added
+      to the war list.&mdash;But&mdash;but&mdash;will none of us ever be able to
+      persuade you?&rdquo; He smiled half cajoling, half pathetic, with a prodigious
+      flapping of his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;That will be as it must be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then can't we say it must be SONG once more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To this sally she merely laughed, and pressed out her half-smoked
+      cigarette.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very disappointing! How very cruel of&mdash;of fate&mdash;and the war&mdash;and&mdash;and
+      all the sum total of evils,&rdquo; said Algy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps&mdash;&rdquo; here the little and piquant host turned to Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps Mr. Sisson, your flute might call out the bird of song. As
+      thrushes call each other into challenge, you know. Don't you think that is
+      very probable?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have no idea,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you, Marchesa. Won't you give us hope that it might be so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've no idea, either,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;But I should very much like to hear Mr.
+      Sisson's flute. It's an instrument I like extremely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There now. You see you may work the miracle, Mr. Sisson. Won't you play
+      to us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid I didn't bring my flute along,&rdquo; said Aaron &ldquo;I didn't want to
+      arrive with a little bag.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite!&rdquo; said Algy. &ldquo;What a pity it wouldn't go in your pocket.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not music and all,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear me! What a <i>comble</i> of disappointment. I never felt so
+      strongly, Marchesa, that the old life and the old world had collapsed.&mdash;Really&mdash;I
+      shall soon have to try to give up being cheerful at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't do that,&rdquo; said the Marchesa. &ldquo;It isn't worth the effort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah! I'm glad you find it so. Then I have hope.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She merely smiled, indifferent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The teaparty began to break up&mdash;Aaron found himself going down the
+      stairs with the Marchesa and her husband. They descended all three in
+      silence, husband and wife in front. Once outside the door, the husband
+      asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How shall we go home, dear? Tram or carriage&mdash;?&rdquo; It was evident he
+      was economical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk,&rdquo; she said, glancing over her shoulder at Aaron. &ldquo;We are all going
+      the same way, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron said where he lived. They were just across the river. And so all
+      three proceeded to walk through the town.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are sure it won't be too much for you&mdash;too far?&rdquo; said the little
+      officer, taking his wife's arm solicitously. She was taller than he. But
+      he was a spirited fellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I feel like walking.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long as you don't have to pay for it afterwards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron gathered that she was not well. Yet she did not look ill&mdash;unless
+      it were nerves. She had that peculiar heavy remote quality of
+      pre-occupation and neurosis.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The streets of Florence were very full this Sunday evening, almost
+      impassable, crowded particularly with gangs of grey-green soldiers. The
+      three made their way brokenly, and with difficulty. The Italian was in a
+      constant state of returning salutes. The grey-green, sturdy, unsoldierly
+      soldiers looked at the woman as she passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am sure you had better take a carriage,&rdquo; said Manfredi.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;I don't mind it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you feel at home in Florence?&rdquo; Aaron asked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;as much as anywhere. Oh, yes&mdash;quite at home.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you like it as well as anywhere?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;for a time. Paris for the most part.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Never America?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, never America. I came when I was quite a little girl to Europe&mdash;Madrid&mdash;Constantinople&mdash;Paris.
+      I hardly knew America at all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron remembered that Francis had told him, the Marchesa's father had been
+      ambassador to Paris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you feel you have no country of your own?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have Italy. I am Italian now, you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron wondered why she spoke so muted, so numbed. Manfredi seemed really
+      attached to her&mdash;and she to him. They were so simple with one
+      another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They came towards the bridge where they should part.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you come and have a cocktail?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. This is the right time for a cocktail. What time is it, Manfredi?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Half past six. Do come and have one with us,&rdquo; said the Italian. &ldquo;We
+      always take one about this time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron continued with them over the bridge. They had the first floor of an
+      old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill. A man-servant opened the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If only it will be warm,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;The apartment is almost impossible
+      to keep warm. We will sit in the little room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a mixture
+      of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort. The Marchesa went
+      away to take off her wraps, and the Marchese chatted with Aaron. The
+      little officer was amiable and kind, and it was evident he liked his
+      guest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like to see the room where we have music?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It is a
+      fine room for the purpose&mdash;we used before the war to have music every
+      Saturday morning, from ten to twelve: and all friends might come. Usually
+      we had fifteen or twenty people. Now we are starting again. I myself enjoy
+      it so much. I am afraid my wife isn't so enthusiastic as she used to be. I
+      wish something would rouse her up, you know. The war seemed to take her
+      life away. Here in Florence are so many amateurs. Very good indeed. We can
+      have very good chamber-music indeed. I hope it will cheer her up and make
+      her quite herself again. I was away for such long periods, at the front.&mdash;And
+      it was not good for her to be alone.&mdash;I am hoping now all will be
+      better.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the long
+      salon. It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire period&mdash;beautiful
+      old faded tapestry panels&mdash;reddish&mdash;and some ormolu furniture&mdash;and
+      other things mixed in&mdash;rather conglomerate, but pleasing, all the
+      more pleasing. It was big, not too empty, and seemed to belong to human
+      life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But I
+      prefer this. I prefer it here.&rdquo; There was a certain wistfulness as he
+      looked round, then began to switch off the lights.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They returned to the little salotta. The Marchesa was seated in a low
+      chair. She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her
+      throat. She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Make the cocktails then, Manfredi,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Do you find this room very
+      cold?&rdquo; she asked of Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit cold,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The stove goes all the time,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;but without much effect.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wear such thin clothes,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough. Do sit down. Will you smoke?
+      There are cigarettes&mdash;and cigars, if you prefer them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I've got my own, thanks.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She took her own cigarette from her gold case.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is a fine room, for music, the big room,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, quite. Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want me to? I mean does it interest you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;the flute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;music altogether&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Music altogether&mdash;! Well! I used to love it. Now&mdash;I'm not sure.
+      Manfredi lives for it, almost.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For that and nothing else?&rdquo; asked Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no! No, no! Other things as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you don't like it much any more?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Perhaps I don't. I'm not sure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't look forward to the Saturday mornings?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I don't&mdash;but for Manfredi's sake, of course, I do. But for
+      his sake more than my own, I admit. And I think he knows it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A crowd of people in one's house&mdash;&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the people. But it's not only that. It's the music itself&mdash;I
+      think I can't stand it any more. I don't know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too emotional? Too much feeling for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, perhaps. But no. What I can't stand is chords, you know: harmonies.
+      A number of sounds all sounding together. It just makes me ill. It makes
+      me feel so sick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What&mdash;do you want discords?&mdash;dissonances?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;they are nearly as bad. No, it's just when any number of musical
+      notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords. Even a
+      single chord struck on the piano. It makes me feel sick. I just feel as if
+      I should retch. Isn't it strange? Of course, I don't tell Manfredi. It
+      would be too cruel to him. It would cut his life in two.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But then why do you have the music&mdash;the Saturdays&mdash;then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I just keep out of the way as much as possible. I'm sure you feel
+      there is something wrong with me, that I take it as I do,&rdquo; she added, as
+      if anxious: but half ironical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;I was just wondering&mdash;I believe I feel something the same
+      myself. I know orchestra makes me blind with hate or I don't know what.
+      But I want to throw bombs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There now. It does that to me, too. Only now it has fairly got me down,
+      and I feel nothing but helpless nausea. You know, like when you are
+      seasick.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her dark-blue, heavy, haunted-looking eyes were resting on him as if she
+      hoped for something. He watched her face steadily, a curious intelligence
+      flickering on his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I understand it. And I know, at the bottom, I'm like
+      that. But I keep myself from realising, don't you know? Else perhaps,
+      where should I be? Because I make my life and my living at it, as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At music! Do you! But how bad for you. But perhaps the flute is
+      different. I have a feeling that it is. I can think of one single
+      pipe-note&mdash;yes, I can think of it quite, quite calmly. And I can't
+      even think of the piano, or of the violin with its tremolo, or of
+      orchestra, or of a string quartette&mdash;or even a military band&mdash;I
+      can't think of it without a shudder. I can only bear drum-and-fife. Isn't
+      it crazy of me&mdash;but from the other, from what we call music proper,
+      I've endured too much. But bring your flute one day. Bring it, will you?
+      And let me hear it quite alone. Quite, quite alone. I think it might do me
+      an awful lot of good. I do, really. I can imagine it.&rdquo; She closed her eyes
+      and her strange, sing-song lapsing voice came to an end. She spoke almost
+      like one in a trance&mdash;or a sleep-walker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've got it now in my overcoat pocket,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Have you? Yes!&rdquo; She was never hurried: always slow and resonant, so that
+      the echoes of her voice seemed to linger. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;do get it. Do get it.
+      And play in the other room&mdash;quite&mdash;quite without accompaniment.
+      Do&mdash;and try me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will tell me what you feel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron went out to his overcoat. When he returned with his flute, which he
+      was screwing together, Manfredi had come with the tray and the three
+      cocktails. The Marchesa took her glass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Listen, Manfredi,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Mr. Sisson is going to play, quite alone in
+      the sala. And I am going to sit here and listen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Manfredi. &ldquo;Drink your cocktail first. Are you going to
+      play without music?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll just put on the lights for you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;leave it dark. Enough light will come in from here.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sure?&rdquo; said Manfredi.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little soldier was an intruder at the moment. Both the others felt it
+      so. But they bore him no grudge. They knew it was they who were
+      exceptional, not he. Aaron swallowed his drink, and looked towards the
+      door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down, Manfredi. Sit still,&rdquo; said the Marchesa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you let me try some accompaniment?&rdquo; said the soldier.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I shall just play a little thing from memory,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sit down, dear. Sit down,&rdquo; said the Marchesa to her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seated himself obediently. The flash of bright yellow on the grey of
+      his uniform seemed to make him like a chaffinch or a gnome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron retired to the other room, and waited awhile, to get back the spell
+      which connected him with the woman, and gave the two of them this strange
+      isolation, beyond the bounds of life, as it seemed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He caught it again. And there, in the darkness of the big room, he put his
+      flute to his lips, and began to play. It was a clear, sharp, lilted
+      run-and-fall of notes, not a tune in any sense of the word, and yet a
+      melody, a bright, quick sound of pure animation, a bright, quick, animate
+      noise, running and pausing. It was like a bird's singing, in that it had
+      no human emotion or passion or intention or meaning&mdash;a ripple and
+      poise of animate sound. But it was unlike a bird's singing, in that the
+      notes followed clear and single one after the other, in their subtle
+      gallop. A nightingale is rather like that&mdash;a wild sound. To read all
+      the human pathos into nightingales' singing is nonsense. A wild, savage,
+      non-human lurch and squander of sound, beautiful, but entirely
+      unaesthetic.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What Aaron was playing was not of his own invention. It was a bit of
+      mediaeval phrasing written for the pipe and the viol. It made the piano
+      seem a ponderous, nerve-wracking steam-roller of noise, and the violin, as
+      we know it, a hateful wire-drawn nerve-torturer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After a little while, when he entered the smaller room again, the Marchesa
+      looked full into his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good!&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Good!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And a gleam almost of happiness seemed to light her up. She seemed like
+      one who had been kept in a horrible enchanted castle&mdash;for years and
+      years. Oh, a horrible enchanted castle, with wet walls of emotions and
+      ponderous chains of feelings and a ghastly atmosphere of must-be. She felt
+      she had seen through the opening door a crack of sunshine, and thin, pure,
+      light outside air, outside, beyond this dank and beastly dungeon of
+      feelings and moral necessity. Ugh!&mdash;she shuddered convulsively at
+      what had been. She looked at her little husband. Chains of necessity all
+      round him: a little jailor. Yet she was fond of him. If only he would
+      throw away the castle keys. He was a little gnome. What did he clutch the
+      castle-keys so tight for?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at her. He knew that they understood one another, he and she.
+      Without any moral necessity or any other necessity. Outside&mdash;they had
+      got outside the castle of so-called human life. Outside the horrible,
+      stinking human castle Of life. A bit of true, limpid freedom. Just a
+      glimpse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Charming!&rdquo; said the Marchese. &ldquo;Truly charming! But what was it you
+      played?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron told him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But truly delightful. I say, won't you play for us one of these
+      Saturdays? And won't you let me take the accompaniment? I should be
+      charmed, charmed if you would.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do drink another cocktail,&rdquo; said his hostess.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did so. And then he rose to leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you stay to dinner?&rdquo; said the Marchesa. &ldquo;We have two people coming&mdash;two
+      Italian relatives of my husband. But&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      No, Aaron declined to stay to dinner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then won't you come on&mdash;let me see&mdash;on Wednesday? Do come on
+      Wednesday. We are alone. And do bring the flute. Come at half-past six, as
+      today, will you? Yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron promised&mdash;and then he found himself in the street. It was
+      half-past seven. Instead of returning straight home, he crossed the Ponte
+      Vecchio and walked straight into the crowd. The night was fine now. He had
+      his overcoat over his arm, and in a sort of trance or frenzy, whirled away
+      by his evening's experience, and by the woman, he strode swiftly forward,
+      hardly heeding anything, but rushing blindly on through all the crowd,
+      carried away by his own feelings, as much as if he had been alone, and all
+      these many people merely trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele a gang of soldiers suddenly rushed
+      round him, buffeting him in one direction, whilst another gang, swinging
+      round the corner, threw him back helpless again into the midst of the
+      first gang. For some moments he struggled among the rude, brutal little
+      mob of grey-green coarse uniforms that smelt so strong of soldiers. Then,
+      irritated, he found himself free again, shaking himself and passing on
+      towards the cathedral. Irritated, he now put on his overcoat and buttoned
+      it to the throat, closing himself in, as it were, from the brutal
+      insolence of the Sunday night mob of men. Before, he had been walking
+      through them in a rush of naked feeling, all exposed to their tender
+      mercies. He now gathered himself together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he was going home, suddenly, just as he was passing the Bargello, he
+      stopped. He stopped, and put his hand to his breast pocket. His
+      letter-case was gone. He had been robbed. It was as if lightning ran
+      through him at that moment, as if a fluid electricity rushed down his
+      limbs, through the sluice of his knees, and out at his feet, leaving him
+      standing there almost unconscious. For a moment unconscious and
+      superconscious he stood there. He had been robbed. They had put their hand
+      in his breast and robbed him. If they had stabbed him, it could hardly
+      have had a greater effect on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he had known it. He had known it. When the soldiers jostled him so
+      evilly they robbed him. And he knew it. He had known it as if it were
+      fate. Even as if it were fated beforehand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Feeling quite weak and faint, as if he had really been struck by some evil
+      electric fluid, he walked on. And as soon as he began to walk, he began to
+      reason. Perhaps his letter-case was in his other coat. Perhaps he had not
+      had it with him at all. Perhaps he was feeling all this, just for nothing.
+      Perhaps it was all folly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He hurried forward. He wanted to make sure. He wanted relief. It was as if
+      the power of evil had suddenly seized him and thrown him, and he wanted to
+      say it was not so, that he had imagined it all, conjured it up. He did not
+      want to admit the power of evil&mdash;particularly at that moment. For
+      surely a very ugly evil spirit had struck him, in the midst of that gang
+      of Italian soldiers. He knew it&mdash;it had pierced him. It had <i>got</i>
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he wanted to say it was not so. Reaching the house, he hastened
+      upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors. Once in
+      his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a sensation
+      like fear at his heart. Then he searched his other pockets. He looked
+      everywhere. In vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In vain, truly enough. For he <i>knew</i> the thing was stolen. He had
+      known it all along. The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had
+      deliberately rushed him and taken his purse. They must have watched him
+      previously. They must have grinned, and jeered at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock. The pocket-book
+      contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various letters
+      and private effects. Well, these were lost. But it was not so much the
+      loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel so stricken. He
+      felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they jostled him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and if
+      I hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if I
+      hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
+      through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened. I gave
+      myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave. I gave
+      myself away. It is my own fault. I should have been on my guard. I should
+      be always on my guard: always, always. With God and the devil both, I
+      should be on my guard. Godly or devilish, I should hold fast to my reserve
+      and keep on the watch. And if I don't, I deserve what I get.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed. One part of his soul
+      was saying emphatically: It serves you right. It is nothing but right. It
+      serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the street, and trusts
+      implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as if mankind and the
+      life-spirit were a playground for enkindled individuals. It serves you
+      right. You have paid about twelve pounds sterling for your lesson. Fool,
+      you might have known beforehand, and then you needn't have paid at all.
+      You can ill afford twelve pounds sterling, you fool. But since paid you
+      have, then mind, mind the lesson is learned. Never again. Never expose
+      yourself again. Never again absolute trust. It is a blasphemy against
+      life, is absolute trust. Has a wild creature ever absolute trust? It minds
+      itself. Sleeping or waking it is on its guard. And so must you be, or
+      you'll go under. Sleeping or waking, man or woman, God or the devil, keep
+      your guard over yourself. Keep your guard over yourself, lest worse befall
+      you. No man is robbed unless he incites a robber. No man is murdered
+      unless he attracts a murderer. Then be not robbed: it lies within your own
+      power. And be not murdered. Or if you are, you deserve it. Keep your guard
+      over yourself, now, always and forever. Yes, against God quite as hard as
+      against the devil. He's fully as dangerous to you....
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus thinking, not in his mind but in his soul, his active, living soul,
+      he gathered his equanimity once more, and accepted the fact. So he rose
+      and tidied himself for dinner. His face was now set, and still. His heart
+      also was still&mdash;and fearless. Because its sentinel was stationed.
+      Stationed, stationed for ever.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Aaron never forgot. After this, it became essential to him to feel
+      that the sentinel stood guard in his own heart. He felt a strange unease
+      the moment he was off his guard. Asleep or awake, in the midst of the
+      deepest passion or the suddenest love, or in the throes of greatest
+      excitement or bewilderment, somewhere, some corner of himself was awake to
+      the fact that the sentinel of the soul must not sleep, no, never, not for
+      one instant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVII. HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Aaron and Lilly sat in Argyle's little loggia, high up under the eaves of
+      the small hotel, a sort of long attic-terrace just under the roof, where
+      no one would have suspected it. It was level with the grey conical roof of
+      the Baptistery. Here sat Aaron and Lilly in the afternoon, in the last of
+      the lovely autumn sunshine. Below, the square was already cold in shadow,
+      the pink and white and green Baptistery rose lantern-shaped as from some
+      sea-shore, cool, cold and wan now the sun was gone. Black figures,
+      innumerable black figures, curious because they were all on end, up on end&mdash;Aaron
+      could not say why he expected them to be horizontal&mdash;little black
+      figures upon end, like fishes that swim on their tails, wiggled endlessly
+      across the piazza, little carriages on natural all-fours rattled tinily
+      across, the yellow little tram-cars, like dogs slipped round the corner.
+      The balcony was so high up, that the sound was ineffectual. The upper
+      space, above the houses, was nearer than the under-currents of the noisy
+      town. Sunlight, lovely full sunlight, lingered warm and still on the
+      balcony. It caught the facade of the cathedral sideways, like the tips of
+      a flower, and sideways lit up the stem of Giotto's tower, like a lily
+      stem, or a long, lovely pale pink and white and green pistil of the lily
+      of the cathedral. Florence, the flowery town. Firenze&mdash;Fiorenze&mdash;the
+      flowery town: the red lilies. The Fiorentini, the flower-souled. Flowers
+      with good roots in the mud and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms
+      in air, like the cathedral and the tower and the David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I love it,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I love this place, I love the cathedral and the
+      tower. I love its pinkness and its paleness. The Gothic souls find fault
+      with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap. But I love it, it is
+      delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they should be, like the
+      tiger marks on a pink lily. It's a lily, not a rose; a pinky white lily
+      with dark tigery marks. And heavy, too, in its own substance:
+      earth-substance, risen from earth into the air: and never forgetting the
+      dark, black-fierce earth&mdash;I reckon here men for a moment were
+      themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment completely itself. Then
+      it goes off. As Florence has gone off. No flowers now. But it HAS
+      flowered. And I don't see why a race should be like an aloe tree, flower
+      once and die. Why should it? Why not flower again? Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it's going to, it will,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Our deciding about it won't
+      alter it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The decision is part of the business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of the
+      windows. He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you think you're wise now,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to sit in that sun?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In November?&rdquo; laughed Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+      &ldquo;Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' <i>I</i> say. I'm frightened of it. I've
+      been in the South, I know what it is. I tell you I'm frightened of it. But
+      if you think you can stand it&mdash;well&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It won't last much longer, anyhow,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too long for me, my boy. I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the word, in
+      all senses of the word.&mdash;Now are you comfortable? What? Have another
+      cushion? A rug for your knees? You're quite sure now? Well, wait just one
+      moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and you shall have a whiskey
+      and soda. Precious&mdash;oh, yes, very precious these days&mdash;like
+      drinking gold. Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!&rdquo; Argyle pulled a long
+      face, and made a noise with his lips. &ldquo;But I had this bottle given me, and
+      luckily you've come while there's a drop left. Very glad you have! Very
+      glad you have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here he poked a little table through the window, and put a bottle and two
+      glasses, one a tooth-glass, upon it. Then he withdrew again to finish
+      shaving. The waiter presently hobbled up with the syphon and third glass.
+      Argyle pushed his head through the window, that was only a little higher
+      than the balcony. He was soon neatly shaved, and was brushing his hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go ahead, my boys, go ahead with that whiskey!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll wait for you,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no, don't think of it. However, if you will, I shall be one minute
+      only&mdash;one minute only. I'll put on the water for the tea now. Oh,
+      damned bad methylated spirit they sell now! And six francs a litre! Six
+      francs a litre! I don't know what I'm going to do, the air I breathe costs
+      money nowadays&mdash;Just one moment and I'll be with you! Just one moment&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In a very little while he came from the tiny attic bedroom, through the
+      tiniest cupboard of a sitting-room under the eaves, where his books were,
+      and where he had hung his old red India tapestries&mdash;or silk
+      embroideries&mdash;and he emerged there up above the world on the loggia.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now then&mdash;<i>siamo nel paradiso</i>, eh? Paradisal enough for you,
+      is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil looking over Lincoln,&rdquo; said Lilly laughing, glancing up into
+      Argyle's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The devil looking over Florence would feel sad,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;The place
+      is fast growing respectable&mdash;Oh, piety makes the devil chuckle. But
+      respectability, my boy, argues a serious diminution of spunk. And when the
+      spunk diminishes we-ell&mdash;it's enough to make the most sturdy devil
+      look sick. What? No doubt about it, no doubt whatever&mdash;There&mdash;!&rdquo;
+       he had just finished settling his tie and buttoning his waistcoat. &ldquo;How do
+      I look, eh? Presentable?&mdash;I've just had this suit turned. Clever
+      little tailor across the way there. But he charged me a hundred and twenty
+      francs.&rdquo; Argyle pulled a face, and made the little trumping noise with his
+      lips. &ldquo;However&mdash;not bad, is it?&mdash;He had to let in a bit at the
+      back of the waistcoat, and a gusset, my boy, a gusset&mdash;in the
+      trousers back. Seems I've grown in the arsal region. Well, well, might do
+      worse.&mdash;Is it all right?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly eyed the suit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very nice. Very nice indeed. Such a good cloth! That makes all the
+      difference.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference! This suit is eleven years old&mdash;eleven
+      years old. But beautiful English cloth&mdash;before the war, before the
+      war!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Expensive and smart, eh! Ha-ha-ha! Well, it cost me a hundred and twenty
+      francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough. Well, now,
+      come&mdash;&rdquo; here Argyle's voice took on a new gay cheer. &ldquo;A whiskey and
+      soda, Lilly? Say when! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! You're going to have double
+      that. You're no lily of the valley here, remember. Not with me. Not
+      likely. <i>Siamo nel paradiso</i>, remember.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should we drink your whiskey? Tea would do for us just as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not likely! Not likely! When I have the pleasure of your company, my boy,
+      we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped. Say when,
+      Aaron.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair. The sun had left
+      the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto's tower and the top of the
+      cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red-tiled dome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look at my little red monthly rose,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Wonderful little
+      fellow! I wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world. Oh, a
+      bacchic little chap. I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his hair.
+      Very becoming they were, very.&mdash;Oh, I've had a charming show of
+      flowers. Wonderful creatures sunflowers are.&rdquo; They got up and put their
+      heads over the balcony, looking down on the square below. &ldquo;Oh, great fun,
+      great fun.&mdash;Yes, I had a charming show of flowers, charming.&mdash;Zinnias,
+      petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks&mdash;oh, charming. Look at
+      that bit of honeysuckle. You see the berries where his flowers were!
+      Delicious scent, I assure you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red-tiled pots, all
+      round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst in a
+      corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood-drops. Argyle was as
+      tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he were a
+      first-rate sea-man on a yacht. Lilly remarked on this.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me? Oh, I don't doubt it.
+      I don't doubt it. We all end that way. Age makes old maids of us all. And
+      Tanny is all right, you say? Bring her to see me. Why didn't she come
+      today?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know you don't like people unless you expect them.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but my dear fellow!&mdash;You and Tanny; you'd be welcome if you came
+      at my busiest moment. Of course you would. I'd be glad to see you if you
+      interrupted me at any crucial moment.&mdash;I am alone now till August.
+      Then we shall go away together somewhere. But you and Tanny; why, there's
+      the world, and there's Lilly: that's how I put it, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, Argyle.&mdash;Hoflichkeiten.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Gar keine Hoflichkeiten. Wahrhaftiger Kerl bin ich.&mdash;When am I
+      going to see Tanny? When are you coming to dine with me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After you've dined with us&mdash;say the day after tomorrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Right you are. Delighted&mdash;. Let me look if that water's boiling.&rdquo; He
+      got up and poked half himself inside the bedroom. &ldquo;Not yet. Damned filthy
+      methylated spirit they sell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;There's Del Torre!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Like some sort of midge, in that damned grey-and-yellow uniform. I can't
+      stand it, I tell you. I can't stand the sight of any more of these
+      uniforms. Like a blight on the human landscape. Like a blight. Like
+      green-flies on rose-trees, smother-flies. Europe's got the smother-fly in
+      these infernal shoddy militarists.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Del Torre's coming out of it as soon as he can,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should think so, too.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I like him myself&mdash;very much. Look, he's seen us! He wants to come
+      up, Argyle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, in that uniform! I'll see him in his grandmother's crinoline
+      first.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't be fanatical, it's bad taste. Let him come up a minute.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not for my sake. But for yours, he shall,&rdquo; Argyle stood at the parapet of
+      the balcony and waved his arm. &ldquo;Yes, come up,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;come up, you
+      little mistkafer&mdash;what the Americans call a bug. Come up and be
+      damned.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course Del Torre was too far off to hear this exhortation. Lilly also
+      waved to him&mdash;and watched him pass into the doorway far below.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll rinse one of these glasses for him,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Marchese's step was heard on the stone stairs: then his knock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come in! Come in!&rdquo; cried Argyle from the bedroom, where he was rinsing
+      the glass. The Marchese entered, grinning with his curious, half courteous
+      greeting. &ldquo;Go through&mdash;go through,&rdquo; cried Argyle. &ldquo;Go on to the
+      loggia&mdash;and mind your head. Good heavens, mind your head in that
+      doorway.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Marchese just missed the top of the doorway as he climbed the abrupt
+      steps on to the loggia.&mdash;There he greeted Lilly and Aaron with hearty
+      handshakes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very glad to see you&mdash;very glad, indeed!&rdquo; he cried, grinning with
+      excited courtesy and pleasure, and covering Lilly's hand with both his own
+      gloved hands. &ldquo;When did you come to Florence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a little explanation. Argyle shoved the last chair&mdash;it was
+      a luggage stool&mdash;through the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All I can do for you in the way of a chair,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, that is all right,&rdquo; said the Marchese. &ldquo;Well, it is very nice up here&mdash;and
+      very nice company. Of the very best, the very best in Florence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The highest, anyhow,&rdquo; said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the glass.
+      &ldquo;Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre. It's the bottom of the bottle, as you
+      see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The bottom of the bottle! Then I start with the tail-end, yes!&rdquo; He
+      stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and grinned a
+      wide, gnome-like grin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You made that start long ago, my dear fellow. Don't play the <i>ingenue</i>
+      with me, you know it won't work. Say when, my man, say when!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, when,&rdquo; said Del Torre. &ldquo;When did I make that start, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At some unmentionably young age. Chickens such as you soon learn to
+      cheep.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap,&rdquo; repeated Del Torre, pleased with
+      the verbal play. &ldquo;What is cheap, please? What is TO CHEAP?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheep! Cheep!&rdquo; squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian, who
+      was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool. &ldquo;It's what chickens say
+      when they're poking their little noses into new adventures&mdash;naughty
+      ones.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are chickens naughty? Oh! I thought they could only be good!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, as for featherless&mdash;then there is no saying what they will do.&mdash;&rdquo;
+       And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable question
+      to Lilly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good! Then you will come and see us at once....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea. He shoved a lump of cake&mdash;or
+      rather panetone, good currant loaf&mdash;through the window, with a knife
+      to cut it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help yourselves to the panetone,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Eat it up. The tea is coming
+      at once. You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only one old
+      cup.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces. The two men took and ate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you have already found Mr. Sisson!&rdquo; said Del Torre to Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence. We are all already
+      acquainted: also with the flute. That is a great pleasure.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I think.&mdash;Does your wife like it, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very much, indeed! She is quite <i>eprise</i>. I, too, shall have to
+      learn to play it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth&mdash;like
+      Alcibiades.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is there a risk? Yes! Then I shan't play it. My mouth is too beautiful.&mdash;But
+      Mr. Sisson has not spoilt his mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Give him time.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he also afraid&mdash;like Alcibiades?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you, Aaron?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid of spoiling your beauty by screwing your mouth to the flute?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I look a fool, do I, when I'm playing?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only the least little bit in the world,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;The way you prance
+      your head, you know, like a horse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, well,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I've nothing to lose.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And were you surprised, Lilly, to find your friend here?&rdquo; asked Del
+      Torre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ought to have been. But I wasn't really.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then you expected him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. It came naturally, though.&mdash;But why did you come, Aaron? What
+      exactly brought you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accident,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, no! No! There is no such thing as accident,&rdquo; said the Italian. &ldquo;A man
+      is drawn by his fate, where he goes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are right,&rdquo; said Argyle, who came now with the teapot. &ldquo;A man is
+      drawn&mdash;or driven. Driven, I've found it. Ah, my dear fellow, what is
+      life but a search for a friend? A search for a friend&mdash;that sums it
+      up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or a lover,&rdquo; said the Marchese, grinning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same thing. Same thing. My hair is white&mdash;but that is the sum of my
+      whole experience. The search for a friend.&rdquo; There was something at once
+      real and sentimental in Argyle's tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And never finding?&rdquo; said Lilly, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, what would you? Often finding. Often finding. And losing, of course.&mdash;A
+      life's history. Give me your glass. Miserable tea, but nobody has sent me
+      any from England&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you will go on till you die, Argyle?&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Always seeking a
+      friend&mdash;and always a new one?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I lose the friend I've got. Ah, my dear fellow, in that case I shall
+      go on seeking. I hope so, I assure you. Something will be very wrong with
+      me, if ever I sit friendless and make no search.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But, Argyle, there is a time to leave off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To leave off what, to leave off what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Having friends: or a friend, rather: or seeking to have one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no! Not at all, my friend. Not at all! Only death can make an end of
+      that, my friend. Only death. And I should say, not even death. Not even
+      death ends a man's search for a friend. That is my belief. You may hang me
+      for it, but I shall never alter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;There is a time to love, and a time to leave off
+      loving.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All I can say to that is that my time to leave off hasn't come yet,&rdquo; said
+      Argyle, with obstinate feeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, it has. It is only a habit and an idea you stick to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Indeed, it is no such thing. Indeed, it is no such thing. It is a
+      profound desire and necessity: and what is more, a belief.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An obstinate persistency, you mean,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, call it so if it pleases you. It is by no means so to me.&rdquo; There
+      was a brief pause. The sun had left the cathedral dome and the tower, the
+      sky was full of light, the square swimming in shadow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But can a man live,&rdquo; said the Marchese, &ldquo;without having something he
+      lives for: something he wishes for, or longs for, and tries that he may
+      get?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impossible! Completely impossible!&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Man is a seeker, and
+      except as such, he has no significance, no importance.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He bores me with his seeking,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;He should learn to possess
+      himself&mdash;to be himself&mdash;and keep still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, perhaps so,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Only&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But my dear boy, believe me, a man is never himself save in the supreme
+      state of love: or perhaps hate, too, which amounts to the same thing.
+      Never really himself.&mdash;Apart from this he is a tram-driver or a
+      money-shoveller or an idea-machine. Only in the state of love is he really
+      a man, and really himself. I say so, because I know,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes. That is one side of the truth. It is quite true, also. But it is
+      just as true to say, that a man is never less himself, than in the supreme
+      state of love. Never less himself, than then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe! Maybe! But what could be better? What could be better than to lose
+      oneself with someone you love, entirely, and so find yourself. Ah, my dear
+      fellow, that is my creed, that is my creed, and you can't shake me in it.
+      Never in that. Never in that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, Argyle,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I know you're an obstinate love-apostle.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am! I am! And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals
+      which I never transgress. Never transgress. And never abandon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pray God I am,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the Marchese. &ldquo;Perhaps we are all so. What else do you give?
+      Would you have us make money? Or do you give the centre of your spirit to
+      your work? How is it to be?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't vitally care either about money or my work or&mdash;&rdquo; Lilly
+      faltered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or what, then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or anything. I don't really care about anything. Except that&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't care about anything? But what is that for a life?&rdquo; cried the
+      Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do YOU care for?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Me? I care for several things. I care for my wife. I care for love. And I
+      care to be loved. And I care for some pleasures. And I care for music. And
+      I care for Italy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are well off for cares,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And you seem to me so very poor,&rdquo; said Del Torre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should say so&mdash;if he cares for nothing,&rdquo; interjaculated Argyle.
+      Then he clapped Lilly on the shoulder with a laugh. &ldquo;Ha! Ha! Ha!&mdash;But
+      he only says it to tease us,&rdquo; he cried, shaking Lilly's shoulder. &ldquo;He
+      cares more than we do for his own way of loving. Come along, don't try and
+      take us in. We are old birds, old birds,&rdquo; said Argyle. But at that moment
+      he seemed a bit doddering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man can't live,&rdquo; said the Italian, &ldquo;without an object.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;and that object?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;it may be many things. Mostly it is two things.&mdash;love,
+      and money. But it may be many things: ambition, patriotism, science, art&mdash;many
+      things. But it is some objective. Something outside the self. Perhaps many
+      things outside the self.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I have had only one objective all my life,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;And that was
+      love. For that I have spent my life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And the lives of a number of other people, too,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Admitted. Oh, admitted. It takes two to make love: unless you're a
+      miserable&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't you think,&rdquo; said Aaron, turning to Lilly, &ldquo;that however you try to
+      get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself into a
+      job&mdash;you've got to, you've got to try and find something else&mdash;somebody
+      else&mdash;somebody. You can't really be alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No matter how many mistakes you've made&mdash;you can't really be alone&mdash;?&rdquo;
+       asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You can be alone for a minute. You can be alone just in that minute when
+      you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone, because the
+      other thing wasn't to be borne. But you can't keep on being alone. No
+      matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel, thank God to be alone
+      (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh air and be alone), no
+      matter how many times you've felt this&mdash;it wears off every time, and
+      you begin to look again&mdash;and you begin to roam round. And even if you
+      won't admit it to yourself, still you are seeking&mdash;seeking. Aren't
+      you? Aren't you yourself seeking?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, that's another matter,&rdquo; put in Argyle. &ldquo;Lilly is happily married and
+      on the shelf. With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think so&mdash;RATHER!
+      But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case. As for me, I
+      made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent me to hell. But I
+      didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and woman. Not by ANY
+      means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?&rdquo; asked the Marchese. &ldquo;Do you seek
+      nothing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek
+      anything?&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss with
+      the wonderful women who honour us as wives?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes, yes!&rdquo; said the Marchese. &ldquo;But now we are not speaking to the
+      world. Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre of our
+      hearts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what have we there?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well&mdash;shall I say? We have unrest. We have another need. We have
+      something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside. Do I speak the
+      truth?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. But what is the something?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. I don't know. But it is something in love, I think. It is
+      love itself which gnaws us inside, like a cancer,&rdquo; said the Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why should it? Is that the nature of love?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know. Truly. I don't know.&mdash;But perhaps it is in the nature
+      of love&mdash;I don't know.&mdash;But I tell you, I love my wife&mdash;she
+      is very dear to me. I admire her, I trust her, I believe her. She is to me
+      much more than any woman, more even than my mother.&mdash;And so, I am
+      very happy. I am very happy, she is very happy, in our love and our
+      marriage.&mdash;But wait. Nothing has changed&mdash;the love has not
+      changed: it is the same.&mdash;And yet we are NOT happy. No, we are not
+      happy. I know she is not happy, I know I am not&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why should you be?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;and it is not even happiness,&rdquo; said the Marchese, screwing up
+      his face in a painful effort of confession. &ldquo;It is not even happiness. No,
+      I do not ask to be happy. Why should I? It is childish&mdash;but there is
+      for both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which eats us within,
+      and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know where. But it drives
+      us, and eats away the life&mdash;and yet we love each other, and we must
+      not separate&mdash;Do you know what I mean? Do you understand me at all in
+      what I say? I speak what is true.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I understand. I'm in the same dilemma myself.&mdash;But what I want
+      to hear, is WHY you think it is so. Why is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I say what I think? Yes? And you can tell me if it is foolish to
+      you.&mdash;Shall I tell you? Well. Because a woman, she now first wants
+      the man, and he must go to her because he is wanted. Do you understand?&mdash;You
+      know&mdash;supposing I go to a woman&mdash;supposing she is my wife&mdash;and
+      I go to her, yes, with my blood all ready, because it is I who want. Then
+      she puts me off. Then she says, not now, not now, I am tired, I am not
+      well. I do not feel like it. She puts me off&mdash;till I am angry or
+      sorry or whatever I am&mdash;but till my blood has gone down again, you
+      understand, and I don't want her any more. And then she puts her arms
+      round me, and caresses me, and makes love to me&mdash;till she rouses me
+      once more. So, and so she rouses me&mdash;and so I come to her. And I love
+      her, it is very good, very good. But it was she who began, it was her
+      initiative, you know.&mdash;I do not think, in all my life, my wife has
+      loved me from my initiative, you know. She will yield to me&mdash;because
+      I insist, or because she wants to be a good submissive wife who loves me.
+      So she will yield to me. But ah, what is it, you know? What is it a woman
+      who allows me, and who has no answer? It is something worse than nothing&mdash;worse
+      than nothing. And so it makes me very discontented and unbelieving.&mdash;If
+      I say to her, she says it is not true&mdash;not at all true. Then she
+      says, all she wants is that I should desire her, that I should love her
+      and desire her. But even that is putting her will first. And if I come to
+      her so, if I come to her of my own desire, then she puts me off. She puts
+      me off, or she only allows me to come to her. Even now it is the same
+      after ten years, as it was at first. But now I know, and for many years I
+      did not know&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was intense. His face was strained, his blue eyes so
+      stretched that they showed the whites all round. He gazed into Lilly's
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But does it matter?&rdquo; said Lilly slowly, &ldquo;in which of you the desire
+      initiates? Isn't the result the same?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It matters. It matters&mdash;&rdquo; cried the Marchese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, my dear fellow, how MUCH it matters&mdash;&rdquo; interrupted Argyle
+      sagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay!&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Marchese looked from one to the other of them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It matters!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;It matters life or death. It used to be, that
+      desire started in the man, and the woman answered. It used to be so for a
+      long time in Italy. For this reason the women were kept away from the men.
+      For this reason our Catholic religion tried to keep the young girls in
+      convents, and innocent, before marriage. So that with their minds they
+      should not know, and should not start this terrible thing, this woman's
+      desire over a man, beforehand. This desire which starts in a woman's head,
+      when she knows, and which takes a man for her use, for her service. This
+      is Eve. Ah, I hate Eve. I hate her, when she knows, and when she WILLS. I
+      hate her when she will make of me that which serves her desire.&mdash;She
+      may love me, she may be soft and kind to me, she may give her life for me.
+      But why? Only because I am HERS. I am that thing which does her most
+      intimate service. She can see no other in me. And I may be no other to her&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I cannot. I cannot. I would. But I cannot. The Borghesia&mdash;the
+      citizens&mdash;the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can. Oh, yes. The
+      bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and their wives
+      love them. They are the marital maquereaux&mdash;the husband-maquereau,
+      you know. Their wives are so stout and happy, and they dote on their
+      husbands and always betray them. So it is with the bourgeoise. She loves
+      her husband so much, and is always seeking to betray him. Or she is a
+      Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal. But the bourgeois husband, he goes
+      on being the same. He is the horse, and she the driver. And when she says
+      gee-up, you know&mdash;then he comes ready, like a hired maquereau. Only
+      he feels so good, like a good little boy at her breast. And then there are
+      the nice little children. And so they keep the world going.&mdash;But for
+      me&mdash;&rdquo; he spat suddenly and with frenzy on the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are quite right, my boy,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;You are quite right. They've
+      got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when they say
+      gee-up. I&mdash;oh, I went through it all. But I broke the shafts and
+      smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't care whether I
+      smashed her up along with it or not. I didn't care one single bit, I
+      assure you.&mdash;And here I am. And she is dead and buried these dozen
+      years. Well&mdash;well! Life, you know, life. And women oh, they are the
+      very hottest hell once they get the start of you. There's NOTHING they
+      won't do to you, once they've got you. Nothing they won't do to you.
+      Especially if they love you. Then you may as well give up the ghost: or
+      smash the cart behind you, and her in it. Otherwise she will just harry
+      you into submission, and make a dog of you, and cuckold you under your
+      nose. And you'll submit. Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling her my
+      darling. Or else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you. Your only chance
+      is to smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart. Or she'll do for
+      you. For a woman has an uncanny, hellish strength&mdash;she's a she-bear
+      and a wolf, is a woman when she's got the start of you. Oh, it's a
+      terrible experience, if you're not a bourgeois, and not one of the
+      knuckling-under money-making sort.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Knuckling-under sort. Yes. That is it,&rdquo; said the Marchese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But can't there be a balancing of wills?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear boy, the balance lies in that, that when one goes up, the other
+      goes down. One acts, the other takes. It is the only way in love&mdash;And
+      the women are nowadays the active party. Oh, yes, not a shadow of doubt
+      about it. They take the initiative, and the man plays up. That's how it
+      is. The man just plays up.&mdash;Nice manly proceeding, what!&rdquo; cried
+      Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why can't man accept it as the natural order of things?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+      &ldquo;Science makes it the natural order.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All my &mdash;&mdash; to science,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;No man with one drop of
+      real spunk in him can stand it long.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! Yes! Yes!&rdquo; cried the Italian. &ldquo;Most men want it so. Most men want
+      only, that a woman shall want them, and they shall then play up to her
+      when she has roused them. Most men want only this: that a woman shall
+      choose one man out, to be her man, and he shall worship her and come up
+      when she shall provoke him. Otherwise he is to keep still. And the woman,
+      she is quite sure of her part. She must be loved and adored, and above
+      all, obeyed, particularly in her sex desire. There she must not be
+      thwarted, or she becomes a devil. And if she is obeyed, she becomes a
+      misunderstood woman with nerves, looking round for the next man whom she
+      can bring under. So it is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;And then what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; interrupted Aaron. &ldquo;But do you think it's true what he says? Have
+      you found it like that? You're married. Has your experience been
+      different, or the same?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was yours?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mine was the same. Mine was the same, if ever it was,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And mine was EXTREMELY similar,&rdquo; said Argyle with a grimace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yours, Lilly?&rdquo; asked the Marchese anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not very different,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah!&rdquo; cried Del Torre, jerking up erect as if he had found something.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what's your way out?&rdquo; Aaron asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not out&mdash;so I won't holloa,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;But Del Torre puts it
+      best.&mdash;What do you say is the way out, Del Torre?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The way out is that it should change: that the man should be the asker
+      and the woman the answerer. It must change.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it doesn't. Prrr!&rdquo; Argyle made his trumpeting noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does it?&rdquo; asked Lilly of the Marchese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. I think it does not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And will it ever again?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps never.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then? Why then man seeks a <i>pis-aller</i>. Then he seeks something
+      which will give him answer, and which will not only draw him, draw him,
+      with a terrible sexual will.&mdash;So he seeks young girls, who know
+      nothing, and so cannot force him. He thinks he will possess them while
+      they are young, and they will be soft and responding to his wishes.&mdash;But
+      in this, too, he is mistaken. Because now a baby of one year, if it be a
+      female, is like a woman of forty, so is its will made up, so it will force
+      a man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And so young girls are no good, even as a <i>pis-aller</i>.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No good&mdash;because they are all modern women. Every one, a modern
+      woman. Not one who isn't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Terrible thing, the modern woman,&rdquo; put in Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then man seeks other forms of loves, always seeking the loving response,
+      you know, of one gentler and tenderer than himself, who will wait till the
+      man desires, and then will answer with full love.&mdash;But it is all <i>pis-aller</i>,
+      you know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not by any means, my boy,&rdquo; cried Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then a man naturally loves his own wife, too, even if it is not
+      bearable to love her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or one leaves her, like Aaron,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And seeks another woman, so,&rdquo; said the Marchese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Does he seek another woman?&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Do you, Aaron?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't WANT to,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But&mdash;I can't stand by myself in the
+      middle of the world and in the middle of people, and know I am quite by
+      myself, and nowhere to go, and nothing to hold on to. I can for a day or
+      two&mdash;But then, it becomes unbearable as well. You get frightened. You
+      feel you might go funny&mdash;as you would if you stood on this balcony
+      wall with all the space beneath you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't one be alone&mdash;quite alone?&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But no&mdash;it is absurd. Like Saint Simeon Stylites on a pillar. But it
+      is absurd!&rdquo; cried the Italian.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't mean like Simeon Stylites. I mean can't one live with one's wife,
+      and be fond of her: and with one's friends, and enjoy their company: and
+      with the world and everything, pleasantly: and yet KNOW that one is alone?
+      Essentially, at the very core of me, alone. Eternally alone. And choosing
+      to be alone. Not sentimental or LONELY. Alone, choosing to be alone,
+      because by one's own nature one is alone. The being with another person is
+      secondary,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One is alone,&rdquo; said Argyle, &ldquo;in all but love. In all but love, my dear
+      fellow. And then I agree with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;in love most intensely of all, alone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Completely incomprehensible,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Amounts to nothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One man is but a part. How can he be so alone?&rdquo; said the Marchese.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In so far as he is a single individual soul, he IS alone&mdash;ipso
+      facto. In so far as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, in so far, I
+      am inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to know
+      it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my
+      self-knowledge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear boy, you are becoming metaphysical, and that is as bad as
+      softening of the brain,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And,&rdquo; said the Marchese, &ldquo;it may be so by REASON. But in the heart&mdash;?
+      Can the heart ever beat quite alone? Plop! Plop!&mdash;Can the heart beat
+      quite alone, alone in all the atmosphere, all the space of the universe?
+      Plop! Plop! Plop!&mdash;Quite alone in all the space?&rdquo; A slow smile came
+      over the Italian's face. &ldquo;It is impossible. It may eat against the heart
+      of other men, in anger, all in pressure against the others. It may beat
+      hard, like iron, saying it is independent. But this is only beating
+      against the heart of mankind, not alone.&mdash;But either with or against
+      the heart of mankind, or the heart of someone, mother, wife, friend,
+      children&mdash;so must the heart of every man beat. It is so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It beats alone in its own silence,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Italian shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'd better be going inside, anyhow,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Some of you will be
+      taking cold.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aaron,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Is it true for you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nearly,&rdquo; said Aaron, looking into the quiet, half-amused, yet frightening
+      eyes of the other man. &ldquo;Or it has been.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A miss is as good as a mile,&rdquo; laughed Lilly, rising and picking up his
+      chair to take it indoors. And the laughter of his voice was so like a
+      simple, deliberate amiability, that Aaron's heart really stood still for a
+      second. He knew that Lilly was alone&mdash;as far as he, Aaron, was
+      concerned. Lilly was alone&mdash;and out of his isolation came his words,
+      indifferent as to whether they came or not. And he left his friends
+      utterly to their own choice. Utterly to their own choice. Aaron felt that
+      Lilly was <i>there</i>, existing in life, yet neither asking for
+      connection nor preventing any connection. He was present, he was the real
+      centre of the group. And yet he asked nothing of them, and he imposed
+      nothing. He left each to himself, and he himself remained just himself:
+      neither more nor less. And there was a finality about it, which was at
+      once maddening and fascinating. Aaron felt angry, as if he were half
+      insulted by the other man's placing the gift of friendship or connection
+      so quietly back in the giver's hands. Lilly would receive no gift of
+      friendship in equality. Neither would he violently refuse it. He let it
+      lie unmarked. And yet at the same time Aaron knew that he could depend on
+      the other man for help, nay, almost for life itself&mdash;so long as it
+      entailed no breaking of the intrinsic isolation of Lilly's soul. But this
+      condition was also hateful. And there was also a great fascination in it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XVIII. THE MARCHESA
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron dined with the Marchesa and Manfredi. He was quite startled when
+      his hostess came in: she seemed like somebody else. She seemed like a
+      demon, her hair on her brows, her terrible modern elegance. She wore a
+      wonderful gown of thin blue velvet, of a lovely colour, with some kind of
+      gauzy gold-threaded filament down the sides. It was terribly modern,
+      short, and showed her legs and her shoulders and breast and all her
+      beautiful white arms. Round her throat was a collar of dark-blue
+      sapphires. Her hair was done low, almost to the brows, and heavy, like an
+      Aubrey Beardsley drawing. She was most carefully made up&mdash;yet with
+      that touch of exaggeration, lips slightly too red, which was quite
+      intentional, and which frightened Aaron. He thought her wonderful, and
+      sinister. She affected him with a touch of horror. She sat down opposite
+      him, and her beautifully shapen legs, in frail, goldish stockings, seemed
+      to glisten metallic naked, thrust from out of the wonderful, wonderful
+      skin, like periwinkle-blue velvet. She had tapestry shoes, blue and gold:
+      and almost one could see her toes: metallic naked. The gold-threaded gauze
+      slipped at her side. Aaron could not help watching the naked-seeming arch
+      of her foot. It was as if she were dusted with dark gold-dust upon her
+      marvellous nudity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She must have seen his face, seen that he was <i>ebloui</i>.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You brought the flute?&rdquo; she said, in that toneless, melancholy,
+      unstriving voice of hers. Her voice alone was the same: direct and bare
+      and quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps I shall sing later on, if you'll accompany me. Will you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought you hated accompaniments.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no&mdash;not just unison. I don't mean accompaniment. I mean unison.
+      I don't know how it will be. But will you try?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I'll try.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Manfredi is just bringing the cocktails. Do you think you'd prefer orange
+      in yours?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ill have mine as you have yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't take orange in mine. Won't you smoke?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The strange, naked, remote-seeming voice! And then the beautiful firm
+      limbs thrust out in that dress, and nakedly dusky as with gold-dust. Her
+      beautiful woman's legs, slightly glistening, duskily. His one abiding
+      instinct was to touch them, to kiss them. He had never known a woman to
+      exercise such power over him. It was a bare, occult force, something he
+      could not cope with.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Manfredi came in with the little tray. He was still in uniform.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hello!&rdquo; cried the little Italian. &ldquo;Glad to see you&mdash;well, everything
+      all right? Glad to hear it. How is the cocktail, Nan?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;All right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One drop too much peach, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah,&rdquo; and the little officer seated himself, stretching his gaitered legs
+      as if gaily. He had a curious smiling look on his face, that Aaron thought
+      also diabolical&mdash;and almost handsome. Suddenly the odd, laughing,
+      satanic beauty of the little man was visible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and what have you been doing with yourself?&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;What did you
+      do yesterday?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yesterday?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I went to the Uffizi.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To the Uffizi? Well! And what did you think of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very fine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think it is. I think it is. What pictures did you look at?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was with Dekker. We looked at most, I believe.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what do you remember best?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I remember Botticelli's Venus on the Shell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! Yes!&mdash;&rdquo; said Manfredi. &ldquo;I like her. But I like others better.
+      You thought her a pretty woman, yes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;not particularly pretty. But I like her body. And I like the
+      fresh air. I like the fresh air, the summer sea-air all through it&mdash;through
+      her as well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And her face?&rdquo; asked the Marchesa, with a slow, ironic smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;she's a bit baby-faced,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Trying to be more innocent than her own common-sense will let her,&rdquo; said
+      the Marchesa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't agree with you, Nan,&rdquo; said her husband. &ldquo;I think it is just that
+      wistfulness and innocence which makes her the true Venus: the true modern
+      Venus. She chooses NOT to know too much. And that is her attraction. Don't
+      you agree, Aaron? Excuse me, but everybody speaks of you as Aaron. It
+      seems to come naturally. Most people speak of me as Manfredi, too, because
+      it is easier, perhaps, than Del Torre. So if you find it easier, use it.
+      Do you mind that I call you Aaron?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not at all. I hate Misters, always.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, so do I. I like one name only.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little officer seemed very winning and delightful to Aaron this
+      evening&mdash;and Aaron began to like him extremely. But the dominating
+      consciousness in the room was the woman's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;DO you agree, Mr. Sisson?&rdquo; said the Marchesa. &ldquo;Do you agree that the
+      mock-innocence and the sham-wistfulness of Botticelli's Venus are her
+      great charms?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't think she is at all charming, as a person,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;As a
+      particular woman, she makes no impression on me at all. But as a picture&mdash;and
+      the fresh air, particularly the fresh air. She doesn't seem so much a
+      woman, you know, as the kind of out-of-doors morning-feelings at the
+      seaside.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite! A sort of sea-scape of a woman. With a perfectly sham innocence.
+      Are you as keen on innocence as Manfredi is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Innocence?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;It's the sort of thing I don't have much feeling
+      about.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, I know you,&rdquo; laughed the soldier wickedly. &ldquo;You are the sort of man
+      who wants to be Anthony to Cleopatra. Ha-ha!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron winced as if struck. Then he too smiled, flattered. Yet he felt he
+      had been struck! Did he want to be Anthony to Cleopatra? Without knowing,
+      he was watching the Marchesa. And she was looking away, but knew he was
+      watching her. And at last she turned her eyes to his, with a slow, dark
+      smile, full of pain and fuller still of knowledge. A strange, dark, silent
+      look of knowledge she gave him: from so far away, it seemed. And he felt
+      all the bonds that held him melting away. His eyes remained fixed and
+      gloomy, but with his mouth he smiled back at her. And he was terrified. He
+      knew he was sulking towards her&mdash;sulking towards her. And he was
+      terrified. But at the back of his mind, also, he knew there was Lilly,
+      whom he might depend on. And also he wanted to sink towards her. The flesh
+      and blood of him simply melted out, in desire towards her. Cost what may,
+      he must come to her. And yet he knew at the same time that, cost what may,
+      he must keep the power to recover himself from her. He must have his cake
+      and eat it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And she became Cleopatra to him. &ldquo;Age cannot wither, nor custom stale&mdash;&rdquo;
+       To his instinctive, unwilled fancy, she was Cleopatra.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They went in to dinner, and he sat on her right hand. It was a smallish
+      table, with a very few daisy-flowers: everything rather frail, and sparse.
+      The food the same&mdash;nothing very heavy, all rather exquisite. They
+      drank hock. And he was aware of her beautiful arms, and her bosom; her
+      low-crowded, thick hair, parted in the centre: the sapphires on her
+      throat, the heavy rings on her fingers: and the paint on her lips, the
+      fard. Something deep, deep at the bottom of him hovered upon her, cleaved
+      to her. Yet he was as if sightless, in a stupor. Who was she, what was
+      she? He had lost all his grasp. Only he sat there, with his face turned to
+      hers, or to her, all the time. And she talked to him. But she never looked
+      at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Indeed she said little. It was the husband who talked. His manner towards
+      Aaron was almost caressive. And Aaron liked it. The woman was silent
+      mostly, and seemed remote. And Aaron felt his life ebb towards her. He
+      felt the marvellousness, the rich beauty of her arms and breast. And the
+      thought of her gold-dusted smooth limbs beneath the table made him feel
+      almost an idiot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The second wine was a gold-coloured Moselle, very soft and rich and
+      beautiful. She drank this with pleasure, as one who understands. And for
+      dessert there was a dish of cacchi&mdash;that orange-coloured, pulpy
+      Japanese fruit&mdash;persimmons. Aaron had never eaten these before. Soft,
+      almost slimy, of a wonderful colour, and of a flavour that had sunk from
+      harsh astringency down to that first decay-sweetness which is all
+      autumn-rich. The Marchese loved them, and scooped them out with his spoon.
+      But she ate none.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron did not know what they talked about, what was said. If someone had
+      taken his mind away altogether, and left him with nothing but a body and a
+      spinal consciousness, it would have been the same.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But at coffee the talk turned to Manfredi's duties. He would not be free
+      from the army for some time yet. On the morrow, for example, he had to be
+      out and away before it was day. He said he hated it, and wanted to be a
+      free man once more. But it seemed to Aaron he would be a very bored man,
+      once he was free. And then they drifted on to talk of the palazzo in which
+      was their apartment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've got such a fine terrace&mdash;you can see it from your house where
+      you are,&rdquo; said Manfredi. &ldquo;Have you noticed it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Near that tuft of palm-trees. Don't you know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go out and show it him,&rdquo; said the Marchesa.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Manfredi fetched her a cloak, and they went through various doors, then up
+      some steps. The terrace was broad and open. It looked straight across the
+      river at the opposite Lungarno: and there was the thin-necked tower of the
+      Palazzo Vecchio, and the great dome of the cathedral in the distance, in
+      shadow-bulk in the cold-aired night of stars. Little trams were running
+      brilliant over the flat new bridge on the right. And from a garden just
+      below rose a tuft of palm-trees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You see,&rdquo; said the Marchesa, coming and standing close to Aaron, so that
+      she just touched him, &ldquo;you can know the terrace, just by these palm trees.
+      And you are in the Nardini just across there, are you? On the top floor,
+      you said?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, the top floor&mdash;one of the middle windows, I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One that is always open now&mdash;and the others are shut. I have noticed
+      it, not connecting it with you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, my window is always open.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She was leaning very slightly against him, as he stood. And he knew, with
+      the same kind of inevitability with which he knew he would one day die,
+      that he would be the lover of this woman. Nay, that he was her lover
+      already.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't take cold,&rdquo; said Manfredi.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She turned at once indoors. Aaron caught a faint whiff of perfume from the
+      little orange trees in tubs round the wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you get the flute?&rdquo; she said as they entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And will you sing?&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Play first,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did as she wished. As the other night, he went into the big music-room
+      to play. And the stream of sound came out with the quick wild
+      imperiousness of the pipe. It had an immediate effect on her. She seemed
+      to relax the peculiar, drug-like tension which was upon her at all
+      ordinary times. She seemed to go still, and yielding. Her red mouth looked
+      as if it might moan with relief. She sat with her chin dropped on her
+      breast, listening. And she did not move. But she sat softly, breathing
+      rather quick, like one who has been hurt, and is soothed. A certain
+      womanly naturalness seemed to soften her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the music of the flute came quick, rather brilliant like a call-note,
+      or like a long quick message, half command. To her it was like a pure male
+      voice&mdash;as a blackbird's when he calls: a pure male voice, not only
+      calling, but telling her something, telling her something, and soothing
+      her soul to sleep. It was like the fire-music putting Brunnhilde to sleep.
+      But the pipe did not flicker and sink. It seemed to cause a natural
+      relaxation in her soul, a peace. Perhaps it was more like waking to a
+      sweet, morning awakening, after a night of tormented, painful tense sleep.
+      Perhaps more like that.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When Aaron came in, she looked at him with a gentle, fresh smile that
+      seemed to make the fard on her face look like a curious tiredness, which
+      now she might recover from. And as the last time, it was difficult for her
+      to identify this man with the voice of the flute. It was rather difficult.
+      Except that, perhaps, between his brows was something of a doubt, and in
+      his bearing an aloofness that made her dread he might go away and not come
+      back. She could see it in him, that he might go away and not come back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She said nothing to him, only just smiled. And the look of knowledge in
+      her eyes seemed, for the moment, to be contained in another look: a look
+      of faith, and at last happiness. Aaron's heart stood still. No, in her
+      moment's mood of faith and at last peace, life-trust, he was perhaps more
+      terrified of her than in her previous sinister elegance. His spirit
+      started and shrank. What was she going to ask of him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I am so anxious that you should come to play one Saturday morning,&rdquo; said
+      Manfredi. &ldquo;With an accompaniment, you know. I should like so much to hear
+      you with piano accompaniment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you really come? And will you practise with me, so that I can
+      accompany you?&rdquo; said Manfredi eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. I will,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, good! Oh, good! Look here, come in on Friday morning and let us both
+      look through the music.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If Mr. Sisson plays for the public,&rdquo; said the Marchesa, &ldquo;he must not do
+      it for charity. He must have the proper fee.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't want it,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you must earn money, mustn't you?&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I must,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;But I can do it somewhere else.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No. If you play for the public, you must have your earnings. When you
+      play for me, it is different.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Of course,&rdquo; said Manfredi. &ldquo;Every man must have his wage. I have mine
+      from the Italian government&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it&mdash;I
+      shall be like Trilby&mdash;I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I
+      daren't. So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song. Though
+      not Malbrouck, and without a Svengali to keep me in tune.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She went near the door, and stood with heir hands by her side. There was
+      something wistful, almost pathetic now, in her elegance.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                    &ldquo;Derriere chez mon pere
+                      <i>Vole vole mon coeur, vole</i>!
+                     Derriere chez mon pere
+                     Il y a un pommier doux.
+                       <i>Tout doux, et iou
+                        Et iou, tout doux.
+                        Il y a unpommier doux</i>.
+
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                      <i>Vole vole mon coeur, vole</i>!
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                     Sont assis dessous.
+                      <i>Tout doux, et iou
+                       Et iou, tout doux.
+                       Sont asses dessous.</i>&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      She had a beautiful, strong, sweet voice. But it was faltering, stumbling
+      and sometimes it seemed to drop almost to speech. After three verses she
+      faltered to an end, bitterly chagrined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;It's no good. I can't sing.&rdquo; And she dropped in her
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lovely little tune,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Haven't you got the music?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose, not answering, and found him a little book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do the words mean?&rdquo; he asked her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She told him. And then he took his flute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't mind if I play it, do you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he played the tune. It was so simple. And he seemed to catch the lilt
+      and the timbre of her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and sing it while I play&mdash;&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't sing,&rdquo; she said, shaking her head rather bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But let us try,&rdquo; said he, disappointed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know I can't,&rdquo; she said. But she rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He remained sitting at the little table, the book propped up under the
+      reading lamp. She stood at a little distance, unhappy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've always been like that,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I could never sing music, unless
+      I had a thing drilled into me, and then it wasn't singing any more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Aaron wasn't heeding. His flute was at his mouth, he was watching her.
+      He sounded the note, but she did not begin. She was twisting her
+      handkerchief. So he played the melody alone. At the end of the verse, he
+      looked up at her again, and a half mocking smile played in his eyes. Again
+      he sounded the note, a challenge. And this time, as at his bidding, she
+      began to sing. The flute instantly swung with a lovely soft firmness into
+      the song, and she wavered only for a minute or two. Then her soul and her
+      voice got free, and she sang&mdash;she sang as she wanted to sing, as she
+      had always wanted to sing, without that awful scotch, that impediment
+      inside her own soul, which prevented her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sang free, with the flute gliding along with her. And oh, how
+      beautiful it was for her! How beautiful it was to sing the little song in
+      the sweetness of her own spirit. How sweet it was to move pure and
+      unhampered at last in the music! The lovely ease and lilt of her own soul
+      in its motion through the music! She wasn't aware of the flute. She didn't
+      know there was anything except her own pure lovely song-drift. Her soul
+      seemed to breathe as a butterfly breathes, as it rests on a leaf and
+      slowly breathes its wings. For the first time! For the first time her soul
+      drew its own deep breath. All her life, the breath had caught half-way.
+      And now she breathed full, deep, to the deepest extent of her being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And oh, it was so wonderful, she was dazed. The song ended, she stood with
+      a dazed, happy face, like one just coming awake. And the fard on her face
+      seemed like the old night-crust, the bad sleep. New and luminous she
+      looked out. And she looked at Aaron with a proud smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bravo, Nan! That was what you wanted,&rdquo; said her husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It was, wasn't it?&rdquo; she said, turning a wondering, glowing face to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face looked strange and withered and gnome-like, at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went and sat in her chair, quite silent, as if in a trance. The two
+      men also sat quite still. And in the silence a little drama played itself
+      between the three, of which they knew definitely nothing. But Manfredi
+      knew that Aaron had done what he himself never could do, for this woman.
+      And yet the woman was his own woman, not Aaron's. And so, he was
+      displaced. Aaron, sitting there, glowed with a sort of triumph. He had
+      performed a little miracle, and felt himself a little wonder-worker, to
+      whom reverence was due. And as in a dream the woman sat, feeling what a
+      joy it was to float and move like a swan in the high air, flying upon the
+      wings of her own spirit. She was as a swan which never before could get
+      its wings quite open, and so which never could get up into the open, where
+      alone it can sing. For swans, and storks make their music only when they
+      are high, high up in the air. Then they can give sound to their strange
+      spirits. And so, she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and hardly
+      spoke to one another. It was as if two invisible hands pushed their faces
+      apart, away, averted. And Aaron's face glimmered with a little triumph,
+      and a little grimace of obstinacy. And the Italian's face looked old,
+      rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare bitterness. The woman
+      looked wondering from one man to the other&mdash;wondering. The glimmer of
+      the open flower, the wonder-look, still lasted. And Aaron said in his
+      heart, what a goodly woman, what a woman to taste and enjoy. Ah, what a
+      woman to enjoy! And was it not his privilege? Had he not gained it?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His manhood, or rather his maleness, rose powerfully in him, in a sort of
+      mastery. He felt his own power, he felt suddenly his own virile title to
+      strength and reward. Suddenly, and newly flushed with his own male
+      super-power, he was going to have his reward. The woman was his reward. So
+      it was, in him. And he cast it over in his mind. He wanted her&mdash;ha,
+      didn't he! But the husband sat there, like a soap-stone Chinese monkey,
+      greyish-green. So, it would have to be another time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose, therefore, and took his leave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you'll let us do that again, won't you?&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When you tell me, I'll come,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'll tell you soon,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he left, and went home to his own place, and there to his own remote
+      room. As he laid his flute on the table he looked at it and smiled. He
+      remembered that Lilly had called it Aaron's Rod.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So you blossom, do you?&mdash;and thorn as well,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For such a long time he had been gripped inside himself, and withheld. For
+      such a long time it had been hard and unyielding, so hard and unyielding.
+      He had wanted nothing, his desire had kept itself back, fast back. For
+      such a long time his desire for woman had withheld itself, hard and
+      resistant. All his deep, desirous blood had been locked, he had wanted
+      nobody, and nothing. And it had been hard to live, so. Without desire,
+      without any movement of passionate love, only gripped back in recoil! That
+      was an experience to endure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now came his desire back. But strong, fierce as iron. Like the
+      strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons. Something to glory
+      in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant, royal,
+      Jove's thunderbolt. Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming again with red
+      Florentine lilies and fierce thorns. He moved about in the splendour of
+      his own male lightning, invested in the thunder of the male passion-power.
+      He had got it back, the male godliness, the male godhead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he slept, and dreamed violent dreams of strange, black strife,
+      something like the street-riot in Milan, but more terrible. In the
+      morning, however, he cared nothing about his dreams. As soon as it was
+      really light, he rose, and opened his window wide. It was a grey, slow
+      morning. But he saw neither the morning nor the river nor the woman
+      walking on the gravel river-bed with her goose nor the green hill up to
+      San Miniato. He watched the tuft of palm-trees, and the terrace beside it.
+      He could just distinguish the terrace clearly, among the green of foliage.
+      So he stood at his window for a full hour, and did not move. Motionless,
+      planted, he stood and watched that terrace across above the Arno. But like
+      a statue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After an hour or so, he looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. So he
+      rang for his coffee, and meanwhile still stood watching the terrace on the
+      hill. He felt his turn had come. The phoenix had risen in fire again, out
+      of the ashes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore at ten o'clock he went over the bridge. He wrote on the back of
+      his card a request, would she please let him have the little book of
+      songs, that he might practise them over. The manservant went, and came
+      back with the request that Aaron should wait. So Aaron entered, while the
+      man took his hat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The manservant spoke only French and Spanish, no English. He was a
+      Spaniard, with greyish hair and stooping shoulders, and dark, mute-seeming
+      eyes. He spoke as little as possible. The Marchesa had inherited him from
+      her father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron sat in the little sitting-room and waited. After a rather long time
+      the Marchesa came in&mdash;wearing a white, thin blouse and a blue skirt.
+      She was hardly made up at all. She had an odd pleased, yet brooding look
+      on her face as she gave Aaron her hand. Something brooded between her
+      brows. And her voice was strange, with a strange, secret undertone, that
+      he could not understand. He looked up at her. And his face was bright, and
+      his knees, as he sat, were like the knees of the gods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You wanted the book of <i>chansons</i>?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wanted to learn your tunes,&rdquo; he replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes. Look&mdash;here it is!&rdquo; And she brought him the little yellow book.
+      It was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment. So
+      she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something else, and
+      standing as if with another meaning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He opened the leaves at random.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I ought to know which ones you sing,&rdquo; said he, rising and standing by
+      her side with the open book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said, looking over his arm. He turned the pages one by one. &ldquo;<i>Trois
+      jeunes tambours</i>,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Yes, that.... Yes, <i>En passant par la
+      Lorraine</i>.... <i>Aupres de ma blonde</i>.... Oh, I like that one so
+      much&mdash;&rdquo; He stood and went over the tune in his mind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you like me to play it?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very much,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he got his flute, propped up the book against a vase, and played the
+      tune, whilst she hummed it fragmentarily. But as he played, he felt that
+      he did not cast the spell over her. There was no connection. She was in
+      some mysterious way withstanding him. She was withstanding him, and his
+      male super-power, and his thunderbolt desire. She was, in some
+      indescribable way, throwing cold water over his phoenix newly risen from
+      the ashes of its nest in flames.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He realised that she did not want him to play. She did not want him to
+      look at the songs. So he put the book away, and turned round, rather
+      baffled, not quite sure what was happening, yet feeling she was
+      withstanding him. He glanced at her face: it was inscrutable: it was her
+      Cleopatra face once more, yet with something new and warm in it. He could
+      not understand it. What was it in her face that puzzled him? Almost
+      angered him? But she could not rob him of his male power, she could not
+      divest him of his concentrated force.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you take off your coat?&rdquo; she said, looking at him with strange,
+      large dark eyes. A strange woman, he could not understand her. Yet, as he
+      sat down again, having removed his overcoat, he felt her looking at his
+      limbs, his physical body. And this went against him, he did not want it.
+      Yet quite fixed in him too was the desire for her, her beautiful white
+      arms, her whole soft white body. And such desire he would not contradict
+      nor allow to be contradicted. It was his will also. Her whole soft white
+      body&mdash;to possess it in its entirety, its fulness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What have you to do this morning?&rdquo; she asked him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Have you?&rdquo; He lifted his head and looked at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nothing at all,&rdquo; said she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And then they sat in silence, he with his head dropped. Then again he
+      looked at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we be lovers?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sat with her face averted, and did not answer. His heart struck
+      heavily, but he did not relax.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall we be lovers?&rdquo; came his voice once more, with the faintest touch of
+      irony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her face gradually grew dusky. And he wondered very much to see it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said she, still not looking at him. &ldquo;If you wish.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do wish,&rdquo; he said. And all the time he sat with his eyes fixed on her
+      face, and she sat with her face averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again she was silent for some moments, as if struggling with herself. Then
+      she looked at him&mdash;a long, strange, dark look, incomprehensible, and
+      which he did not like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't want emotions? You don't want me to say things, do you?&rdquo; he
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A faint ironic smile came on her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know what all that is worth,&rdquo; she said, with curious calm equanimity.
+      &ldquo;No, I want none of that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But now she sat gazing on him with wide, heavy, incomprehensible eyes. It
+      annoyed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want to see in me?&rdquo; he asked, with a smile, looking steadily
+      back again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And now she turned aside her face once more, and once more the dusky
+      colour came in her cheek. He waited.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall I go away?&rdquo; he said at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Would you rather?&rdquo; she said, keeping her face averted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then again she was silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where shall I come to you?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused a moment still, then answered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll go to my room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know which it is,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll show it you,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then I shall come to you in ten minutes. In ten minutes,&rdquo; he
+      reiterated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So she rose, and led the way out of the little salon. He walked with her
+      to the door of her room, bowed his head as she looked at him, holding the
+      door handle; and then he turned and went back to the drawing-room,
+      glancing at his watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the drawing-room he stood quite still, with his feet apart, and waited.
+      He stood with his hands behind him, and his feet apart, quite motionless,
+      planted and firm. So the minutes went by unheeded. He looked at his watch.
+      The ten minutes were just up. He had heard footsteps and doors. So he
+      decided to give her another five minutes. He wished to be quite sure that
+      she had had her own time for her own movements.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then at the end of the five minutes he went straight to her room, entered,
+      and locked the door behind him. She was lying in bed, with her back to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He found her strange, not as he had imagined her. Not powerful, as he had
+      imagined her. Strange, in his arms she seemed almost small and childish,
+      whilst in daily life she looked a full, womanly woman. Strange, the naked
+      way she clung to him! Almost like a sister, a younger sister! Or like a
+      child! It filled him with a curious wonder, almost a bewilderment. In the
+      dark sightlessness of passion, she seemed almost like a clinging child in
+      his arms. And yet like a child who in some deep and essential way mocked
+      him. In some strange and incomprehensible way, as a girl-child blindly
+      obstinate in her deepest nature, she was against him. He felt she was not
+      his woman. Through him went the feeling, &ldquo;This is not my woman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When, after a long sleep, he awoke and came fully to himself, with that
+      click of awakeness which is the end, the first shades were closing on the
+      afternoon. He got up and reached for his watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quarter past four,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her eyes stretched wide with surprise as she looked at him. But she said
+      nothing. The same strange and wide, perhaps insatiable child-like
+      curiosity was in her eyes as she watched him. He dressed very quickly. And
+      her eyes were wide, and she said no single word.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But when he was dressed, and bent over her to say goodbye, she put her
+      arms round him, that seemed such frail and childish arms now, yet withal
+      so deadly in power. Her soft arms round his neck, her tangle of hair over
+      his face. And yet, even as he kissed her, he felt her deadly. He wanted to
+      be gone. He wanted to get out of her arms and her clinging and her tangle
+      of hair and her curiosity and her strange and hateful power.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll come again. We'll be like this again?&rdquo; she whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And it was hard for him to realise that this was that other woman, who had
+      sat so silently on the sofa, so darkly and reservedly, at the tea at
+      Algy's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes! I will! Goodbye now!&rdquo; And he kissed her, and walked straight out of
+      the room. Quickly he took his coat and his hat, quickly, and left the
+      house. In his nostrils was still the scent with which the bed linen was
+      faintly scented&mdash;he did not know what it was. But now he wiped his
+      face and his mouth, to wipe it away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had eaten nothing since coffee that morning, and was hungry,
+      faint-feeling. And his face, and his mind, felt withered. Curiously he
+      felt blasted as if blighted by some electricity. And he knew, he knew
+      quite well he was only in possession of a tithe of his natural faculties.
+      And in his male spirit he felt himself hating her: hating her deeply,
+      damnably. But he said to himself: &ldquo;No, I won't hate her. I won't hate
+      her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went on, over the Ponte Vecchio, where the jeweller's windows on the
+      bridge were already blazing with light, on into the town. He wanted to eat
+      something, so he decided to go to a shop he knew, where one could stand
+      and eat good tiny rolls split into truffle or salami sandwiches, and drink
+      Marsala. So one after the other he ate little truffle rolls, and drank a
+      few glasses of Marsala. And then he did not know what to do. He did not
+      want to eat any more, he had had what he wanted. His hunger had been more
+      nervous than sensual.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went into the street. It was just growing dark and the town was
+      lighting up. He felt curiously blazed, as if some flame or electric power
+      had gone through him and withered his vital tissue. Blazed, as if some
+      kind of electric flame had run over him and withered him. His brain felt
+      withered, his mind had only one of its many-sighted eyes left open and
+      unscorched. So many of the eyes of his mind were scorched now and
+      sightless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet a restlessness was in his nerves. What should he do? He remembered he
+      had a letter in his pocket from Sir William Franks. Sir William had still
+      teased him about his fate and his providence, in which he, Aaron, was
+      supposed to trust. &ldquo;I shall be very glad to hear from you, and to know how
+      your benevolent Providence&mdash;or was yours a Fate&mdash;has treated you
+      since we saw you&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So, Aaron turned away, and walked to the post office. There he took paper,
+      and sat down at one of the tables in the writing room, and wrote his
+      answer. It was very strange, writing thus when most of his mind's eyes
+      were scorched, and it seemed he could hardly see to hold the pen, to drive
+      it straight across the paper. Yet write he must. And most of his faculties
+      being quenched or blasted for the moment, he wrote perhaps his greatest,
+      or his innermost, truth.&mdash;&ldquo;I don't want my Fate or my Providence to
+      treat me well. I don't want kindness or love. I don't believe in harmony
+      and people loving one another. I believe in the fight and in nothing else.
+      I believe in the fight which is in everything. And if it is a question of
+      women, I believe in the fight of love, even if it blinds me. And if it is
+      a question of the world, I believe in fighting it and in having it hate
+      me, even if it breaks my legs. I want the world to hate me, because I
+      can't bear the thought that it might love me. For of all things love is
+      the most deadly to me, and especially from such a repulsive world as I
+      think this is....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Well, here was a letter for a poor old man to receive. But, in the dryness
+      of his withered mind, Aaron got it out of himself. When a man writes a
+      letter to himself, it is a pity to post it to somebody else. Perhaps the
+      same is true of a book.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His letter written, however, he stamped it and sealed it and put it in the
+      box. That made it final. Then he turned towards home. One fact remained
+      unbroken in the debris of his consciousness: that in the town was Lilly:
+      and that when he needed, he could go to Lilly: also, that in the world was
+      Lottie, his wife: and that against Lottie, his heart burned with a deep,
+      deep, almost unreachable bitterness.&mdash;Like a deep burn on his deepest
+      soul, Lottie. And like a fate which he resented, yet which steadied him,
+      Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He went home and lay on his bed. He had enough self-command to hear the
+      gong and go down to dinner. White and abstract-looking, he sat and ate his
+      dinner. And then, thank God, he could go to bed, alone, in his own cold
+      bed, alone, thank God. To be alone in the night! For this he was
+      unspeakably thankful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XIX. CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Aaron awoke in the morning feeling better, but still only a part himself.
+      The night alone had restored him. And the need to be alone still was his
+      greatest need. He felt an intense resentment against the Marchesa. He felt
+      that somehow, she had given him a scorpion. And his instinct was to hate
+      her. And yet he avoided hating her. He remembered Lilly&mdash;and the
+      saying that one must possess oneself, and be alone in possession of
+      oneself. And somehow, under the influence of Lilly, he refused to follow
+      the reflex of his own passion. He refused to hate the Marchesa. He <i>did</i>
+      like her. He did <i>esteem</i> her. And after all, she too was struggling
+      with her fate. He had a genuine sympathy with her. Nay, he was not going
+      to hate her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But he could not see her. He could not bear the thought that she might
+      call and see him. So he took the tram to Settignano, and walked away all
+      day into the country, having bread and sausage in his pocket. He sat for
+      long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany. And never had any trees
+      seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange, pregnant presences. He lay and
+      watched tall cypresses breathing and communicating, faintly moving and as
+      it were walking in the small wind. And his soul seemed to leave him and to
+      go far away, far back, perhaps, to where life was all different and time
+      passed otherwise than time passes now. As in clairvoyance he perceived it:
+      that our life is only a fragment of the shell of life. That there has been
+      and will be life, human life such as we do not begin to conceive. Much
+      that is life has passed away from men, leaving us all mere bits. In the
+      dark, mindful silence and inflection of the cypress trees, lost races,
+      lost language, lost human ways of feeling and of knowing. Men have known
+      as we can no more know, have felt as we can no more feel. Great
+      life-realities gone into the darkness. But the cypresses commemorate. In
+      the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising dark about him, like so
+      many high visitants from an old, lost, lost subtle world, where men had
+      the wonder of demons about them, the aura of demons, such as still clings
+      to the cypresses, in Tuscany.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day, he did not make up his mind what he was going to do. His first
+      impulse was never to see her again. And this was his intention all day.
+      But as he went home in the tram he softened, and thought. Nay, that would
+      not be fair. For how had she treated him, otherwise than generously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She had been generous, and the other thing, that he felt blasted
+      afterwards, which was his experience, that was fate, and not her fault. So
+      he must see her again. He must not act like a churl. But he would tell her&mdash;he
+      would tell her that he was a married man, and that though he had left his
+      wife, and though he had no dogma of fidelity, still, the years of marriage
+      had made a married man of him, and any other woman than his wife was a
+      strange woman to him, a violation. &ldquo;I will tell her,&rdquo; he said to himself,
+      &ldquo;that at the bottom of my heart I love Lottie still, and that I can't help
+      it. I believe that is true. It isn't love, perhaps. But it is marriage. I
+      am married to Lottie. And that means I can't be married to another woman.
+      It isn't my nature. And perhaps I can't bear to live with Lottie now,
+      because I am married and not in love. When a man is married, he is not in
+      love. A husband is not a lover. Lilly told me that: and I know it's true
+      now. Lilly told me that a husband cannot be a lover, and a lover cannot be
+      a husband. And that women will only have lovers now, and never a husband.
+      Well, I am a husband, if I am anything. And I shall never be a lover
+      again, not while I live. No, not to anybody. I haven't it in me. I'm a
+      husband, and so it is finished with me as a lover. I can't be a lover any
+      more, just as I can't be aged twenty any more. I am a man now, not an
+      adolescent. And to my sorrow I am a husband to a woman who wants a lover:
+      always a lover. But all women want lovers. And I can't be it any more. I
+      don't want to. I have finished that. Finished for ever: unless I become
+      senile&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Therefore next day he gathered up his courage. He would not have had
+      courage unless he had known that he was not alone. The other man was in
+      the town, and from this fact he derived his strength: the fact that Lilly
+      was there. So at teatime he went over the river, and rang at her door.
+      Yes, she was at home, and she had other visitors. She was wearing a
+      beautiful soft afternoon dress, again of a blue like chicory-flowers, a
+      pale, warm blue. And she had cornflowers in her belt: heaven knows where
+      she had got them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She greeted Aaron with some of the childish shyness. He could tell that
+      she was glad he had come, and that she had wondered at his not coming
+      sooner. She introduced him to her visitors: two young ladies and one old
+      lady and one elderly Italian count. The conversation was mostly in French
+      or Italian, so Aaron was rather out of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, the visitors left fairly early, so Aaron stayed them out. When
+      they had gone, he asked:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where is Manfredi?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He will come in soon. At about seven o'clock.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then there was a silence again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are dressed fine today,&rdquo; he said to her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I?&rdquo; she smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was never able to make out quite what she felt, what she was feeling.
+      But she had a quiet little air of proprietorship in him, which he did not
+      like.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will stay to dinner tonight, won't you?&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No&mdash;not tonight,&rdquo; he said. And then, awkwardly, he added: &ldquo;You know.
+      I think it is better if we are friends&mdash;not lovers. You know&mdash;I
+      don't feel free. I feel my wife, I suppose, somewhere inside me. And I
+      can't help it&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She bent her head and was silent for some moments. Then she lifted her
+      face and looked at him oddly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;I am sure you love your wife.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The reply rather staggered him&mdash;and to tell the truth, annoyed him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I don't know about love. But when one has been married
+      for ten years&mdash;and I did love her&mdash;then&mdash;some sort of bond
+      or something grows. I think some sort of connection grows between us, you
+      know. And it isn't natural, quite, to break it.&mdash;Do you know what I
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She paused a moment. Then, very softly, almost gently, she said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I do. I know so well what you mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was really surprised at her soft acquiescence. What <i>did</i> she
+      mean?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But we can be friends, can't we?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I hope so. Why, yes! Goodness, yes! I should be sorry if we couldn't
+      be friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      After which speech he felt that everything was all right&mdash;everything
+      was A-one. And when Manfredi came home, the first sound he heard was the
+      flute and his wife's singing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm so glad you've come,&rdquo; his wife said to him. &ldquo;Shall we go into the
+      sala and have real music? Will you play?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should love to,&rdquo; replied the husband.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behold them then in the big drawing-room, and Aaron and the Marchese
+      practising together, and the Marchesa singing an Italian folk-song while
+      her husband accompanied her on the pianoforte. But her singing was rather
+      strained and forced. Still, they were quite a little family, and it seemed
+      quite nice. As soon as she could, the Marchesa left the two men together,
+      whilst she sat apart. Aaron and Manfredi went through old Italian and old
+      German music, tried one thing and then another, and seemed quite like
+      brothers. They arranged a piece which they should play together on a
+      Saturday morning, eight days hence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day, Saturday, Aaron went to one of the Del Torre music mornings.
+      There was a string quartette&mdash;and a violin soloist&mdash;and the
+      Marchese at the piano. The audience, some dozen or fourteen friends, sat
+      at the near end of the room, or in the smaller salotta, whilst the
+      musicians performed at the further end of the room. The Lillys were there,
+      both Tanny and her husband. But apart from these, Aaron knew nobody, and
+      felt uncomfortable. The Marchesa gave her guests little sandwiches and
+      glasses of wine or Marsala or vermouth, as they chose. And she was quite
+      the hostess: the well-bred and very simple, but still the conventional
+      hostess. Aaron did not like it. And he could see that Lilly too was
+      unhappy. In fact, the little man bolted the moment he could, dragging
+      after him the indignant Tanny, who was so looking forward to the excellent
+      little sandwiches. But no&mdash;Lilly just rudely bolted. Aaron followed
+      as soon as he could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you come to dinner tomorrow evening?&rdquo; said his hostess to him as he
+      was leaving. And he agreed. He had really resented seeing her as a
+      conventional hostess, attending so charmingly to all the other people, and
+      treating him so merely as one of the guests, among many others. So that
+      when at the last moment she quietly invited him to dinner next day, he was
+      flattered and accepted at once.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next day was Sunday&mdash;the seventh day after his coming together
+      with the Marchesa&mdash;which had taken place on the Monday. And already
+      he was feeling much less dramatic in his decision to keep himself apart
+      from her, to be merely friends. Already the memory of the last time was
+      fanning up in him, not as a warning but as a terrible incitement. Again
+      the naked desire was getting hold of him, with that peculiar brutal
+      powerfulness which startled him and also pleased him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So that by the time Sunday morning came, his recoil had exhausted itself,
+      and he was ready again, eager again, but more wary this time. He sat in
+      his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing over from memory
+      the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she would get into unison in
+      the evening. His flute, his Aaron's rod, would blossom once again with
+      splendid scarlet flowers, the red Florentine lilies. It was curious, the
+      passion he had for her: just unalloyed desire, and nothing else. Something
+      he had not known in his life before. Previously there had been always <i>some</i>
+      personal quality, some sort of personal tenderness. But here, none. She
+      did not seem to want it. She seemed to hate it, indeed. No, all he felt
+      was stark, naked desire, without a single pretension. True enough, his
+      last experience had been a warning to him. His desire and himself likewise
+      had broken rather disastrously under the proving. But not finally broken.
+      He was ready again. And with all the sheer powerful insolence of desire he
+      looked forward to the evening. For he almost expected Manfredi would not
+      be there. The officer had said something about having to go to Padua on
+      the Saturday afternoon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock. Judge of
+      his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an elderly,
+      quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected English authoress.
+      She was charming, in her white hair and dress of soft white wool and white
+      lace, with a long chain of filigree gold beads, like bubbles. She was
+      charming in her old-fashioned manner too, as if the world were still safe
+      and stable, like a garden in which delightful culture, and choice ideas
+      bloomed safe from wind and weather. Alas, never was Aaron more conscious
+      of the crude collapse in the world than when he listened to this animated,
+      young-seeming lady from the safe days of the seventies. All the old
+      culture and choice ideas seemed like blowing bubbles. And dear old Corinna
+      Wade, she seemed to be blowing bubbles still, as she sat there so charming
+      in her soft white dress, and talked with her bright animation about the
+      influence of woman in Parliament and the influence of woman in the
+      Periclean day. Aaron listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles float
+      round his head, and almost hearing them go pop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud of
+      his not-very-important social standing than of his literature. In fact he
+      was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad. Perfectly
+      well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face was the most
+      well-dressed thing to be met in North Italy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French. I didn't know you were in Florence
+      again. You make that journey from Venice so often. I wonder you don't get
+      tired of it,&rdquo; cried Corinna Wade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I shall
+      come to Florence. But I can LIVE in no town but Venice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I suppose you can't. Well, there is something special about Venice:
+      having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a gondola. I
+      suppose it is all much more soothing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Much less nerve-racking, yes. And then there is a quality in the whole
+      life. Of course I see few English people in Venice&mdash;only the old
+      Venetian families, as a rule.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, yes. That must be very interesting. They are very exclusive still,
+      the Venetian <i>noblesse</i>?&rdquo; said Miss Wade.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, very exclusive,&rdquo; said Mr. French. &ldquo;That is one of the charms. Venice
+      is really altogether exclusive. It excludes the world, really, and defies
+      time and modern movement. Yes, in spite of the steamers on the canal, and
+      the tourists.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That is so. That is so. Venice is a strange back-water. And the old
+      families are very proud still, in these democratic days. They have a great
+      opinion of themselves, I am told.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Mr. French. &ldquo;Perhaps you know the rhyme:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+                     &ldquo;'Veneziano gran' Signore
+                     Padovano buon' dotore.
+                     Vicenzese mangia il gatto
+                     Veronese tutto matto&mdash;-'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How very amusing!&rdquo; said Miss Wade. &ldquo;<i>Veneziana</i> gran' Signore. The
+      Venetian is a great gentleman! Yes, I know they are all convinced of it.
+      Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days. To be born a Venetian,
+      is to be born a great gentleman! But this outdoes divine right of king.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman,&rdquo; said
+      Mr. French, rather fussily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You seriously think so?&rdquo; said Miss Wade. &ldquo;Well now, what do you base your
+      opinion on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;interesting. Very interesting. Rather like the Byzantines&mdash;lingering
+      on into far other ages. Anna Comnena always charmed me very much. HOW she
+      despised the flower of the north&mdash;even Tancred! And so the lingering
+      Venetian families! And you, in your palazzo on the Grand Canal: you are a
+      northern barbarian civilised into the old Venetian Signoria. But how very
+      romantic a situation!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit out
+      gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor, how
+      prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it. He sat and
+      listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam in
+      his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion. He made the
+      two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his democratic silence,
+      Miss Wade might have said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early, to catch
+      her tram. And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to accompany her, to
+      see her safe on board. Which left Aaron and the Marchesa alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What time is Manfredi coming back?&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tomorrow,&rdquo; replied she.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why do you have those people?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those two who were here this evening.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miss Wade and Mr. French?&mdash;Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much. She is
+      so refreshing.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Those old people,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;They licked the sugar off the pill, and
+      go on as if everything was toffee. And we've got to swallow the pill. It's
+      easy to be refreshing&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, don't say anything against her. I like her so much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. French!&mdash;Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt
+      the pea through three feather-beds. But he can be quite witty, and an
+      excellent conversationalist, too. Oh yes, I like him quite well.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Matter of taste,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They had not much to say to one another. The time passed, in the pauses.
+      He looked at his watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I shall have to go,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you stay?&rdquo; she said, in a small, muted voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stay all night?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Won't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he said quietly. Did he not feel the strength of his desire on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After which she said no more. Only she offered him whiskey and soda, which
+      he accepted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go then,&rdquo; he said to her. &ldquo;And I'll come to you.&mdash;Shall I come in
+      fifteen minutes?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked at him with strange, slow dark eyes. And he could not
+      understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she said. And she went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And again, this night as before, she seemed strangely small and clinging
+      in his arms. And this night he felt his passion drawn from him as if a
+      long, live nerve were drawn out from his body, a long live thread of
+      electric fire, a long, living nerve finely extracted from him, from the
+      very roots of his soul. A long fine discharge of pure, bluish fire, from
+      the core of his soul. It was an excruciating, but also an intensely
+      gratifying sensation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This night he slept with a deeper obliviousness than before. But ah, as it
+      grew towards morning how he wished he could be alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They must stay together till the day was light. And she seemed to love
+      clinging to him and curling strangely on his breast. He could never
+      reconcile it with her who was a hostess entertaining her guests. How could
+      she now in a sort of little ecstasy curl herself and nestle herself on
+      his, Aaron's breast, tangling his face all over with her hair. He verily
+      believed that this was what she really wanted of him: to curl herself on
+      his naked breast, to make herself small, small, to feel his arms around
+      her, while he himself was remote, silent, in some way inaccessible. This
+      seemed almost to make her beside herself with gratification. But why, why?
+      Was it because he was one of her own race, and she, as it were, crept
+      right home to him?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not know. He only knew it had nothing to do with him: and that,
+      save out of <i>complaisance</i>, he did not want it. It simply blasted his
+      own central life. It simply blighted him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And she clung to him closer. Strange, she was afraid of him! Afraid of him
+      as of a fetish! Fetish afraid, and fetish-fascinated! Or was her fear only
+      a delightful game of cat and mouse? Or was the fear genuine, and the
+      delight the greater: a sort of sacrilege? The fear, and the dangerous,
+      sacrilegious power over that which she feared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In some way, she was not afraid of him at all. In some other way she used
+      him as a mere magic implement, used him with the most amazing
+      priestess-craft. Himself, the individual man which he was, this she
+      treated with an indifference that was startling to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He forgot, perhaps, that this was how he had treated her. His famous
+      desire for her, what had it been but this same attempt to strike a magic
+      fire out of her, for his own ecstasy. They were playing the same game of
+      fire. In him, however, there was all the time something hard and reckless
+      and defiant, which stood apart. She was absolutely gone in her own
+      incantations. She was absolutely gone, like a priestess utterly involved
+      in her terrible rites. And he was part of the ritual only, God and victim
+      in one. God and victim! All the time, God and victim. When his aloof soul
+      realised, amid the welter of incantation, how he was being used,&mdash;not
+      as himself but as something quite different&mdash;God and victim&mdash;then
+      he dilated with intense surprise, and his remote soul stood up tall and
+      knew itself alone. He didn't want it, not at all. He knew he was apart.
+      And he looked back over the whole mystery of their love-contact. Only his
+      soul was apart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was aware of the strength and beauty and godlikeness that his breast
+      was then to her&mdash;the magic. But himself, he stood far off, like
+      Moses' sister Miriam. She would drink the one drop of his innermost
+      heart's blood, and he would be carrion. As Cleopatra killed her lovers in
+      the morning. Surely they knew that death was their just climax. They had
+      approached the climax. Accept then.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But his soul stood apart, and could have nothing to do with it. If he had
+      really been tempted, he would have gone on, and she might have had his
+      central heart's blood. Yes, and thrown away the carrion. He would have
+      been willing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But fatally, he was not tempted. His soul stood apart and decided. At the
+      bottom of his soul he disliked her. Or if not her, then her whole motive.
+      Her whole life-mode. He was neither God nor victim: neither greater nor
+      less than himself. His soul, in its isolation as she lay on his breast,
+      chose it so, with the soul's inevitability. So, there was no temptation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was sufficiently light, he kissed her and left her. Quietly he
+      left the silent flat. He had some difficulty in unfastening the various
+      locks and bars and catches of the massive door downstairs, and began, in
+      irritation and anger, to feel he was a prisoner, that he was locked in.
+      But suddenly the ponderous door came loose, and he was out in the street.
+      The door shut heavily behind him, with a shudder. He was out in the
+      morning streets of Florence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XX. THE BROKEN ROD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      The day was rainy. Aaron stayed indoors alone, and copied music and slept.
+      He felt the same stunned, withered feeling as before, but less intensely,
+      less disastrously, this time. He knew now, without argument or thought
+      that he would never go again to the Marchesa: not as a lover. He would go
+      away from it all. He did not dislike her. But he would never see her
+      again. A great gulf had opened, leaving him alone on the far side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He did not go out till after dinner. When he got downstairs he found the
+      heavy night-door closed. He wondered: then remembered the Signorina's fear
+      of riots and disturbances. As again he fumbled with the catches, he felt
+      that the doors of Florence were trying to prevent his egress. However, he
+      got out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming. He was
+      struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere. Yet he
+      noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one with a
+      torch: a long torch with naked flames. The men were stooping over
+      something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too. It was a dark,
+      weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence. Aaron lingered on his
+      doorstep, watching. He could not see what they were doing. But now, the
+      two were crouching down; over a long dark object on the ground, and the
+      one with the torch bending also to look. What was it? They were just at
+      the foot of the statue, a dark little group under the big pediment, the
+      torch-flames weirdly flickering as the torch-bearer moved and stooped
+      lower to the two crouching men, who seemed to be kneeling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron felt his blood stir. There was something dark and mysterious,
+      stealthy, in the little scene. It was obvious the men did not want to draw
+      attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming. And an eerie instinct
+      prevented Aaron's going nearer to look. Instead, he swerved on to the
+      Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the little group
+      in the centre. He walked the deserted dark-seeming street by the river,
+      then turned inwards, into the city. He was going to the Piazza Vittoria
+      Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre of Florence at night.
+      There he could sit for an hour, and drink his vermouth and watch the
+      Florentines.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
+      hurrying of feet behind him. Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
+      coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him as he
+      trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street. Aaron shrank under the
+      wall. The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron perceived the
+      other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily, bearing a stretcher on
+      which a body was wrapped up, completely and darkly covered. The
+      torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher passed too, hastily and
+      stealthily, the flickering flames revealing them. They took no notice of
+      Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted softly on towards the centre of
+      the city. Their queer, quick footsteps echoed down the distance. Then
+      Aaron too resumed his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe. It was Sunday evening, and
+      the place was full. Men, Florentines, many, many men sat in groups and in
+      twos and threes at the little marble tables. They were mostly in dark
+      clothes or black overcoats. They had mostly been drinking just a cup of
+      coffee&mdash;others however had glasses of wine or liquor. But mostly it
+      was just a little coffee-tray with a tiny coffee pot and a cup and saucer.
+      There was a faint film of tobacco smoke. And the men were all talking:
+      talking, talking with that peculiar intensity of the Florentines. Aaron
+      felt the intense, compressed sound of many half-secret voices. For the
+      little groups and couples abated their voices, none wished that others
+      should hear what they said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was looking for a seat&mdash;there was no table to him&mdash;when
+      suddenly someone took him by the arm. It was Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come along, now! Come and join us. Here, this way! Come along!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron let himself be led away towards a corner. There sat Lilly and a
+      strange man: called Levison. The room was warm. Aaron could never bear to
+      be too hot. After sitting a minute, he rose and took off his coat, and
+      hung it on a stand near the window. As he did so he felt the weight of his
+      flute&mdash;it was still in his pocket. And he wondered if it was safe to
+      leave it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose no one will steal from the overcoat pockets,&rdquo; he said, as he
+      sat down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My dear chap, they'd steal the gold filling out of your teeth, if you
+      happened to yawn,&rdquo; said Argyle. &ldquo;Why, have you left valuables in your
+      overcoat?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My flute,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, they won't steal that,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;we should see anyone who touched it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so they settled down to the vermouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Argyle, &ldquo;what have you been doing with yourself, eh? I
+      haven't seen a glimpse of you for a week. Been going to the dogs, eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or the bitches,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, but look here, that's bad! That's bad! I can see I shall have to take
+      you in hand, and commence my work of reform. Oh, I'm a great reformer, a
+      Zwingli and Savonarola in one. I couldn't count the number of people I've
+      led into the right way. It takes some finding, you know. Strait is the
+      gate&mdash;damned strait sometimes. A damned tight squeeze....&rdquo; Argyle was
+      somewhat intoxicated. He spoke with a slight slur, and laughed, really
+      tickled at his own jokes. The man Levison smiled acquiescent. But Lilly
+      was not listening. His brow was heavy and he seemed abstracted. He hardly
+      noticed Aaron's arrival.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you see the row yesterday?&rdquo; asked Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;What was it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the socialists. They were making a demonstration against the
+      imprisonment of one of the railway-strikers. I was there. They went on all
+      right, with a good bit of howling and gibing: a lot of young louts, you
+      know. And the shop-keepers shut up shop, and nobody showed the Italian
+      flag, of course. Well, when they came to the Via Benedetto Croce, there
+      were a few mounted carabinieri. So they stopped the procession, and the
+      sergeant said that the crowd could continue, could go on where they liked,
+      but would they not go down the Via Verrocchio, because it was being
+      repaired, the roadway was all up, and there were piles of cobble stones.
+      These might prove a temptation and lead to trouble. So would the
+      demonstrators not take that road&mdash;they might take any other they
+      liked.&mdash;Well, the very moment he had finished, there was a revolver
+      shot, he made a noise, and fell forward over his horse's nose. One of the
+      anarchists had shot him. Then there was hell let loose, the carabinieri
+      fired back, and people were bolting and fighting like devils. I cleared
+      out, myself. But my God&mdash;what do you think of it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seems pretty mean,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mean!&mdash;He had just spoken them fair&mdash;they could go where they
+      liked, only would they not go down the one road, because of the heap of
+      stones. And they let him finish. And then shot him dead.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Was he dead?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;killed outright, the Nazione says.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a silence. The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk
+      vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said Argyle, &ldquo;if you let loose the dogs of war, you mustn't expect
+      them to come to heel again in five minutes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But there's no fair play about it, not a bit,&rdquo; said Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, my dear fellow, are you still so young and callow that you cherish
+      the illusion of fair play?&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, I am,&rdquo; said Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Live longer and grow wiser,&rdquo; said Argyle, rather contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a socialist?&rdquo; asked Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella,&rdquo; said Argyle, in his
+      musical, indifferent voice. &ldquo;Yes, Bella's her name. And if you can tell me
+      a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure you, attentively.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if not
+      more.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?&rdquo; said Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not the very least in the world&mdash;if it hadn't been that my elder
+      Aunt Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella. I cut myself off
+      from the family after that. Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not a
+      family name on it. Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,&rdquo; said
+      Lilly, laughing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Assiduously! Assiduously! I can't stand these little vermin. Oh, I am
+      quite indifferent about swallowing a camel or two&mdash;or even a whole
+      string of dromedaries. How charmingly Eastern that sounds! But gnats! Not
+      for anything in the world would I swallow one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?&rdquo; persisted Levison, now
+      turning to Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And am no more,&rdquo; said Argyle sarcastically. &ldquo;My dear fellow, the only
+      hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What kind of slavery?&rdquo; asked Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Slavery! SLAVERY! When I say SLAVERY I don't mean any of your damned
+      modern reform cant. I mean solid sound slavery on which the Greek and the
+      Roman world rested. FAR finer worlds than ours, my dear chap! Oh FAR
+      finer! And can't be done without slavery. Simply can't be done.&mdash;Oh,
+      they'll all come to realise it, when they've had a bit more of this
+      democratic washer-women business.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Levison was laughing, with a slight sneer down his nose. &ldquo;Anyhow, there's
+      no immediate danger&mdash;or hope, if you prefer it&mdash;of the
+      re-instituting of classic slavery,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Unfortunately no. We are all such fools,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Besides,&rdquo; said Levison, &ldquo;who would you make slaves of?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Everybody, my dear chap: beginning with the idealists and the theorising
+      Jews, and after them your nicely-bred gentlemen, and then perhaps, your
+      profiteers and Rothschilds, and ALL politicians, and ending up with the
+      proletariat,&rdquo; said Argyle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then who would be the masters?&mdash;the professional classes, doctors
+      and lawyers and so on?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? Masters. They would be the sewerage slaves, as being those who had
+      made most smells.&rdquo; There was a moment's silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The only fault I have to find with your system,&rdquo; said Levison, rather
+      acidly, &ldquo;is that there would be only one master, and everybody else
+      slaves.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you call that a fault? What do you want with more than one master? Are
+      you asking for several?&mdash;Well, perhaps there's cunning in THAT.&mdash;Cunning
+      devils, cunning devils, these theorising slaves&mdash;&rdquo; And Argyle pushed
+      his face with a devilish leer into Aaron's face. &ldquo;Cunning devils!&rdquo; he
+      reiterated, with a slight tipsy slur. &ldquo;That be-fouled Epictetus wasn't the
+      last of 'em&mdash;nor the first. Oh, not by any means, not by any means.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Lilly could not avoid a slight spasm of amusement. &ldquo;But returning to
+      serious conversation,&rdquo; said Levison, turning his rather sallow face to
+      Lilly. &ldquo;I think you'll agree with me that socialism is the inevitable next
+      step&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly waited for some time without answering. Then he said, with unwilling
+      attention to the question: &ldquo;I suppose it's the logically inevitable next
+      step.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Use logic as lavatory paper,&rdquo; cried Argyle harshly. &ldquo;Yes&mdash;logically
+      inevitable&mdash;and humanly inevitable at the same time. Some form of
+      socialism is bound to come, no matter how you postpone it or try
+      variations,&rdquo; said Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right, let it come,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;It's not my affair, neither to help
+      it nor to keep it back, or even to try varying it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There I don't follow you,&rdquo; said Levison. &ldquo;Suppose you were in Russia now&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I watch it I'm not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you're in Italy, which isn't far off. Supposing a socialist
+      revolution takes place all around you. Won't that force the problem on
+      you?&mdash;It is every man's problem,&rdquo; persisted Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not mine,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How shall you escape it?&rdquo; said Levison.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because to me it is no problem. To Bolsh or not to Bolsh, as far as my
+      mind goes, presents no problem. Not any more than to be or not to be. To
+      be or not to be is simply no problem&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I quite agree, that since you are already existing, and since death
+      is ultimately inevitable, to be or not to be is no sound problem,&rdquo; said
+      Levison. &ldquo;But the parallel isn't true of socialism. That is not a problem
+      of existence, but of a certain mode of existence which centuries of
+      thought and action on the part of Europe have now made logically
+      inevitable for Europe. And therefore there is a problem. There is more
+      than a problem, there is a dilemma. Either we must go to the logical
+      conclusion&mdash;or&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Somewhere else,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;yes. Precisely! But where ELSE? That's the one half of the
+      problem: supposing you do not agree to a logical progression in human
+      social activity. Because after all, human society through the course of
+      ages only enacts, spasmodically but still inevitably, the logical
+      development of a given idea.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, I tell you.&mdash;The idea and the ideal has for me gone dead&mdash;dead
+      as carrion&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which idea, which ideal precisely?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to receive,
+      the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man, the ideal of
+      the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call goodness, charity,
+      benevolence, public spirited-ness, the ideal of sacrifice for a cause, the
+      ideal of unity and unanimity&mdash;all the lot&mdash;all the whole beehive
+      of ideals&mdash;has all got the modern bee-disease, and gone putrid,
+      stinking.&mdash;And when the ideal is dead and putrid, the logical
+      sequence is only stink.&mdash;Which, for me, is the truth concerning the
+      ideal of good, peaceful, loving humanity and its logical sequence in
+      socialism and equality, equal opportunity or whatever you like.&mdash;But
+      this time he stinketh&mdash;and I'm sorry for any Christus who brings him
+      to life again, to stink livingly for another thirty years: the beastly
+      Lazarus of our idealism.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That may be true for you&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But it's true for nobody else,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;All the worse for them. Let
+      them die of the bee-disease.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not only that,&rdquo; persisted Levison, &ldquo;but what is your alternative? Is it
+      merely nihilism?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My alternative,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;is an alternative for no one but myself, so
+      I'll keep my mouth shut about it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That isn't fair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell you, the ideal of fairness stinks with the rest.&mdash;I have no
+      obligation to say what I think.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, if you enter into conversation, you have&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah, then I didn't enter into conversation.&mdash;The only thing is, I
+      agree in the rough with Argyle. You've got to have a sort of slavery
+      again. People are not MEN: they are insects and instruments, and their
+      destiny is slavery. They are too many for me, and so what I think is
+      ineffectual. But ultimately they will be brought to agree&mdash;after
+      sufficient extermination&mdash;and then they will elect for themselves a
+      proper and healthy and energetic slavery.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should like to know what you mean by slavery. Because to me it is
+      impossible that slavery should be healthy and energetic. You seem to have
+      some other idea in your mind, and you merely use the word slavery out of
+      exasperation&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I mean it none the less. I mean a real committal of the life-issue of
+      inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll take a bit of knowing, who are the inferior and which is the
+      superior,&rdquo; said Levison sarcastically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not a bit. It is written between a man's brows, which he is.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm afraid we shall all read differently.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long as we're liars.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And putting that question aside: I presume that you mean that this
+      committal of the life-issue of inferior beings to someone higher shall be
+      made voluntarily&mdash;a sort of voluntary self-gift of the inferiors&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;more or less&mdash;and a voluntary acceptance. For it's no
+      pretty gift, after all.&mdash;But once made it must be held fast by
+      genuine power. Oh yes&mdash;no playing and fooling about with it.
+      Permanent and very efficacious power.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mean military power?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do, of course.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Levison smiled a long, slow, subtle smile of ridicule. It all seemed
+      to him the preposterous pretentiousness of a megalomaniac&mdash;one whom,
+      after a while, humanity would probably have the satisfaction of putting
+      into prison, or into a lunatic asylum. And Levison felt strong,
+      overwhelmingly strong, in the huge social power with which he,
+      insignificant as he was, was armed against such criminal-imbecile
+      pretensions as those above set forth. Prison or the lunatic asylum. The
+      face of the fellow gloated in these two inevitable engines of his
+      disapproval.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It will take you some time before you'll get your doctrines accepted,&rdquo; he
+      said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Accepted! I'd be sorry. I don't want a lot of swine snouting and sniffing
+      at me with their acceptance.&mdash;Bah, Levison&mdash;one can easily make
+      a fool of you. Do you take this as my gospel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I take it you are speaking seriously.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Here Lilly broke into that peculiar, gay, whimsical smile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I should say the blank opposite with just as much fervour,&rdquo; he
+      declared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you mean to say you don't MEAN what you've been saying?&rdquo; said Levison,
+      now really looking angry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, I'll tell you the real truth,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;I think every man is a
+      sacred and holy individual, NEVER to be violated; I think there is only
+      one thing I hate to the verge of madness, and that is BULLYING. To see any
+      living creature BULLIED, in any way, almost makes a murderer of me. That
+      is true. Do you believe it&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Levison unwillingly. &ldquo;That may be true as well. You have no
+      doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      C R A S H!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in
+      darkness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible
+      sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the
+      hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful
+      gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos. Then as he began to
+      recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some
+      distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where tables and
+      chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris of glass and
+      breakage: he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody gone: he saw the
+      owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of debris: he saw
+      Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious. And
+      still he had no idea of what had happened. He thought perhaps something
+      had broken down. He could not understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly began to look round. He caught Aaron's eye. And then Aaron began to
+      approach his friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is it?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bomb,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now advanced
+      to the place of debris. And now Aaron saw that a man was lying there&mdash;and
+      horror, blood was running across the floor of the cafe. Men began now
+      hastily to return to the place. Some seized their hats and departed again
+      at once. But many began to crowd in&mdash;a black eager crowd of men
+      pressing to where the bomb had burst&mdash;where the man was lying. It was
+      rather dark, some of the lamps were broken&mdash;but enough still shone.
+      Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has been
+      an accident. Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat and fine
+      Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung. But Aaron looked in
+      vain for his own hat. The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had hung
+      it and his overcoat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My hat and coat?&rdquo; he said to Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe. Then he climbed on a chair and
+      looked round. Then he squeezed past the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron followed. On the other side of the crowd excited angry men were
+      wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble
+      table-top. Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the wall. He
+      waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward to where the
+      coats were. Someone had dragged out his, and it lay on the floor under
+      many feet. He managed, with a struggle, to get it from under the feet of
+      the crowd. He felt at once for his flute. But his trampled, torn coat had
+      no flute in its pocket. He pushed and struggled, caught sight of a
+      section, and picked it up. But it was split right down, two silver stops
+      were torn out, and a long thin spelch of wood was curiously torn off. He
+      looked at it, and his heart stood still. No need to look for the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He felt utterly, utterly overcome&mdash;as if he didn't care what became
+      of him any further. He didn't care whether he were hit by a bomb, or
+      whether he himself threw the next bomb, and hit somebody. He just didn't
+      care any more about anything in life or death. It was as if the reins of
+      his life slipped from his hands. And he would let everything run where it
+      would, so long as it did run.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he became aware of Lilly's eyes on him&mdash;and automatically he
+      joined the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let us go,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they pushed their way through the door. The police were just marching
+      across the square. Aaron and Lilly walked in the opposite direction.
+      Groups of people were watching. Suddenly Lilly swerved&mdash;in the middle
+      of the road was a large black glisten of blood, trickling horribly. A
+      wounded man had run from the blow and fallen here.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron did not know where he was going. But in the Via Tournabuoni Lilly
+      turned towards the Arno, and soon they were on the Ponte Santa Trinita.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who threw the bomb?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose an anarchist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's all the same,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men, as if unable to walk any further, leaned on the broad parapet
+      of the bridge and looked at the water in the darkness of the still,
+      deserted night. Aaron still had his flute section in his hand, his
+      overcoat over his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is that your flute?&rdquo; asked Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bit of it. Smashed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let me look.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked, and gave it back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No good,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, no,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Throw it in the river, Aaron,&rdquo; said Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron turned and looked at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Throw it in the river,&rdquo; repeated Lilly. &ldquo;It's an end.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron nervelessly dropped the flute into the stream. The two men stood
+      leaning on the bridge-parapet, as if unable to move.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We shall have to go home,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;Tanny may hear of it and be
+      anxious.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was quite dumbfounded by the night's event: the loss of his flute.
+      Here was a blow he had not expected. And the loss was for him symbolistic.
+      It chimed with something in his soul: the bomb, the smashed flute, the
+      end.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There goes Aaron's Rod, then,&rdquo; he said to Lilly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll grow again. It's a reed, a water-plant&mdash;you can't kill it,&rdquo;
+       said Lilly, unheeding.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll have to live without a rod, meanwhile.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To which pleasant remark Aaron made no reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      CHAPTER XXI. WORDS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      He went home to bed: and dreamed a strange dream. He dreamed that he was
+      in a country with which he was not acquainted. Night was coming on, and he
+      had nowhere to sleep. So he passed the mouth of a sort of cave or house,
+      in which a woman, an old woman, sat. Therefore he entered, and though he
+      could not understand the language, still his second self understood. The
+      cave was a house: and men came home from work. His second self assumed
+      that they were tin-miners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He wandered uneasily to and fro, no one taking any particular notice of
+      him. And he realized that there was a whole vast country spreading, a sort
+      of underworld country, spreading away beyond him. He wandered from vast
+      apartment to apartment, down narrow corridors like the roads in a mine. In
+      one of the great square rooms, the men were going to eat. And it seemed to
+      him that what they were going to eat was a man, naked man. But his second
+      self knew that what appeared to his eyes as a man was really a man's skin
+      stuffed tight with prepared meat, as the skin of a Bologna sausage. This
+      did not prevent his seeing the naked man who was to be eaten walk slowly
+      and stiffly across the gangway and down the corridor. He saw him from
+      behind. It was a big handsome man in the prime of life, quite naked and
+      perhaps stupid. But of course he was only a skin stuffed with meat, whom
+      the grey tin-miners were going to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron, the dream-Aaron, turned another way, and strayed along the vast
+      square rooms, cavern apartments. He came into one room where there were
+      many children, all in white gowns. And they were all busily putting
+      themselves to bed, in the many beds scattered about the room at haphazard.
+      And each child went to bed with a wreath of flowers on its head, white
+      flowers and pink, so it seemed. So there they all lay, in their
+      flower-crowns in the vast space of the rooms. And Aaron went away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He could not remember the following part. Only he seemed to have passed
+      through many grey domestic apartments, where were all women, all greyish
+      in their clothes and appearance, being wives of the underground
+      tin-miners. The men were away and the dream-Aaron remembered with fear the
+      food they were to eat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The next thing he could recall was, that he was in a boat. And now he was
+      most definitely two people. His invisible, <i>conscious</i> self, what we
+      have called his second self, hovered as it were before the prow of the
+      boat, seeing and knowing, but unseen. His other self, the palpable Aaron,
+      sat as a passenger in the boat, which was being rowed by the unknown
+      people of this underworld. They stood up as they thrust the boat along.
+      Other passengers were in the boat too, women as well, but all of them
+      unknown people, and not noticeable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat was upon a great lake in the underworld country, a lake of dark
+      blue water, but crystal clear and very beautiful in colour. The second or
+      invisible Aaron sat in the prow and watched the fishes swimming suspended
+      in the clear, beautiful dark-blue water. Some were pale fish, some
+      frightening-looking, like centipedes swimming, and some were dark fish, of
+      definite form, and delightful to watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The palpable or visible Aaron sat at the side of the boat, on the end of
+      the middle seat, with his naked right elbow leaning out over the side. And
+      now the boat entered upon shallows. The impalpable Aaron in the bows saw
+      the whitish clay of the bottom swirl up in clouds at each thrust of the
+      oars, whitish-clayey clouds which would envelope the strange fishes in a
+      sudden mist. And on the right hand of the course stakes stood up in the
+      water, at intervals, to mark the course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boat must pass very near these stakes, almost touching. And Aaron's
+      naked elbow was leaning right over the side. As they approached the first
+      stake, the boatmen all uttered a strange cry of warning, in a foreign
+      language. The flesh-and-blood Aaron seemed not even to hear. The invisible
+      Aaron heard, but did not comprehend the words of the cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the naked elbow struck smartly against the stake as the boat passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The rowers rowed on. And still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat with his arm
+      over the side. Another stake was nearing. &ldquo;Will he heed, will he heed?&rdquo;
+       thought the anxious second self. The rowers gave the strange warning cry.
+      He did not heed, and again the elbow struck against the stake as the boat
+      passed. And yet the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on and made no sign. There
+      were stakes all along this shallow part of the lake. Beyond was deep water
+      again. The invisible Aaron was becoming anxious. &ldquo;Will he never hear? Will
+      he never heed? Will he never understand?&rdquo; he thought. And he watched in
+      pain for the next stake. But still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on, and
+      though the rowers cried so acutely that the invisible Aaron almost
+      understood their very language, still the Aaron seated at the side heard
+      nothing, and his elbow struck against the third stake.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was almost too much. But after a few moments, as the boat rowed on,
+      the palpable Aaron changed his position as he sat, and drew in his arm:
+      though even now he was not aware of any need to do so. The invisible Aaron
+      breathed with relief in the bows, the boat swung steadily on, into the
+      deep, unfathomable water again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were drawing near a city. A lake-city, like Mexico. They must have
+      reached a city, because when Aaron woke up and tried to piece together the
+      dream of which these are mere fragments, he could remember having just
+      seen an idol. An Astarte he knew it as, seated by the road, and in her
+      open lap, were some eggs: smallish hen's eggs, and one or two bigger eggs,
+      like swan's, and one single little roll of bread. These lay in the lap of
+      the roadside Astarte.... And then he could remember no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He woke, and for a minute tried to remember what he had been dreaming, and
+      what it all meant. But he quickly relinquished the effort. So he looked at
+      his watch: it was only half-past three. He had one of those American
+      watches with luminous, phosphorescent figures and fingers. And tonight he
+      felt afraid of its eerily shining face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was awake a long time in the dark&mdash;for two hours, thinking and not
+      thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full
+      wakefulness, and which is a painful strain. At length he went to sleep
+      again, and did not wake till past eight o'clock. He did not ring for his
+      coffee till nine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside was a bright day&mdash;but he hardly heeded it. He lay
+      profitlessly thinking. With the breaking of the flute, that which was
+      slowly breaking had finally shattered at last. And there was nothing
+      ahead: no plan, no prospect. He knew quite well that people would help
+      him: Francis Dekker or Angus Guest or the Marchese or Lilly. They would
+      get him a new flute, and find him engagements. But what was the good? His
+      flute was broken, and broken finally. The bomb had settled it. The bomb
+      had settled it and everything. It was an end, no matter how he tried to
+      patch things up. The only thing he felt was a thread of destiny attaching
+      him to Lilly. The rest had all gone as bare and bald as the dead orb of
+      the moon. So he made up his mind, if he could, to make some plan that
+      would bring his life together with that of his evanescent friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was a peculiar bird. Clever and attractive as he undoubtedly was, he
+      was perhaps the most objectionable person to know. It was stamped on his
+      peculiar face. Aaron thought of Lilly's dark, ugly face, which had
+      something that lurked in it as a creature under leaves. Then he thought of
+      the wide-apart eyes, with their curious candour and surety. The peculiar,
+      half-veiled surety, as if nothing, nothing could overcome him. It made
+      people angry, this look of silent, indifferent assurance. &ldquo;Nothing can
+      touch him on the quick, nothing can really GET at him,&rdquo; they felt at last.
+      And they felt it with resentment, almost with hate. They wanted to be able
+      to get at him. For he was so open-seeming, so very outspoken. He gave
+      himself away so much. And he had no money to fall back on. Yet he gave
+      himself away so easily, paid such attention, almost deference to any
+      chance friend. So they all thought: Here is a wise person who finds me the
+      wonder which I really am.&mdash;And lo and behold, after he had given them
+      the trial, and found their inevitable limitations, he departed and ceased
+      to heed their wonderful existence. Which, to say the least of it, was
+      fraudulent and damnable. It was then, after his departure, that they
+      realised his basic indifference to them, and his silent arrogance. A
+      silent arrogance that knew all their wisdom, and left them to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron had been through it all. He had started by thinking Lilly a peculiar
+      little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a bit pathetic:
+      progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing: then cruel and
+      intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own: then terribly
+      arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove which is in holes at
+      the finger-ends. And all the time, which was most beastly, seeing through
+      one. All the time, freak and outsider as he was, Lilly <i>knew</i>. He
+      knew, and his soul was against the whole world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Driven to bay, and forced to choose. Forced to choose, not between life
+      and death, but between the world and the uncertain, assertive Lilly.
+      Forced to choose, and yet, in the world, having nothing left to choose.
+      For in the world there was nothing left to choose, unless he would give in
+      and try for success. Aaron knew well enough that if he liked to do a bit
+      of buttering, people would gladly make a success of him, and give him
+      money and success. He could become quite a favourite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But no! If he had to give in to something: if he really had to give in,
+      and it seemed he had: then he would rather give in to the little Lilly
+      than to the beastly people of the world. If he had to give in, then it
+      should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no social
+      institution. No!&mdash;if he had to yield his wilful independence, and
+      give himself, then he would rather give himself to the little, individual
+      man than to any of the rest. For to tell the truth, in the man was
+      something incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he chose to
+      allow it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the <i>cul de sac</i> in
+      which he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:
+      yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man's nature rather than to the
+      quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society: yielding, since yield
+      he must, in some direction or other: yielding in a new direction now, to
+      one strange and incalculable little individual: as Aaron lay so relaxing,
+      finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul to his mind's hero, the
+      self-same hero tapped and entered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wondered,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;if you'd like to walk into the country with me: it
+      is such a nice day. I thought you might have gone out already. But here
+      you are in bed like a woman who's had a baby.&mdash;You're all right, are
+      you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I'm all right.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Miserable about your flute?&mdash;Ah, well, there are more flutes. Get up
+      then.&rdquo; And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're going away on Thursday,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where to?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Naples. We've got a little house there for the winter&mdash;in the
+      country, not far from Sorrento&mdash;I must get a bit of work done, now
+      the winter is coming. And forget all about everything and just live with
+      life. What's the good of running after life, when we've got it in us, if
+      nobody prevents us and obstructs us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron felt very queer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But for how long will you settle down&mdash;?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, only the winter. I am a vagrant really: or a migrant. I must migrate.
+      Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one AND the same
+      bird? Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and south, so
+      oscillate I do. It's just my nature. All people don't have the same
+      needs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Perhaps not,&rdquo; said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side of
+      the bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another
+      race. I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me. Europe may be all right in
+      herself. But I find myself chafing. Another year I shall get out. I shall
+      leave Europe. I begin to feel caged.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guess there are.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And maybe they haven't a chance to get out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Lilly was silent a moment. Then he said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, I didn't make life and society. I can only go my own way.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron too was silent. A deep disappointment was settling over his spirit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will you be alone all winter?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just myself and Tanny,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;But people always turn up.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And then next year, what will you do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who knows? I may sail far off. I should like to. I should like to try
+      quite a new life-mode. This is finished in me&mdash;and yet perhaps it is
+      absurd to go further. I'm rather sick of seekers. I hate a seeker.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What,&rdquo; said Aaron rather sarcastically&mdash;&ldquo;those who are looking for a
+      new religion?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Religion&mdash;and love&mdash;and all that. It's a disease now.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, I don't know,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Perhaps the lack of love and religion is
+      the disease.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah&mdash;bah! The grinding the old millstones of love and God is what
+      ails us, when there's no more grist between the stones. We've ground love
+      very small. Time to forget it. Forget the very words religion, and God,
+      and love&mdash;then have a shot at a new mode. But the very words rivet us
+      down and don't let us move. Rivets, and we can't get them out.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And where should we be if we could?&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We might begin to be ourselves, anyhow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what does that mean?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;Being yourself&mdash;what does it
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To me, everything.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And to most folks, nothing. They've got to have a goal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is no goal. I loathe goals more than any other impertinence. Gaols,
+      they are. Bah&mdash;jails and jailers, gaols and gaolers&mdash;-&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wherever you go, you'll find people with their noses tied to some goal,&rdquo;
+       said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Their wagon hitched to a star&mdash;which goes round and round like an
+      ass in a gin,&rdquo; laughed Lilly. &ldquo;Be damned to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron got himself dressed, and the two men went out, took a tram and went
+      into the country. Aaron could not help it&mdash;Lilly put his back up.
+      They came to a little inn near a bridge, where a broad stream rustled
+      bright and shallow. It was a sunny warm day, and Aaron and Lilly had a
+      table outside under the thin trees at the top of the bank above the river.
+      The yellow leaves were falling&mdash;the Tuscan sky was turquoise blue. In
+      the stream below three naked boys still adventurously bathed, and lay flat
+      on the shingle in the sun. A wagon with two pale, loving, velvety oxen
+      drew slowly down the hill, looking at each step as if they were going to
+      come to rest, to move no more. But still they stepped forward. Till they
+      came to the inn, and there they stood at rest. Two old women were picking
+      the last acorns under three scrubby oak-trees, whilst a girl with bare
+      feet drove her two goats and a sheep up from the water-side towards the
+      women. The girl wore a dress that had been blue, perhaps indigo, but which
+      had faded to the beautiful lavender-purple colour which is so common, and
+      which always reminded Lilly of purple anemones in the south.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two friends sat in the sun and drank red wine. It was midday. From the
+      thin, square belfry on the opposite hill the bells had rung. The old women
+      and the girl squatted under the trees, eating their bread and figs. The
+      boys were dressing, fluttering into their shirts on the stream's shingle.
+      A big girl went past, with somebody's dinner tied in a red kerchief and
+      perched on her head. It was one of the most precious hours: the hour of
+      pause, noon, and the sun, and the quiet acceptance of the world. At such a
+      time everything seems to fall into a true relationship, after the strain
+      of work and of urge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron looked at Lilly, and saw the same odd, distant look on his face as
+      on the face of some animal when it lies awake and alert, yet perfectly at
+      one with its surroundings. It was something quite different from
+      happiness: an alert enjoyment of rest, an intense and satisfying sense of
+      centrality. As a dog when it basks in the sun with one eye open and
+      winking: or a rabbit quite still and wide-eyed, with a faintly-twitching
+      nose. Not passivity, but alert enjoyment of being central, life-central in
+      one's own little circumambient world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They sat thus still&mdash;or lay under the trees&mdash;for an hour and a
+      half. Then Lilly paid the bill, and went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What am I going to do this winter, do you think?&rdquo; Aaron asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What do you want to do?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, that's what I want to know.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do you want anything? I mean, does something drive you from inside?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I can't just rest,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can't you settle down to something?&mdash;to a job, for instance?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've not found the job I could settle down to, yet,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why not?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just my nature.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are you a seeker? Have you got a divine urge, or need?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do I know?&rdquo; laughed Aaron. &ldquo;Perhaps I've got a DAMNED urge, at the
+      bottom of me. I'm sure it's nothing divine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Very well then. Now, in life, there are only two great dynamic urges&mdash;do
+      you believe me&mdash;?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How do I know?&rdquo; laughed Aaron. &ldquo;Do you want to be believed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I don't care a straw. Only for your own sake, you'd better believe
+      me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then&mdash;what about it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then, there are only two great dynamic urges in LIFE: love and
+      power.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Love and power?&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;I don't see power as so very important.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You don't see because you don't look. But that's not the point. What sort
+      of urge is your urge? Is it the love urge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, you do. You know that you have got an urge, don't you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;&rdquo; rather unwillingly Aaron admitted it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well then, what is it? Is it that you want to love, or to be obeyed?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A bit of both.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right&mdash;a bit of both. And what are you looking for in love?&mdash;A
+      woman whom you can love, and who will love you, out and out and all in all
+      and happy ever after sort of thing?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I started out for, perhaps,&rdquo; laughed Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And now you know it's all my eye!&rdquo; Aaron looked at Lilly, unwilling to
+      admit it. Lilly began to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You know it well enough,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;It's one of your lost illusions, my
+      boy. Well, then, what next? Is it a God you're after? Do you want a God
+      you can strive to and attain, through love, and live happy ever after,
+      countless millions of eternities, immortality and all that? Is this your
+      little dodge?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again Aaron looked at Lilly with that odd double look of mockery and
+      unwillingness to give himself away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then. You've got a love-urge that urges you to God; have you?
+      Then go and join the Buddhists in Burmah, or the newest fangled Christians
+      in Europe. Go and stick your head in a bush of Nirvana or spiritual
+      perfection. Trot off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I won't,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You must. If you've got a love-urge, then give it its fulfilment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I haven't got a love-urge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You have. You want to get excited in love. You want to be carried away in
+      love. You want to whoosh off in a nice little love whoosh and love
+      yourself. Don't deny it. I know you do. You want passion to sweep you off
+      on wings of fire till you surpass yourself, and like the swooping eagle
+      swoop right into the sun. I know you, my love-boy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not any more&mdash;not any more. I've been had too often,&rdquo; laughed Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bah, it's a lesson men never learn. No matter how sick they make
+      themselves with love, they always rush for more, like a dog to his vomit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, what am I to do then, if I'm not to love?&rdquo; cried Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You want to go on, from passion to passion, from ecstasy to ecstasy, from
+      triumph to triumph, till you can whoosh away into glory, beyond yourself,
+      all bonds loosened and happy ever after. Either that or Nirvana, opposite
+      side of the medal.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's probably more hate than love in me,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's the recoil of the same urge. The anarchist, the criminal, the
+      murderer, he is only the extreme lover acting on the recoil. But it is
+      love: only in recoil. It flies back, the love-urge, and becomes a horror.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All right then. I'm a criminal and a murderer,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, you're not. But you've a love-urge. And perhaps on the recoil just
+      now. But listen to me. It's no good thinking the love-urge is the one and
+      only. <i>Niente</i>! You can whoosh if you like, and get excited and
+      carried away loving a woman, or humanity, or God. Swoop away in the love
+      direction till you lose yourself. But that's where you're had. You can't
+      lose yourself. You can try. But you might just as well try to swallow
+      yourself. You'll only bite your fingers off in the attempt. You can't lose
+      yourself, neither in woman nor humanity nor in God. You've always got
+      yourself on your hands in the end: and a very raw and jaded and humiliated
+      and nervous-neurasthenic self it is, too, in the end. A very nasty thing
+      to wake up to is one's own raw self after an excessive love-whoosh. Look
+      even at President Wilson: he love-whooshed for humanity, and found in the
+      end he'd only got a very sorry self on his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So leave off. Leave off, my boy. Leave off love-whooshing. You can't lose
+      yourself, so stop trying. The responsibility is on your own shoulders all
+      the time, and no God which man has ever struck can take it off. You ARE
+      yourself and so BE yourself. Stick to it and abide by it. Passion or no
+      passion, ecstasy or no ecstasy, urge or no urge, there's no goal outside
+      you, where you can consummate like an eagle flying into the sun, or a moth
+      into a candle. There's no goal outside you&mdash;and there's no God
+      outside you. No God, whom you can get to and rest in. None. It's a case
+      of:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+          'Trot, trot to market, to buy a penny bun,
+           And trot, trot back again, as fast as you can run.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      But there's no God outside you, whom you can rise to or sink to or swoop
+      away to. You can't even gum yourself to a divine Nirvana moon. Because all
+      the time you've got to eat your dinner and digest it. There is no goal
+      outside you. None.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There is only one thing, your own very self. So you'd better stick to it.
+      You can't be any bigger than just yourself, so you needn't drag God in.
+      You've got one job, and no more. There inside you lies your own very self,
+      like a germinating egg, your precious Easter egg of your own soul. There
+      it is, developing bit by bit, from one single egg-cell which you were at
+      your conception in your mother's womb, on and on to the strange and
+      peculiar complication in unity which never stops till you die&mdash;if
+      then. You've got an innermost, integral unique self, and since it's the
+      only thing you have got or ever will have, don't go trying to lose it.
+      You've got to develop it, from the egg into the chicken, and from the
+      chicken into the one-and-only phoenix, of which there can only be one at a
+      time in the universe. There can only be one of you at a time in the
+      universe&mdash;and one of me. So don't forget it. Your own single oneness
+      is your destiny. Your destiny comes from within, from your own self-form.
+      And you can't know it beforehand, neither your destiny nor your self-form.
+      You can only develop it. You can only stick to your own very self, and
+      NEVER betray it. And by so sticking, you develop the one and only phoenix
+      of your own self, and you unfold your own destiny, as a dandelion unfolds
+      itself into a dandelion, and not into a stick of celery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Remember this, my boy: you've never got to deny the Holy Ghost which is
+      inside you, your own soul's self. Never. Or you'll catch it. And you've
+      never got to think you'll dodge the responsibility of your own soul's
+      self, by loving or sacrificing or Nirvaning&mdash;or even anarchising and
+      throwing bombs. You never will....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Aaron was silenced for a moment by this flood of words. Then he said
+      smiling:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I'd better sit tight on my soul, till it hatches, had I?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yes. If your soul's urge urges you to love, then love. But always
+      know that what you are doing is the fulfilling of your own soul's impulse.
+      It's no good trying to act by prescription: not a bit. And it's no use
+      getting into frenzies. If you've got to go in for love and passion, go in
+      for them. But they aren't the goal. They're a mere means: a life-means, if
+      you will. The only goal is the fulfilling of your own soul's active desire
+      and suggestion. Be passionate as much as ever it is your nature to be
+      passionate, and deeply sensual as far as you can be. Small souls have a
+      small sensuality, deep souls a deep one. But remember, all the time, the
+      responsibility is upon your own head, it all rests with your own lonely
+      soul, the responsibility for your own action.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I never said it didn't,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You never said it did. You never accepted. You thought there was
+      something outside, to justify you: God, or a creed, or a prescription. But
+      remember, your soul inside you is your only Godhead. It develops your
+      actions within you as a tree develops its own new cells. And the cells
+      push on into buds and boughs and flowers. And these are your passion and
+      your acts and your thoughts and expressions, your developing
+      consciousness. You don't know beforehand, and you can't. You can only
+      stick to your own soul through thick and thin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You are your own Tree of Life, roots and limbs and trunk. Somewhere
+      within the wholeness of the tree lies the very self, the quick: its own
+      innate Holy Ghost. And this Holy Ghost puts forth new buds, and pushes
+      past old limits, and shakes off a whole body of dying leaves. And the old
+      limits hate being empassed, and the old leaves hate to fall. But they
+      must, if the tree-soul says so....&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They had sat again during this harangue, under a white wall. Aaron
+      listened more to the voice than the words. It was more the sound value
+      which entered his soul, the tone, the strange speech-music which sank into
+      him. The sense he hardly heeded. And yet he understood, he knew. He
+      understood, oh so much more deeply than if he had listened with his head.
+      And he answered an objection from the bottom of his soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But you talk,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;as if we were like trees, alone by ourselves in
+      the world. We aren't. If we love, it needs another person than ourselves.
+      And if we hate, and even if we talk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quite,&rdquo; said Lilly. &ldquo;And that's just the point. We've got to love and
+      hate moreover&mdash;and even talk. But we haven't got to fix on any one of
+      these modes, and say that's the only mode. It is such imbecility to say
+      that love and love alone must rule. It is so obviously not the case. Yet
+      we try and make it so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I feel that,&rdquo; said Aaron. &ldquo;It's all a lie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's worse. It's a half lie. But listen. I told you there were two urges&mdash;two
+      great life-urges, didn't I? There may be more. But it comes on me so
+      strongly, now, that there are two: love, and power. And we've been trying
+      to work ourselves, at least as individuals, from the love-urge
+      exclusively, hating the power-urge, and repressing it. And now I find
+      we've got to accept the very thing we've hated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've exhausted our love-urge, for the moment. And yet we try to force it
+      to continue working. So we get inevitably anarchy and murder. It's no
+      good. We've got to accept the power motive, accept it in deep
+      responsibility, do you understand me? It is a great life motive. It was
+      that great dark power-urge which kept Egypt so intensely living for so
+      many centuries. It is a vast dark source of life and strength in us now,
+      waiting either to issue into true action, or to burst into cataclysm.
+      Power&mdash;the power-urge. The will-to-power&mdash;but not in Nietzsche's
+      sense. Not intellectual power. Not mental power. Not conscious will-power.
+      Not even wisdom. But dark, living, fructifying power. Do you know what I
+      mean?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't know,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take what you call love, for example. In the real way of love, the
+      positive aim is to make the other person&mdash;or persons&mdash;happy. It
+      devotes itself to the other or to others. But change the mode. Let the
+      urge be the urge of power. Then the great desire is not happiness, neither
+      of the beloved nor of oneself. Happiness is only one of many states, and
+      it is horrible to think of fixing us down to one state. The urge of power
+      does not seek for happiness any more than for any other state. It urges
+      from within, darkly, for the displacing of the old leaves, the inception
+      of the new. It is powerful and self-central, not seeking its centre
+      outside, in some God or some beloved, but acting indomitably from within
+      itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And of course there must be one who urges, and one who is impelled. Just
+      as in love there is a beloved and a lover: The man is supposed to be the
+      lover, the woman the beloved. Now, in the urge of power, it is the
+      reverse. The woman must submit, but deeply, deeply submit. Not to any
+      foolish fixed authority, not to any foolish and arbitrary will. But to
+      something deep, deeper. To the soul in its dark motion of power and pride.
+      We must reverse the poles. The woman must now submit&mdash;but deeply,
+      deeply, and richly! No subservience. None of that. No slavery. A deep,
+      unfathomable free submission.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll never get it,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will, if you abandon the love idea and the love motive, and if you
+      stand apart, and never bully, never force from the conscious will. That's
+      where Nietzsche was wrong. His was the conscious and benevolent will, in
+      fact, the love-will. But the deep power-urge is not conscious of its aims:
+      and it is certainly not consciously benevolent or love-directed.&mdash;Whatever
+      else happens, somewhere, sometime, the deep power-urge in man will have to
+      issue forth again, and woman will submit, livingly, not subjectedly.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She never will,&rdquo; persisted Aaron. &ldquo;Anything else will happen, but not
+      that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She will,&rdquo; said Lilly, &ldquo;once man disengages himself from the love-mode,
+      and stands clear. Once he stands clear, and the other great urge begins to
+      flow in him, then the woman won't be able to resist. Her own soul will
+      wish to yield itself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman yield&mdash;?&rdquo; Aaron re-echoed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Woman&mdash;and man too. Yield to the deep power-soul in the individual
+      man, and obey implicitly. I don't go back on what I said before. I do
+      believe that every man must fulfil his own soul, every woman must be
+      herself, herself only, not some man's instrument, or some embodied theory.
+      But the mode of our being is such that we can only live and have our being
+      whilst we are implicit in one of the great dynamic modes. We MUST either
+      love, or rule. And once the love-mode changes, as change it must, for we
+      are worn out and becoming evil in its persistence, then the other mode
+      will take place in us. And there will be profound, profound obedience in
+      place of this love-crying, obedience to the incalculable power-urge. And
+      men must submit to the greater soul in a man, for their guidance: and
+      women must submit to the positive power-soul in man, for their being.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'll never get it,&rdquo; said Aaron.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You will, when all men want it. All men say, they want a leader. Then let
+      them in their souls submit to some greater soul than theirs. At present,
+      when they say they want a leader, they mean they want an instrument, like
+      Lloyd George. A mere instrument for their use. But it's more than that.
+      It's the reverse. It's the deep, fathomless submission to the heroic soul
+      in a greater man. You, Aaron, you too have the need to submit. You, too,
+      have the need livingly to yield to a more heroic soul, to give yourself.
+      You know you have. And you know it isn't love. It is life-submission. And
+      you know it. But you kick against the pricks. And perhaps you'd rather die
+      than yield. And so, die you must. It is your affair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a long pause. Then Aaron looked up into Lilly's face. It was
+      dark and remote-seeming. It was like a Byzantine eikon at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And whom shall I submit to?&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your soul will tell you,&rdquo; replied the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      THE END <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
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+</pre>
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+</html>
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Aaron's Rod
+
+Author: D. H. Lawrence
+
+Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext# 4520]
+Posting Date: December 3, 2009
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AARON'S ROD ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy
+
+
+
+
+
+AARON'S ROD
+
+by D. H. Lawrence
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I.  THE BLUE BALL
+    II.  ROYAL OAK
+   III.  "THE LIGHTED TREE"
+    IV.  "THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+     V.  AT THE OPERA
+    VI.  TALK
+   VII.  THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+  VIII.  A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+    IX.  LOW-WATER MARK
+     X.  THE WAR AGAIN
+    XI.  MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+   XII.  NOVARA
+  XIII.  WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+   XIV.  XX SETTEMBRE
+    XV.  A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+   XVI.  FLORENCE
+  XVII.  HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+ XVIII.  THE MARCHESA
+   XIX.  CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+    XX.  THE BROKEN ROD
+   XXI.  WORDS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I. THE BLUE BALL
+
+
+There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and
+underfoot the earth was half frozen. It was Christmas Eve. Also the War
+was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new menace.
+A man felt the violence of the nightmare released now into the general
+air. Also there had been another wrangle among the men on the pit-bank
+that evening.
+
+Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line climbing
+the hill home from work. He was late because he had attended a meeting
+of the men on the bank. He was secretary to the Miners Union for his
+colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that left him
+nettled.
+
+He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and
+was in the long road of colliers' dwellings. Just across was his own
+house: he had built it himself. He went through the little gate, up past
+the side of the house to the back. There he hung a moment, glancing down
+the dark, wintry garden.
+
+"My father--my father's come!" cried a child's excited voice, and two
+little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
+
+"Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?" they cried. "We've got one!"
+
+"Afore I have my dinner?" he answered amiably.
+
+"Set it now. Set it now.--We got it through Fred Alton."
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+The little girls were dragging a rough, dark object out of a corner of
+the passage into the light of the kitchen door.
+
+"It's a beauty!" exclaimed Millicent.
+
+"Yes, it is," said Marjory.
+
+"I should think so," he replied, striding over the dark bough. He went
+to the back kitchen to take off his coat.
+
+"Set it now, Father. Set it now," clamoured the girls.
+
+"You might as well. You've left your dinner so long, you might as well
+do it now before you have it," came a woman's plangent voice, out of the
+brilliant light of the middle room.
+
+Aaron Sisson had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his cap. He stood
+bare-headed in his shirt and braces, contemplating the tree.
+
+"What am I to put it in?" he queried. He picked up the tree, and held
+it erect by the topmost twig. He felt the cold as he stood in the yard
+coatless, and he twitched his shoulders.
+
+"Isn't it a beauty!" repeated Millicent.
+
+"Ay!--lop-sided though."
+
+"Put something on, you two!" came the woman's high imperative voice,
+from the kitchen.
+
+"We aren't cold," protested the girls from the yard.
+
+"Come and put something on," insisted the voice. The man started off
+down the path, the little girls ran grumbling indoors. The sky was
+clear, there was still a crystalline, non-luminous light in the under
+air.
+
+Aaron rummaged in his shed at the bottom of the garden, and found a
+spade and a box that was suitable. Then he came out to his neat, bare,
+wintry garden. The girls flew towards him, putting the elastic of their
+hats under their chins as they ran. The tree and the box lay on the
+frozen earth. The air breathed dark, frosty, electric.
+
+"Hold it up straight," he said to Millicent, as he arranged the tree in
+the box. She stood silent and held the top bough, he filled in round the
+roots.
+
+When it was done, and pressed in, he went for the wheelbarrow. The girls
+were hovering excited round the tree. He dropped the barrow and stooped
+to the box. The girls watched him hold back his face--the boughs pricked
+him.
+
+"Is it very heavy?" asked Millicent.
+
+"Ay!" he replied, with a little grunt. Then the procession set off--the
+trundling wheel-barrow, the swinging hissing tree, the two excited
+little girls. They arrived at the door. Down went the legs of the
+wheel-barrow on the yard. The man looked at the box.
+
+"Where are you going to have it?" he called.
+
+"Put it in the back kitchen," cried his wife.
+
+"You'd better have it where it's going to stop. I don't want to hawk it
+about."
+
+"Put it on the floor against the dresser, Father. Put it there," urged
+Millicent.
+
+"You come and put some paper down, then," called the mother hastily.
+
+The two children ran indoors, the man stood contemplative in the cold,
+shrugging his uncovered shoulders slightly. The open inner door showed a
+bright linoleum on the floor, and the end of a brown side-board on which
+stood an aspidistra.
+
+Again with a wrench Aaron Sisson lifted the box. The tree pricked and
+stung. His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his face
+averted.
+
+"Mind where you make a lot of dirt," she said.
+
+He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper on
+the floor. Soil scattered.
+
+"Sweep it up," he said to Millicent.
+
+His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the
+tree-boughs.
+
+A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything
+sharp and hard. In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red. All was
+scrupulously clean and perfect. A baby was cooing in a rocker-less
+wicker cradle by the hearth. The mother, a slim, neat woman with dark
+hair, was sewing a child's frock. She put this aside, rose, and began to
+take her husband's dinner from the oven.
+
+"You stopped confabbing long enough tonight," she said.
+
+"Yes," he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
+
+In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner. The doors were shut
+close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines under
+the house made the doors not fit. Aaron moved his chair, to get out of
+the draught. But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
+
+He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years
+old. He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something. His wife
+resumed her sewing. She was acutely aware of her husband, but he seemed
+not very much aware of her.
+
+"What were they on about today, then?" she said.
+
+"About the throw-in."
+
+"And did they settle anything?"
+
+"They're going to try it--and they'll come out if it isn't
+satisfactory."
+
+"The butties won't have it, I know," she said. He gave a short laugh,
+and went on with his meal.
+
+The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree. They had a
+wooden box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets,
+which they were spreading out like wares.
+
+"Don't open any. We won't open any of them till we've taken them all
+out--and then we'll undo one in our turns. Then we s'll both undo
+equal," Millicent was saying.
+
+"Yes, we'll take them ALL out first," re-echoed Marjory.
+
+"And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer? Do they want
+him?" A faint smile came on her husband's face.
+
+"Nay, I don't know what they want.--Some of 'em want him--whether
+they're a majority, I don't know."
+
+She watched him closely.
+
+"Majority! I'd give 'em majority. They want to get rid of you, and make
+a fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it. Strikes me you
+need something to break your heart over."
+
+He laughed silently.
+
+"Nay," he said. "I s'll never break my heart."
+
+"You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just because
+a lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to do the
+Union work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you, and you eat
+your heart out about it. More fool you, that's all I say--more fool you.
+If you cared for your wife and children half what you care about your
+Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the end. But you care about
+nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who don't know what they want
+except it's more money just for themselves. Self, self, self--that's all
+it is with them--and ignorance."
+
+"You'd rather have self without ignorance?" he said, smiling finely.
+
+"I would, if I've got to have it. But what I should like to see is a man
+that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics."
+
+Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed. A blank
+look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed any
+more. He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with two
+fingers, and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
+
+They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
+saying:
+
+"Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second. I'll take this--"
+
+She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament
+for a Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
+indentations on each side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Isn't it LOVELY!" Her fingers cautiously held the
+long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with a curious,
+irritating possession. The man's eyes moved away from her. The lesser
+child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
+
+"Oh!"--a wail went up from Millicent. "You've taken one!--You didn't
+wait." Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she began to
+interfere. "This is the way to do it, look! Let me help you."
+
+But Marjory drew back with resentment.
+
+"Don't, Millicent!--Don't!" came the childish cry. But Millicent's
+fingers itched.
+
+At length Marjory had got out her treasure--a little silvery bell with
+a glass top hanging inside. The bell was made of frail glassy substance,
+light as air.
+
+"Oh, the bell!" rang out Millicent's clanging voice. "The bell! It's my
+bell. My bell! It's mine! Don't break it, Marjory. Don't break it, will
+you?"
+
+Marjory was shaking the bell against her ear. But it was dumb, it made
+no sound.
+
+"You'll break it, I know you will.--You'll break it. Give it ME--"
+cried Millicent, and she began to take away the bell. Marjory set up an
+expostulation.
+
+"LET HER ALONE," said the father.
+
+Millicent let go as if she had been stung, but still her brassy,
+impudent voice persisted:
+
+"She'll break it. She'll break it. It's mine--"
+
+"You undo another," said the mother, politic.
+
+Millicent began with hasty, itching fingers to unclose another package.
+
+"Aw--aw Mother, my peacock--aw, my peacock, my green peacock!" Lavishly
+she hovered over a sinuous greenish bird, with wings and tail of spun
+glass, pearly, and body of deep electric green.
+
+"It's mine--my green peacock! It's mine, because Marjory's had one wing
+off, and mine hadn't. My green peacock that I love! I love it!" She
+swung it softly from the little ring on its back. Then she went to her
+mother.
+
+"Look, Mother, isn't it a beauty?"
+
+"Mind the ring doesn't come out," said her mother. "Yes, it's lovely!"
+The girl passed on to her father.
+
+"Look, Father, don't you love it!"
+
+"Love it?" he re-echoed, ironical over the word love.
+
+She stood for some moments, trying to force his attention. Then she went
+back to her place.
+
+Marjory had brought forth a golden apple, red on one cheek, rather
+garish.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for
+what she had not got, indifferent to what she had. Her eye ran quickly
+over the packages. She took one.
+
+"Now!" she exclaimed loudly, to attract attention. "Now! What's
+this?--What's this? What will this beauty be?"
+
+With finicky fingers she removed the newspaper. Marjory watched her
+wide-eyed. Millicent was self-important.
+
+"The blue ball!" she cried in a climax of rapture. "I've got THE BLUE
+BALL."
+
+She held it gloating in the cup of her hands. It was a little globe of
+hardened glass, of a magnificent full dark blue color. She rose and went
+to her father.
+
+"It was your blue ball, wasn't it, father?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I have it when I'm a
+little girl."
+
+"Ay," he replied drily.
+
+"And it's never been broken all those years."
+
+"No, not yet."
+
+"And perhaps it never will be broken." To this she received no answer.
+
+"Won't it break?" she persisted. "Can't you break it?"
+
+"Yes, if you hit it with a hammer," he said.
+
+"Aw!" she cried. "I don't mean that. I mean if you just drop it. It
+won't break if you drop it, will it?"
+
+"I dare say it won't."
+
+"But WILL it?"
+
+"I sh'd think not."
+
+"Should I try?"
+
+She proceeded gingerly to let the blue ball drop, it bounced dully on
+the floor-covering.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" she cried, catching it up. "I love it."
+
+"Let ME drop it," cried Marjory, and there was a performance of
+admonition and demonstration from the elder sister.
+
+But Millicent must go further. She became excited.
+
+"It won't break," she said, "even if you toss it up in the air."
+
+She flung it up, it fell safely. But her father's brow knitted slightly.
+She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing explosion: it had
+smashed. It had fallen on the sharp edge of the tiles that protruded
+under the fender.
+
+"NOW what have you done!" cried the mother.
+
+The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure
+misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
+
+"She wanted to break it," said the father.
+
+"No, she didn't! What do you say that for!" said the mother. And
+Millicent burst into a flood of tears.
+
+He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
+
+"You must mind the bits," he said, "and pick 'em all up."
+
+He took one of the pieces to examine it. It was fine and thin and hard,
+lined with pure silver, brilliant. He looked at it closely. So--this
+was what it was. And this was the end of it. He felt the curious soft
+explosion of its breaking still in his ears. He threw his piece in the
+fire.
+
+"Pick all the bits up," he said. "Give over! give over! Don't cry any
+more." The good-natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as he
+intended it should.
+
+He went away into the back kitchen to wash himself. As he was bending
+his head over the sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave,
+there came from outside the dissonant voices of boys, pouring out the
+dregs of carol-singing.
+
+"While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched--"
+
+He held his soapy brush suspended for a minute. They called this
+singing! His mind flitted back to early carol music. Then again he heard
+the vocal violence outside.
+
+"Aren't you off there!" he called out, in masculine menace. The noise
+stopped, there was a scuffle. But the feet returned and the voices
+resumed. Almost immediately the door opened, boys were heard muttering
+among themselves. Millicent had given them a penny. Feet scraped on the
+yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the street.
+
+To Aaron Sisson, this was home, this was Christmas: the unspeakably
+familiar. The war over, nothing was changed. Yet everything changed. The
+scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very clean,
+the floor was red tiles. The wash-copper of red bricks was very red, the
+mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American oil-cloth
+on the table had a gay pattern, there was a warm fire, the water in the
+boiler hissed faintly. And in front of him, beneath him as he leaned
+forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange, incalculable rhythm
+from the bright brass tap into the white enamelled bowl, which was now
+half full of pure, quivering water. The war was over, and everything
+just the same. The acute familiarity of this house, which he had built
+for his marriage twelve years ago, the changeless pleasantness of it all
+seemed unthinkable. It prevented his thinking.
+
+When he went into the middle room to comb his hair he found the
+Christmas tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at the table, the
+baby was sitting up propped in cushions.
+
+"Father," said Millicent, approaching him with a flat blue-and-white
+angel of cotton-wool, and two ends of cotton--"tie the angel at the
+top."
+
+"Tie it at the top?" he said, looking down.
+
+"Yes. At the very top--because it's just come down from the sky."
+
+"Ay my word!" he laughed. And he tied the angel.
+
+Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour, and
+took his music and a small handbag. With this he retreated again to the
+back kitchen. He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers: but now
+it was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and new pink
+and white braces. He sat under the gas-jet of the back kitchen, looking
+through his music. Then he opened the bag, in which were sections of a
+flute and a piccolo. He took out the flute, and adjusted it. As he sat
+he was physically aware of the sounds of the night: the bubbling of
+water in the boiler, the faint sound of the gas, the sudden crying of
+the baby in the next room, then noises outside, distant boys shouting,
+distant rags of carols, fragments of voices of men. The whole country
+was roused and excited.
+
+The little room was hot. Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator over
+the copper, letting in a stream of cold air, which was grateful to him.
+Then he cocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on the table
+before him. He tried his flute. And then at last, with the odd gesture
+of a diver taking a plunge, he swung his head and began to play. A
+stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the flute. He
+played beautifully. He moved his head and his raised bare arms with
+slight, intense movements, as the delicate music poured out. It was
+sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate.
+
+The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity of the music delighted
+him with a strange exasperation. There was something tense, exasperated
+to the point of intolerable anger, in his good-humored breast, as he
+played the finely-spun peace-music. The more exquisite the music, the
+more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at the same time, the
+more intense was the maddened exasperation within him.
+
+Millicent appeared in the room. She fidgetted at the sink. The music was
+a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was on her
+own mind. At length it ended, her father was turning over the various
+books and sheets. She looked at him quickly, seizing her opportunity.
+
+"Are you going out, Father?" she said.
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Are you going out?" She twisted nervously.
+
+"What do you want to know for?"
+
+He made no other answer, and turned again to the music. His eye went
+down a sheet--then over it again--then more closely over it again.
+
+"Are you?" persisted the child, balancing on one foot.
+
+He looked at her, and his eyes were angry under knitted brows.
+
+"What are you bothering about?" he said.
+
+"I'm not bothering--I only wanted to know if you were going out," she
+pouted, quivering to cry.
+
+"I expect I am," he said quietly.
+
+She recovered at once, but still with timidity asked:
+
+"We haven't got any candles for the Christmas tree--shall you buy some,
+because mother isn't going out?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, settling his music and taking up the piccolo.
+
+"Yes--shall you buy us some, Father? Shall you?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a
+few piercing, preparatory notes.
+
+"Yes, little Christmas-tree candles--blue ones and red ones, in
+boxes--Shall you, Father?"
+
+"We'll see--if I see any--"
+
+"But SHALL you?" she insisted desperately. She wisely mistrusted his
+vagueness.
+
+But he was looking unheeding at the music. Then suddenly the piccolo
+broke forth, wild, shrill, brilliant. He was playing Mozart. The child's
+face went pale with anger at the sound. She turned, and went out,
+closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise.
+
+The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the
+air, it was useless to try to shut it out. The man went on playing
+to himself, measured and insistent. In the frosty evening the sound
+carried. People passing down the street hesitated, listening. The
+neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo. He was esteemed a
+good player: was in request at concerts and dances, also at swell balls.
+So the vivid piping sound tickled the darkness.
+
+He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too
+soon, in spite of the early closing of the public houses. He never went
+with the stream, but made a side current of his own. His wife said he
+was contrary. When he went into the middle room to put on his collar and
+tie, the two little girls were having their hair brushed, the baby was
+in bed, there was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in the oven.
+
+"You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?" asked Millicent, with
+assurance now.
+
+"I'll see," he answered.
+
+His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat. He was
+well-dressed, handsome-looking. She felt there was a curious glamour
+about him. It made her feel bitter. He had an unfair advantage--he was
+free to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.
+
+"There's no knowing what time you'll be home," she said.
+
+"I shan't be late," he answered.
+
+"It's easy to say so," she retorted, with some contempt. He took his
+stick, and turned towards the door.
+
+"Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so
+selfish," she said.
+
+"All right," he said, going out.
+
+"Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it," she cried, with sudden
+anger, following him to the door.
+
+His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.
+
+"How many do you want?" he said.
+
+"A dozen," she said. "And holders too, if you can get them," she added,
+with barren bitterness.
+
+"Yes--all right," he turned and melted into the darkness. She went
+indoors, worn with a strange and bitter flame.
+
+He crossed the fields towards the little town, which once more fumed its
+lights under the night. The country ran away, rising on his right hand.
+It was no longer a great bank of darkness. Lights twinkled freely here
+and there, though forlornly, now that the war-time restrictions were
+removed. It was no glitter of pre-war nights, pit-heads glittering
+far-off with electricity. Neither was it the black gulf of the war
+darkness: instead, this forlorn sporadic twinkling.
+
+Everybody seemed to be out of doors. The hollow dark countryside
+re-echoed like a shell with shouts and calls and excited voices.
+Restlessness and nervous excitement, nervous hilarity were in the
+air. There was a sense of electric surcharge everywhere, frictional, a
+neurasthenic haste for excitement.
+
+Every moment Aaron Sisson was greeted with Good-night--Good-night,
+Aaron--Good-night, Mr. Sisson. People carrying parcels, children,
+women, thronged home on the dark paths. They were all talking loudly,
+declaiming loudly about what they could and could not get, and what this
+or the other had lost.
+
+When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
+crowded. There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest, a
+subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people struggling
+to buy things, to get things. Money was spent like water, there was
+a frenzy of money-spending. Though the necessities of life were in
+abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese, sweets,
+raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which were
+scarce, and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out. There was a
+wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the struggle. The
+same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was witnessed whenever
+a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into sight. Then the
+struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage, but stimulating.
+Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet for their
+feelings.
+
+As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
+Christmas-tree candles. He did not intend to trouble himself. And yet,
+when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw it bare
+as a board, the very fact that he probably _could not_ buy the things
+made him hesitate, and try.
+
+"Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?" he asked as he entered the
+shop.
+
+"How many do you want?"
+
+"A dozen."
+
+"Can't let you have a dozen. You can have two boxes--four in a
+box--eight. Six-pence a box."
+
+"Got any holders?"
+
+"Holders? Don't ask. Haven't seen one this year."
+
+"Got any toffee--?"
+
+"Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left."
+
+"Give me four ounces."
+
+He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
+
+"You've not got much of a Christmas show," he said.
+
+"Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned. They ought
+to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
+didn't they? We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got. We
+mean to, anyhow."
+
+"Ay," he said.
+
+"Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas. They ought to have made
+things more plentiful."
+
+"Yes," he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II. ROYAL OAK
+
+
+The war had killed the little market of the town. As he passed the
+market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
+miserable stalls. But people crowded just the same. There was a loud
+sound of voices, men's voices. Men pressed round the doorways of the
+public-houses.
+
+But he was going to a pub out of town. He descended the dark hill. A
+street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light. In the bottoms,
+under the trees, it was very dark. But a lamp glimmered in front of
+the "Royal Oak." This was a low white house sunk three steps below the
+highway. It was darkened, but sounded crowded.
+
+Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage. Old Bob,
+carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on
+into the public bar on the left. The bar itself was a sort of
+little window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one. In this
+window-opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband.
+Behind the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
+
+"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer. None
+entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
+
+"Come in," said the landlady. There was a peculiar intonation in her
+complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
+irritably.
+
+He went across into her bar-parlour. It would not hold more than eight
+or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
+between--and two little round tables.
+
+"I began to think you weren't coming," said the landlady, bringing him a
+whiskey.
+
+She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile,
+probably Jewish. She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent. Her
+movements were large and slow, her voice laconic.
+
+"I'm not so late, am I?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you are late, I should think." She Looked up at the little clock.
+"Close on nine."
+
+"I did some shopping," said Aaron, with a quick smile.
+
+"Did you indeed? That's news, I'm sure. May we ask what you bought?"
+
+This he did not like. But he had to answer.
+
+"Christmas-tree candles, and toffee."
+
+"For the little children? Well you've done well for once! I must say I
+recommend you. I didn't think you had so much in you."
+
+She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up
+her knitting. Aaron sat next to her. He poured water into his glass, and
+drank.
+
+"It's warm in here," he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
+
+"Yes, it is. You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,"
+replied the landlady.
+
+"No," he said, "I think I'll take it off."
+
+She watched him as he hung up his overcoat. He wore black clothes, as
+usual. As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
+shoulders, and the form of his legs. Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
+burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
+to arch itself. She made a little place for him by herself, as
+he returned. She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless
+self-sufficiency.
+
+There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly. They were
+the superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved intellectual
+discussion. Opposite, by the fire, sat a little, greenish man--evidently
+an oriental.
+
+"You're very quiet all at once, Doctor," said the landlady in her slow,
+laconic voice.
+
+"Yes.--May I have another whiskey, please?" She rose at once, powerfully
+energetic.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry," she said. And she went to the bar.
+
+"Well," said the little Hindu doctor, "and how are things going now,
+with the men?"
+
+"The same as ever," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes," said the stately voice of the landlady. "And I'm afraid they will
+always be the same as ever. When will they learn wisdom?"
+
+"But what do you call wisdom?" asked Sherardy, the Hindu. He spoke with
+a little, childish lisp.
+
+"What do I call wisdom?" repeated the landlady. "Why all acting together
+for the common good. That is wisdom in my idea."
+
+"Yes, very well, that is so. But what do you call the common good?"
+replied the little doctor, with childish pertinence.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, with a laugh, "that's it." The miners were all
+stirring now, to take part in the discussion.
+
+"What do I call the common good?" repeated the landlady. "That all
+people should study the welfare of other people, and not only their
+own."
+
+"They are not to study their own welfare?" said the doctor.
+
+"Ah, that I did not say," replied the landlady. "Let them study their
+own welfare, and that of others also."
+
+"Well then," said the doctor, "what is the welfare of a collier?"
+
+"The welfare of a collier," said the landlady, "is that he shall earn
+sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to educate
+his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he wants,
+education."
+
+"Ay, happen so," put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier.
+"Happen so, Mrs. Houseley. But what if you haven't got much education,
+to speak of?"
+
+"You can always get it," she said patronizing.
+
+"Nay--I'm blest if you can. It's no use tryin' to educate a man over
+forty--not by book-learning. That isn't saying he's a fool, neither."
+
+"And what better is them that's got education?" put in another
+man. "What better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we
+are?--Pender's yaller enough i' th' face."
+
+"He is that," assented the men in chorus.
+
+"But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk," said the
+landlady largely, "that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than
+what you have got."
+
+"Ay," said Kirk. "He can ma'e more money than I can--that's about a' as
+it comes to."
+
+"He can make more money," said the landlady. "And when he's made it, he
+knows better how to use it."
+
+"'Appen so, an' a'!--What does he do, more than eat and drink and
+work?--an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th' looks
+of him.--What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a bit more--"
+
+"No," reiterated the landlady. "He not only eats and drinks. He can
+read, and he can converse."
+
+"Me an' a'," said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh. "I can
+read--an' I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this house,
+Mrs. Houseley--am havin' one at this minute, seemingly."
+
+"SEEMINGLY, you are," said the landlady ironically. "But do you
+think there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr.
+Pender's, if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?"
+
+"An' what difference would there be?" asked Tom Kirk. "He'd go home to
+his bed just the same."
+
+"There, you are mistaken. He would be the better, and so should I, a
+great deal better, for a little genuine conversation."
+
+"If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop--" said Tom Kirk. "An'
+puts th' bile in his face--" said Brewitt. There was a general laugh.
+
+"I can see it's no use talking about it any further," said the landlady,
+lifting her head dangerously.
+
+"But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much
+difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or not?"
+asked the doctor.
+
+"I do indeed, all the difference in the world--To me, there is no
+greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated man."
+
+"And where does it come in?" asked Kirk.
+
+"But wait a bit, now," said Aaron Sisson. "You take an educated
+man--take Pender. What's his education for? What does he scheme
+for?--What does he contrive for? What does he talk for?--"
+
+"For all the purposes of his life," replied the landlady.
+
+"Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?" insisted Aaron Sisson.
+
+"The purpose of his life," repeated the landlady, at a loss. "I should
+think he knows that best himself."
+
+"No better than I know it--and you know it," said Aaron.
+
+"Well," said the landlady, "if you know, then speak out. What is it?"
+
+"To make more money for the firm--and so make his own chance of a rise
+better."
+
+The landlady was baffled for some moments. Then she said:
+
+"Yes, and suppose that he does. Is there any harm in it? Isn't it his
+duty to do what he can for himself? Don't you try to earn all you can?"
+
+"Ay," said Aaron. "But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.--It's
+like this. When you work it out, everything comes to money. Reckon it as
+you like, it's money on both sides. It's money we live for, and money is
+what our lives is worth--nothing else. Money we live for, and money we
+are when we're dead: that or nothing. An' it's money as is between the
+masters and us. There's a few educated ones got hold of one end of the
+rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other end, an' we s'll go
+on pulling our guts out, time in, time out--"
+
+"But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has," said
+Brewitt.
+
+"For as long as one holds, the other will pull," concluded Aaron Sisson
+philosophically.
+
+"An' I'm almighty sure o' that," said Kirk. There was a little pause.
+
+"Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men," said the landlady.
+"But what can be done with the money, that you never think of--the
+education of the children, the improvement of conditions--"
+
+"Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of the
+rope, instead of the short end," said the doctor, with a little giggle.
+
+"Ay, that's it," said Brewitt. "I've pulled at th' short end, an' my
+lads may do th' same."
+
+"A selfish policy," put in the landlady.
+
+"Selfish or not, they may do it."
+
+"Till the crack o' doom," said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
+
+"Or the crack o' th' rope," said Brewitt.
+
+"Yes, and THEN WHAT?" cried the landlady.
+
+"Then we all drop on our backsides," said Kirk. There was a general
+laugh, and an uneasy silence.
+
+"All I can say of you men," said the landlady, "is that you have a
+narrow, selfish policy.--Instead of thinking of the children, instead of
+thinking of improving the world you live in--"
+
+"We hang on, British bulldog breed," said Brewitt. There was a general
+laugh.
+
+"Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone," said the
+landlady.
+
+"Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit on
+our stunts an' yowl for it?" asked Brewitt.
+
+"No indeed. There can be wisdom in everything.--It's what you DO with
+the money, when you've got it," said the landlady, "that's where the
+importance lies."
+
+"It's Missis as gets it," said Kirk. "It doesn't stop wi' us." "Ay, it's
+the wife as gets it, ninety per cent," they all concurred.
+
+"And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives? They have
+everything to do with the money. What idea have you, but to waste it!"
+
+"Women waste nothing--they couldn't if they tried," said Aaron Sisson.
+
+There was a lull for some minutes. The men were all stimulated by drink.
+The landlady kept them going. She herself sipped a glass of brandy--but
+slowly. She sat near to Sisson--and the great fierce warmth of her
+presence enveloped him particularly. He loved so to luxuriate, like a
+cat, in the presence of a violent woman. He knew that tonight she was
+feeling very nice to him--a female glow that came out of her to him.
+Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or took it up again from
+the bench beside him, her fingers just touched his thigh, and the fine
+electricity ran over his body, as if he were a cat tingling at a caress.
+
+And yet he was not happy--nor comfortable. There was a hard, opposing
+core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
+soothe, tonight. It remained hard, nay, became harder and more deeply
+antagonistic to his surroundings, every moment. He recognised it as a
+secret malady he suffered from: this strained, unacknowledged opposition
+to his surroundings, a hard core of irrational, exhausting withholding
+of himself. Irritating, because he still WANTED to give himself. A woman
+and whiskey, these were usually a remedy--and music. But lately these
+had begun to fail him. No, there was something in him that would not
+give in--neither to the whiskey, nor the woman, nor even the music.
+Even in the midst of his best music, it sat in the middle of him, this
+invisible black dog, and growled and waited, never to be cajoled. He
+knew of its presence--and was a little uneasy. For of course he _wanted_
+to let himself go, to feel rosy and loving and all that. But at the very
+thought, the black dog showed its teeth.
+
+Still he kept the beast at bay--with all his will he kept himself as it
+were genial. He wanted to melt and be rosy, happy.
+
+He sipped his whiskey with gratification, he luxuriated in the presence
+of the landlady, very confident of the strength of her liking for him.
+He glanced at her profile--that fine throw-back of her hostile head,
+wicked in the midst of her benevolence; that subtle, really very
+beautiful delicate curve of her nose, that moved him exactly like a
+piece of pure sound. But tonight it did not overcome him. There was a
+devilish little cold eye in his brain that was not taken in by what he
+saw.
+
+A terrible obstinacy located itself in him. He saw the fine,
+rich-coloured, secretive face of the Hebrew woman, so loudly
+self-righteous, and so dangerous, so destructive, so lustful--and he
+waited for his blood to melt with passion for her. But not tonight.
+Tonight his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice. The very danger
+and lustfulness of her, which had so pricked his senses, now made him
+colder. He disliked her at her tricks. He saw her once too often. Her
+and all women. Bah, the love game! And the whiskey that was to help in
+the game! He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey and in love.
+Now he floated like a corpse in both, with a cold, hostile eye.
+
+And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no
+longer drown. Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel his
+senses melting and swimming into oneness with the dark. But impossible!
+Cold, with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed and apart as
+a corpse. He thought of the gentle love of his first married years, and
+became only whiter and colder, set in more intense obstinacy. A wave of
+revulsion lifted him.
+
+He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the landlady, that
+he disliked his whole circumstances. A cold, diabolical consciousness
+detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.
+
+"Is it pretty much the same out there in India?" he asked of the doctor,
+suddenly.
+
+The doctor started, and attended to him on his own level.
+
+"Probably," he answered. "It is worse."
+
+"Worse!" exclaimed Aaron Sisson. "How's that?"
+
+"Why, because, in a way the people of India have an easier time even
+than the people of England. Because they have no responsibility. The
+British Government takes the responsibility. And the people have nothing
+to do, except their bit of work--and talk perhaps about national rule,
+just for a pastime."
+
+"They have to earn their living?" said Sisson.
+
+"Yes," said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the
+colliers, and become quite familiar with them. "Yes, they have to earn
+their living--and then no more. That's why the British Government is the
+worst thing possible for them. It is the worst thing possible. And not
+because it is a bad government. Really, it is not a bad government. It
+is a good one--and they know it--much better than they would make for
+themselves, probably. But for that reason it is so very bad."
+
+The little oriental laughed a queer, sniggering laugh. His eyes
+were very bright, dilated, completely black. He was looking into the
+ice-blue, pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson. They were both intoxicated--but
+grimly so. They looked at each other in elemental difference.
+
+The whole room was now attending to this new conversation: which they
+all accepted as serious. For Aaron was considered a special man, a man
+of peculiar understanding, even though as a rule he said little.
+
+"If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the
+people?" said the landlady.
+
+The doctor's eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, as he watched
+the other man. He did not look at the landlady.
+
+"It would not matter what kind of mess they made--and they would make
+a mess, if they governed themselves, the people of India. They would
+probably make the greatest muddle possible--and start killing
+one another. But it wouldn't matter if they exterminated half the
+population, so long as they did it themselves, and were responsible for
+it."
+
+Again his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man, and
+an arch little smile flickered on his face.
+
+"I think it would matter very much indeed," said the landlady. "They had
+far better NOT govern themselves."
+
+She was, for some reason, becoming angry. The little greenish doctor
+emptied his glass, and smiled again.
+
+"But what difference does it make," said Aaron Sisson, "whether they
+govern themselves or not? They only live till they die, either way." And
+he smiled faintly. He had not really listened to the doctor. The terms
+"British Government," and "bad for the people--good for the people,"
+made him malevolently angry.
+
+The doctor was nonplussed for a moment. Then he gathered himself
+together.
+
+"It matters," he said; "it matters.--People should always be responsible
+for themselves. How can any people be responsible for another race
+of people, and for a race much older than they are, and not at all
+children."
+
+Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed
+eyes. He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance. He
+saw in the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the same
+danger, the same menace that he saw in the landlady. Fair, wise, even
+benevolent words: always the human good speaking, and always underneath,
+something hateful, something detestable and murderous. Wise speech
+and good intentions--they were invariably maggoty with these secret
+inclinations to destroy the man in the man. Whenever he heard anyone
+holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman on the pit
+bank: or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul curdled with
+revulsion as from something foul. Even the infernal love and good-will
+of his wife. To hell with good-will! It was more hateful than ill-will.
+Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!
+
+The landlady looked at the clock.
+
+"Ten minutes to, gentlemen," she said coldly. For she too knew that
+Aaron was spoiled for her for that night.
+
+The men began to take their leave, shakily. The little doctor seemed
+to evaporate. The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat. She saw the
+curious whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish
+look on his face.
+
+"You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?" she said to
+him, detaining him till last.
+
+But he turned laughing to her.
+
+"Nay," he said, "I must be getting home."
+
+He turned and went straight out of the house. Watching him, the
+landlady's face became yellow with passion and rage.
+
+"That little poisonous Indian viper," she said aloud, attributing
+Aaron's mood to the doctor. Her husband was noisily bolting the door.
+
+Outside it was dark and frosty. A gang of men lingered in the road near
+the closed door. Aaron found himself among them, his heart bitterer than
+steel.
+
+The men were dispersing. He should take the road home. But the devil was
+in it, if he could take a stride in the homeward direction. There seemed
+a wall in front of him. He veered. But neither could he take a stride in
+the opposite direction. So he was destined to veer round, like some sort
+of weather-cock, there in the middle of the dark road outside the "Royal
+Oak."
+
+But as he turned, he caught sight of a third exit. Almost opposite was
+the mouth of Shottle Lane, which led off under trees, at right angles
+to the highroad, up to New Brunswick Colliery. He veered towards the
+off-chance of this opening, in a delirium of icy fury, and plunged away
+into the dark lane, walking slowly, on firm legs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III. "THE LIGHTED TREE"
+
+
+It is remarkable how many odd or extraordinary people there are in
+England. We hear continual complaints of the stodgy dullness of the
+English. It would be quite as just to complain of their freakish,
+unusual characters. Only _en masse_ the metal is all Britannia.
+
+In an ugly little mining town we find the odd ones just as distinct as
+anywhere else. Only it happens that dull people invariably meet dull
+people, and odd individuals always come across odd individuals, no
+matter where they may be. So that to each kind society seems all of a
+piece.
+
+At one end of the dark tree-covered Shottle Lane stood the "Royal Oak"
+public house; and Mrs. Houseley was certainly an odd woman. At the
+other end of the lane was Shottle House, where the Bricknells lived; the
+Bricknells were odd, also. Alfred Bricknell, the old man, was one of the
+partners in the Colliery firm. His English was incorrect, his accent,
+broad Derbyshire, and he was not a gentleman in the snobbish sense of
+the word. Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up. His wife was dead.
+
+Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery.
+The colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-hill
+glowed, fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the Bricknells.
+Even war-time efforts had not put out this refuse fire. Apart from this,
+Shottle House was a pleasant square house, rather old, with shrubberies
+and lawns. It ended the lane in a dead end. Only a field-path trekked
+away to the left.
+
+On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his
+children at home. Of the others, one daughter was unhappily married, and
+away in India weeping herself thinner; another was nursing her babies in
+Streatham. Jim, the hope of the house, and Julia, now married to Robert
+Cunningham, had come home for Christmas.
+
+The party was seated in the drawing-room, that the grown-up daughters
+had made very fine during their periods of courtship. Its walls were
+hung with fine grey canvas, it had a large, silvery grey, silky carpet,
+and the furniture was covered with dark green silky material. Into this
+reticence pieces of futurism, Omega cushions and Van-Gogh-like pictures
+exploded their colours. Such _chic_ would certainly not have been looked
+for up Shottle Lane.
+
+The old man sat in his high grey arm-chair very near an enormous coal
+fire. In this house there was no coal-rationing. The finest coal was
+arranged to obtain a gigantic glow such as a coal-owner may well enjoy,
+a great, intense mass of pure red fire. At this fire Alfred Bricknell
+toasted his tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers.
+
+He was a large man, wearing a loose grey suit, and sprawling in the
+large grey arm-chair. The soft lamp-light fell on his clean, bald,
+Michael-Angelo head, across which a few pure hairs glittered. His chin
+was sunk on his breast, so that his sparse but strong-haired white
+beard, in which every strand stood distinct, like spun glass lithe and
+elastic, curved now upwards and inwards, in a curious curve returning
+upon him. He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like meditation. As a
+matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.
+
+Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of the fire, was a
+cameo-like girl with neat black hair done tight and bright in the French
+mode. She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and her colour was brilliant.
+She was hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the
+mantel-piece, to escape the fire. She wore a simple dress of apple-green
+satin, with full sleeves and ample skirt and a tiny bodice of green
+cloth. This was Josephine Ford, the girl Jim was engaged to.
+
+Jim Bricknell himself was a tall big fellow of thirty-eight. He sat in
+a chair in front of the fire, some distance back, and stretched his long
+legs far in front of him. His chin too was sunk on his breast, his young
+forehead was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles, he had a silent half-grin
+on his face, a little tipsy, a little satyr-like. His small moustache
+was reddish.
+
+Behind him a round table was covered with cigarettes, sweets, and
+bottles. It was evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for choice. He wanted
+to get fat--that was his idea. But he couldn't bring it off: he was
+thin, though not too thin, except to his own thinking.
+
+His sister Julia was bunched up in a low chair between him and his
+father. She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up like
+a witch. She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke out of
+the sleeves, and she had dragged her brown hair into straight, untidy
+strands. Yet she had real beauty. She was talking to the young man who
+was not her husband: a fair, pale, fattish young fellow in pince-nez and
+dark clothes. This was Cyril Scott, a friend.
+
+The only other person stood at the round table pouring out red wine. He
+was a fresh, stoutish young Englishman in khaki, Julia's husband, Robert
+Cunningham, a lieutenant about to be demobilised, when he would become a
+sculptor once more. He drank red wine in large throatfuls, and his eyes
+grew a little moist. The room was hot and subdued, everyone was silent.
+
+"I say," said Robert suddenly, from the rear--"anybody have a drink?
+Don't you find it rather hot?"
+
+"Is there another bottle of beer there?" said Jim, without moving, too
+settled even to stir an eye-lid.
+
+"Yes--I think there is," said Robert.
+
+"Thanks--don't open it yet," murmured Jim.
+
+"Have a drink, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"No thank you," said Josephine, bowing slightly.
+
+Finding the drinks did not go, Robert went round with the cigarettes.
+Josephine Ford looked at the white rolls.
+
+"Thank you," she said, and taking one, suddenly licked her rather full,
+dry red lips with the rapid tip of her tongue. It was an odd movement,
+suggesting a snake's flicker. She put her cigarette between her lips,
+and waited. Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but perhaps too
+quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian, Parisian or
+American rather than English.
+
+"Cigarette, Julia?" said Robert to his wife.
+
+She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed. Then she looked up at her
+husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes. He looked
+at the cigarettes, not at her. His face had the blunt voluptuous gravity
+of a young lion, a great cat. She kept him standing for some moments
+impassively. Then suddenly she hung her long, delicate fingers over
+the box, in doubt, and spasmodically jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily
+raking one out at last.
+
+"Thank you, dear--thank you," she cried, rather high, looking up and
+smiling once more. He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes to
+Scott, who refused.
+
+"Oh!" said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette. "Robert is so happy
+with all the good things--aren't you dear?" she sang, breaking into a
+hurried laugh. "We aren't used to such luxurious living, we aren't--ARE
+WE DEAR--No, we're not such swells as this, we're not. Oh, ROBBIE, isn't
+it all right, isn't it just all right?" She tailed off into her hurried,
+wild, repeated laugh. "We're so happy in a land of plenty, AREN'T WE
+DEAR?"
+
+"Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?" said Robert.
+
+"Greedy!--Oh, greedy!--he asks if he's greedy?--no you're not greedy,
+Robbie, you're not greedy. I want you to be happy."
+
+"I'm quite happy," he returned.
+
+"Oh, he's happy!--Really!--he's happy! Oh, what an accomplishment! Oh,
+my word!" Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself into a nervous
+twitching silence.
+
+Robert went round with the matches. Julia sucked her cigarette.
+
+"Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!" she cried.
+
+"It's coming," he answered.
+
+Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs. Julia sucked wildly at her
+light. Robert returned to his red wine. Jim Bricknell suddenly roused
+up, looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and showing
+his odd, pointed teeth.
+
+"Where's the beer?" he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into
+Josephine's face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight of
+hand. Then he wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring beer down
+his throat as down a pipe. Then he dropped supine again. Cyril Scott was
+silently absorbing gin and water.
+
+"I say," said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling. "Isn't there
+something we could do to while the time away?"
+
+Everybody suddenly laughed--it sounded so remote and absurd.
+
+"What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?"
+said Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were a
+child.
+
+"Oh, damn bridge," said Jim in his sleep-voice. Then he began pulling
+his powerful length together. He sat on the edge of his chair-seat,
+leaning forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.
+
+"Don't look at me like that--so long--" said Josephine, in her
+self-contained voice. "You make me uncomfortable." She gave an odd
+little grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as
+she glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.
+
+"I like looking at you," said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.
+
+"But you shouldn't, when I tell you not," she returned.
+
+Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles. The father also
+came awake. He sat up.
+
+"Isn't it time," he said, "that you all put away your glasses and
+cigarettes and thought of bed?"
+
+Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long chair.
+
+"Ah, Dad," he said, "tonight's the night! Tonight's some night,
+Dad.--You can sleep any time--" his grin widened--"but there aren't many
+nights to sit here--like this--Eh?"
+
+He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
+nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling fixedly.
+The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion from the
+young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he gazed on the
+face of his boy. He rose stiffly.
+
+"You want to stay?" he said. "You want to stay!--Well then--well then,
+I'll leave you. But don't be long." The old man rose to his full height,
+rather majestic. The four younger people also rose respectfully--only
+Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting up his face towards his
+father.
+
+"You won't stay long," said the old man, looking round a little
+bewildered. He was seeking a responsible eye. Josephine was the only one
+who had any feeling for him.
+
+"No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell," she said gravely.
+
+"Good night, Dad," said Jim, as his father left the room.
+
+Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, _poupee_ walk.
+
+"How is the night?" she said, as if to change the whole feeling in
+the room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. "Why?" she
+exclaimed. "What is that light burning? A red light?"
+
+"Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire," said Robert, who had followed
+her.
+
+"How strange!--Why is it burning now?"
+
+"It always burns, unfortunately--it is most consistent at it. It is the
+refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all
+efforts to the contrary."
+
+"How very curious! May we look at it?" Josephine now turned the handle
+of the French windows, and stepped out.
+
+"Beautiful!" they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
+
+In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
+Cyril Scott.
+
+"Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!" she said,
+smiling with subtle tenderness to him.
+
+"Naturally! Young people always do these romantic things," replied Cyril
+Scott. He was twenty-two years old, so he could afford to be cynical.
+
+"Do they?--Don't you think it's nice of them?" she said, gently removing
+her hand from his. His eyes were shining with pleasure.
+
+"I do. I envy them enormously. One only needs to be sufficiently naive,"
+he said.
+
+"One does, doesn't one!" cooed Julia.
+
+"I say, do you hear the bells?" said Robert, poking his head into the
+room.
+
+"No, dear! Do you?" replied Julia.
+
+"Bells! Hear the bells! Bells!" exclaimed the half-tipsy and
+self-conscious Jim. And he rolled in his chair in an explosion of
+sudden, silent laughter, showing his mouthful of pointed teeth, like
+a dog. Then he gradually gathered himself together, found his feet,
+smiling fixedly.
+
+"Pretty cool night!" he said aloud, when he felt the air on his almost
+bald head. The darkness smelt of sulphur.
+
+Josephine and Robert had moved out of sight. Julia was abstracted,
+following them with her eyes. With almost supernatural keenness she
+seemed to catch their voices from the distance.
+
+"Yes, Josephine, WOULDN'T that be AWFULLY ROMANTIC!"--she suddenly
+called shrilly.
+
+The pair in the distance started.
+
+"What--!" they heard Josephine's sharp exclamation.
+
+"What's that?--What would be romantic?" said Jim as he lurched up and
+caught hold of Cyril Scott's arm.
+
+"Josephine wants to make a great illumination of the grounds of the
+estate," said Julia, magniloquent.
+
+"No--no--I didn't say it," remonstrated Josephine.
+
+"What Josephine said," explained Robert, "was simply that it would be
+pretty to put candles on one of the growing trees, instead of having a
+Christmas-tree indoors."
+
+"Oh, Josephine, how sweet of you!" cried Julia.
+
+Cyril Scott giggled.
+
+"Good egg! Champion idea, Josey, my lass. Eh? What--!" cried Jim. "Why
+not carry it out--eh? Why not? Most attractive." He leaned forward over
+Josephine, and grinned.
+
+"Oh, no!" expostulated Josephine. "It all sounds so silly now. No. Let
+us go indoors and go to bed."
+
+"NO, Josephine dear--No! It's a LOVELY IDEA!" cried Julia. "Let's get
+candles and lanterns and things--"
+
+"Let's!" grinned Jim. "Let's, everybody--let's."
+
+"Shall we really?" asked Robert. "Shall we illuminate one of the
+fir-trees by the lawn?"
+
+"Yes! How lovely!" cried Julia. "I'll fetch the candles."
+
+"The women must put on warm cloaks," said Robert.
+
+They trooped indoors for coats and wraps and candles and lanterns. Then,
+lighted by a bicycle lamp, they trooped off to the shed to twist wire
+round the candles for holders. They clustered round the bench.
+
+"I say," said Julia, "doesn't Cyril look like a pilot on a stormy night!
+Oh, I say--!" and she went into one of her hurried laughs.
+
+They all looked at Cyril Scott, who was standing sheepishly in the
+background, in a very large overcoat, smoking a large pipe. The
+young man was uncomfortable, but assumed a stoic air of philosophic
+indifference.
+
+Soon they were busy round a prickly fir-tree at the end of the lawn. Jim
+stood in the background vaguely staring. The bicycle lamp sent a beam
+of strong white light deep into the uncanny foliage, heads clustered and
+hands worked. The night above was silent, dim. There was no wind. In
+the near distance they could hear the panting of some engine at the
+colliery.
+
+"Shall we light them as we fix them," asked Robert, "or save them for
+one grand rocket at the end?"
+
+"Oh, as we do them," said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers and
+wanted to see some reward.
+
+A match spluttered. One naked little flame sprang alight among the dark
+foliage. The candle burned tremulously, naked. They all were silent.
+
+"We ought to do a ritual dance! We ought to worship the tree," sang
+Julia, in her high voice.
+
+"Hold on a minute. We'll have a little more illumination," said Robert.
+
+"Why yes. We want more than one candle," said Josephine.
+
+But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with arms
+slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a _pas seul_ before the
+tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
+
+Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short,
+harsh, cackling laugh.
+
+"Aren't we fools!" he cried. "What? Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!"
+
+"No--why?" cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
+
+But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian
+gripping his pipe.
+
+The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces
+of the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees.
+Several little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the naked
+air, sending a faint glow over the needle foliage. They gave a strange,
+perpendicular aspiration in the night. Julia waved slowly in her tree
+dance. Jim stood apart, with his legs straddled, a motionless figure.
+
+The party round the tree became absorbed and excited as more ruddy
+tongues of flame pricked upward from the dark tree. Pale candles became
+evident, the air was luminous. The illumination was becoming complete,
+harmonious.
+
+Josephine suddenly looked round.
+
+"Why-y-y!" came her long note of alarm.
+
+A man in a bowler hat and a black overcoat stood on the edge of the
+twilight.
+
+"What is it?" cried Julia.
+
+"_Homo sapiens_!" said Robert, the lieutenant. "Hand the light, Cyril."
+He played the beam of light full on the intruder; a man in a bowler hat,
+with a black overcoat buttoned to his throat, a pale, dazed, blinking
+face. The hat was tilted at a slightly jaunty angle over the left eye,
+the man was well-featured. He did not speak.
+
+"Did you want anything?" asked Robert, from behind the light.
+
+Aaron Sisson blinked, trying to see who addressed him. To him, they were
+all illusory. He did not answer.
+
+"Anything you wanted?" repeated Robert, military, rather peremptory.
+
+Jim suddenly doubled himself up and burst into a loud harsh cackle of
+laughter. Whoop! he went, and doubled himself up with laughter. Whoop!
+Whoop! he went, and fell on the ground and writhed with laughter. He
+was in that state of intoxication when he could find no release from
+maddening self-consciousness. He knew what he was doing, he did
+it deliberately. And yet he was also beside himself, in a sort of
+hysterics. He could not help himself in exasperated self-consciousness.
+
+The others all began to laugh, unavoidably. It was a contagion. They
+laughed helplessly and foolishly. Only Robert was anxious.
+
+"I'm afraid he'll wake the house," he said, looking at the doubled up
+figure of Jim writhing on the grass and whooping loudly.
+
+"Or not enough," put in Cyril Scott. He twigged Jim's condition.
+
+"No--no!" cried Josephine, weak with laughing in spite of herself.
+"No--it's too long--I'm like to die laughing--"
+
+Jim embraced the earth in his convulsions. Even Robert shook quite
+weakly with laughter. His face was red, his eyes full of dancing water.
+Yet he managed to articulate.
+
+"I say, you know, you'll bring the old man down." Then he went off again
+into spasms.
+
+"Hu! Hu!" whooped Jim, subsiding. "Hu!"
+
+He rolled over on to his back, and lay silent. The others also became
+weakly silent.
+
+"What's amiss?" said Aaron Sisson, breaking this spell.
+
+They all began to laugh again, except Jim, who lay on his back looking
+up at the strange sky.
+
+"What're you laughing at?" repeated Aaron.
+
+"We're laughing at the man on the ground," replied Josephine. "I think
+he's drunk a little too much."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, standing mute and obstinate.
+
+"Did you want anything?" Robert enquired once more.
+
+"Eh?" Aaron looked up. "Me? No, not me." A sort of inertia kept him
+rooted. The young people looked at one another and began to laugh,
+rather embarrassed.
+
+"Another!" said Cyril Scott cynically.
+
+They wished he would go away. There was a pause.
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" asked the sepulchral voice of Jim. He
+still lay flat on his back on the grass.
+
+Josephine went to him and pulled at his coat.
+
+"Get up," she said. "You'll take cold. Get up now, we're going indoors."
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" he persisted.
+
+Aaron Sisson stood on the edge of the light, smilingly staring at the
+scene, like a boy out of his place, but stubbornly keeping his ground.
+
+"Get up now," said Josephine. "We've had enough." But Jim would not
+move.
+
+Robert went with the bicycle lamp and stood at Aaron's side.
+
+"Shall I show you a light to the road--you're off your track," he said.
+"You're in the grounds of Shottle House."
+
+"I can find my road," said Aaron. "Thank you."
+
+Jim suddenly got up and went to peer at the stranger, poking his face
+close to Aaron's face.
+
+"Right-o," he replied. "You're not half a bad sort of chap--Cheery-o!
+What's your drink?"
+
+"Mine--whiskey," said Aaron.
+
+"Come in and have one. We're the only sober couple in the bunch--what?"
+cried Jim.
+
+Aaron stood unmoving, static in everything. Jim took him by the arm
+affectionately. The stranger looked at the flickering tree, with its
+tiers of lights.
+
+"A Christmas tree," he said, jerking his head and smiling.
+
+"That's right, old man," said Jim, seeming thoroughly sober now. "Come
+indoors and have a drink."
+
+Aaron Sisson negatively allowed himself to be led off. The others
+followed in silence, leaving the tree to flicker the night through. The
+stranger stumbled at the open window-door.
+
+"Mind the step," said Jim affectionately.
+
+They crowded to the fire, which was still hot. The newcomer looked round
+vaguely. Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair. He sat without
+looking round, a remote, abstract look on his face. He was very pale,
+and seemed-inwardly absorbed.
+
+The party threw off their wraps and sat around. Josephine turned to
+Aaron Sisson, who sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand, rather slack
+in his chair, in his thickish overcoat. He did not want to drink. His
+hair was blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome but a little
+obstinate, his eyes inscrutable. His pallor was not natural to him.
+Though he kept the appearance of a smile, underneath he was hard and
+opposed. He did not wish to be with these people, and yet, mechanically,
+he stayed.
+
+"Do you feel quite well?" Josephine asked him.
+
+He looked at her quickly.
+
+"Me?" he said. He smiled faintly. "Yes, I'm all right." Then he dropped
+his head again and seemed oblivious.
+
+"Tell us your name," said Jim affectionately.
+
+The stranger looked up.
+
+"My name's Aaron Sisson, if it's anything to you," he said.
+
+Jim began to grin.
+
+"It's a name I don't know," he said. Then he named all the party
+present. But the stranger hardly heeded, though his eyes looked
+curiously from one to the other, slow, shrewd, clairvoyant.
+
+"Were you on your way home?" asked Robert, huffy.
+
+The stranger lifted his head and looked at him.
+
+"Home!" he repeated. "No. The other road--" He indicated the direction
+with his head, and smiled faintly.
+
+"Beldover?" inquired Robert.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He had dropped his head again, as if he did not want to look at them.
+
+To Josephine, the pale, impassive, blank-seeming face, the blue eyes
+with the smile which wasn't a smile, and the continual dropping of the
+well-shaped head was curiously affecting. She wanted to cry.
+
+"Are you a miner?" Robert asked, _de haute en bas_.
+
+"No," cried Josephine. She had looked at his hands.
+
+"Men's checkweighman," replied Aaron. He had emptied his glass. He put
+it on the table.
+
+"Have another?" said Jim, who was attending fixedly, with curious
+absorption, to the stranger.
+
+"No," cried Josephine, "no more."
+
+Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled slowly, with remote
+bitterness. Then he lowered his head again. His hands were loosely
+clasped between his knees.
+
+"What about the wife?" said Robert--the young lieutenant.
+
+"What about the wife and kiddies? You're a married man, aren't you?"
+
+The sardonic look of the stranger rested on the subaltern.
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+"Won't they be expecting you?" said Robert, trying to keep his temper
+and his tone of authority.
+
+"I expect they will--"
+
+"Then you'd better be getting along, hadn't you?"
+
+The eyes of the intruder rested all the time on the flushed subaltern.
+The look on Aaron's face became slowly satirical.
+
+"Oh, dry up the army touch," said Jim contemptuously, to Robert. "We're
+all civvies here. We're all right, aren't we?" he said loudly, turning
+to the stranger with a grin that showed his pointed teeth.
+
+Aaron gave a brief laugh of acknowledgement.
+
+"How many children have you?" sang Julia from her distance.
+
+"Three."
+
+"Girls or boys?"
+
+"Girls."
+
+"All girls? Dear little things! How old?"
+
+"Oldest eight--youngest nine months--"
+
+"So small!" sang Julia, with real tenderness now--Aaron dropped his
+head. "But you're going home to them, aren't you?" said Josephine, in
+whose eyes the tears had already risen. He looked up at her, at her
+tears. His face had the same pale perverse smile.
+
+"Not tonight," he said.
+
+"But why? You're wrong!" cried Josephine.
+
+He dropped his head and became oblivious.
+
+"Well!" said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation. "I
+think I'll retire."
+
+"Will you?" said Julia, also rising. "You'll find your candle outside."
+
+She went out. Scott bade good night, and followed her. The four people
+remained in the room, quite silent. Then Robert rose and began to walk
+about, agitated.
+
+"Don't you go back to 'em. Have a night out. You stop here tonight," Jim
+said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
+
+The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
+
+"Yes?" he said. He seemed to be smiling coldly.
+
+"Oh, but!" cried Josephine. "Your wife and your children! Won't they be
+awfully bothered? Isn't it awfully unkind to them?"
+
+She rose in her eagerness. He sat turning up his face to her. She could
+not understand his expression.
+
+"Won't you go home to them?" she said, hysterical.
+
+"Not tonight," he replied quietly, again smiling.
+
+"You're wrong!" she cried. "You're wrong!" And so she hurried out of the
+room in tears.
+
+"Er--what bed do you propose to put him in?" asked Robert rather
+officer-like.
+
+"Don't propose at all, my lad," replied Jim, ironically--he did not like
+Robert. Then to the stranger he said:
+
+"You'll be all right on the couch in my room?--it's a good couch, big
+enough, plenty of rugs--" His voice was easy and intimate.
+
+Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
+
+They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather
+stumbling, upstairs. Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
+
+Robert remained pacing in the drawing-room for some time. Then he went
+out, to return in a little while. He extinguished the lamps and saw that
+the fire was safe. Then he went to fasten the window-doors securely.
+Outside he saw the uncanny glimmer of candles across the lawn. He had
+half a mind to go out and extinguish them--but he did not. So he went
+upstairs and the house was quiet. Faint crumbs of snow were falling
+outside.
+
+When Jim woke in the morning Aaron had gone. Only on the floor were two
+packets of Christmas-tree candles, fallen from the stranger's pockets.
+He had gone through the drawing-room door, as he had come. The housemaid
+said that while she was cleaning the grate in the dining-room she heard
+someone go into the drawing-room: a parlour-maid had even seen someone
+come out of Jim's bedroom. But they had both thought it was Jim himself,
+for he was an unsettled house mate.
+
+There was a thin film of snow, a lovely Christmas morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV. "THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+
+
+Our story will not yet see daylight. A few days after Christmas, Aaron
+sat in the open shed at the bottom of his own garden, looking out on the
+rainy darkness. No one knew he was there. It was some time after six in
+the evening.
+
+From where he sat, he looked straight up the garden to the house. The
+blind was not drawn in the middle kitchen, he could see the figures of
+his wife and one child. There was a light also in the upstairs window.
+His wife was gone upstairs again. He wondered if she had the baby ill.
+He could see her figure vaguely behind the lace curtains of the bedroom.
+It was like looking at his home through the wrong end of a telescope.
+Now the little girls had gone from the middle room: only to return in a
+moment.
+
+His attention strayed. He watched the light falling from the window
+of the next-door house. Uneasily, he looked along the whole range of
+houses. The street sloped down-hill, and the backs were open to the
+fields. So he saw a curious succession of lighted windows, between which
+jutted the intermediary back premises, scullery and outhouse, in dark
+little blocks. It was something like the keyboard of a piano: more
+still, like a succession of musical notes. For the rectangular planes
+of light were of different intensities, some bright and keen, some soft,
+warm, like candle-light, and there was one surface of pure red light,
+one or two were almost invisible, dark green. So the long scale of
+lights seemed to trill across the darkness, now bright, now dim,
+swelling and sinking. The effect was strange.
+
+And thus the whole private life of the street was threaded in lights.
+There was a sense of indecent exposure, from so many backs. He felt
+himself almost in physical contact with this contiguous stretch of back
+premises. He heard the familiar sound of water gushing from the sink in
+to the grate, the dropping of a pail outside the door, the clink of a
+coal shovel, the banging of a door, the sound of voices. So many houses
+cheek by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many back yards, back doors
+giving on to the night. It was revolting.
+
+Away in the street itself, a boy was calling the newspaper: "--'NING
+POST! --'NING PO-O-ST!" It was a long, melancholy howl, and seemed
+to epitomise the whole of the dark, wet, secretive, thickly-inhabited
+night. A figure passed the window of Aaron's own house, entered, and
+stood inside the room talking to Mrs. Sisson. It was a young woman in
+a brown mackintosh and a black hat. She stood under the incandescent
+light, and her hat nearly knocked the globe. Next door a man had run out
+in his shirt sleeves: this time a young, dark-headed collier running to
+the gate for a newspaper, running bare-headed, coatless, slippered in
+the rain. He had got his news-sheet, and was returning. And just at that
+moment the young man's wife came out, shading her candle with a lading
+tin. She was going to the coal-house for some coal. Her husband passed
+her on the threshold. She could be heard breaking the bits of coal and
+placing them on the dustpan. The light from her candle fell faintly
+behind her. Then she went back, blown by a swirl of wind. But again she
+was at the door, hastily standing her iron shovel against the wall. Then
+she shut the back door with a bang. These noises seemed to scrape and
+strike the night.
+
+In Aaron's own house, the young person was still talking to Mrs. Sisson.
+Millicent came out, sheltering a candle with her hand. The candle blew
+out. She ran indoors, and emerged again, her white pinafore fluttering.
+This time she performed her little journey safely. He could see the
+faint glimmer of her candle emerging secretly from the closet.
+
+The young person was taking her leave. He could hear her
+sympathetic--"Well--good night! I hope she'll be no worse. Good night
+Mrs. Sisson!" She was gone--he heard the windy bang of the street-gate.
+Presently Millicent emerged again, flitting indoors.
+
+So he rose to his feet, balancing, swaying a little before he started
+into motion, as so many colliers do. Then he moved along the path
+towards the house, in the rain and darkness, very slowly edging
+forwards.
+
+Suddenly the door opened. His wife emerged with a pail. He stepped
+quietly aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs. He could
+smell rosemary and sage and hyssop. A low wall divided his garden from
+his neighbour's. He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready to drop
+over should his wife come forward. But she only threw the contents of
+her pail on the garden and retired again. She might have seen him had
+she looked. He remained standing where he was, listening to the trickle
+of rain in the water-butt. The hollow countryside lay beyond him.
+Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn of New
+Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at Bestwood
+Colliery. Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the electric
+power-station disturbed the night. So again the wind swirled the rain
+across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to him as his
+own breast.
+
+A motor-car was labouring up the hill. His trained ear attended to it
+unconsciously. It stopped with a jar. There was a bang of the yard-gate.
+A shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window. Millicent was
+drawing down the blind. It was the doctor. The blind was drawn, he could
+see no more.
+
+Stealthily he began to approach the house. He stood by the climbing rose
+of the porch, listening. He heard voices upstairs. Perhaps the children
+would be downstairs. He listened intently. Voices were upstairs only. He
+quietly opened the door. The room was empty, save for the baby, who was
+cooing in her cradle. He crossed to the hall. At the foot of the stairs
+he could hear the voice of the Indian doctor: "Now little girl, you
+must just keep still and warm in bed, and not cry for the moon." He said
+"_de_ moon," just as ever.--Marjory must be ill.
+
+So Aaron quietly entered the parlour. It was a cold, clammy room, dark.
+He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement below
+the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence. He began feeling
+for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside the piano. He
+touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted. Perplexed, he turned
+and looked out of the window. Through the iron railing of the front wall
+he could see the little motorcar sending its straight beams of light in
+front of it, up the street.
+
+He sat down on the sofa by the window. The energy had suddenly left all
+his limbs. He sat with his head sunk, listening. The familiar room, the
+familiar voice of his wife and his children--he felt weak as if he were
+dying. He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in the waters.
+His strength was gone, he was sinking back. He would sink back to it
+all, float henceforth like a drowned man.
+
+So he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, feet moving. They were
+coming down.
+
+"No, Mrs. Sisson, you needn't worry," he heard the voice of the doctor
+on the stairs. "If she goes on as she is, she'll be all right. Only she
+must be kept warm and quiet--warm and quiet--that's the chief thing."
+
+"Oh, when she has those bouts I can't bear it," Aaron heard his wife's
+voice.
+
+They were downstairs. Their feet click-clicked on the tiled passage.
+They had gone into the middle room. Aaron sat and listened.
+
+"She won't have any more bouts. If she does, give her a few drops from
+the little bottle, and raise her up. But she won't have any more," the
+doctor said.
+
+"If she does, I s'll go off my head, I know I shall."
+
+"No, you won't. No, you won't do anything of the sort. You won't go off
+your head. You'll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought to
+be," protested the doctor.
+
+"But it nearly drives me mad."
+
+"Then don't let it. The child won't die, I tell you. She will be all
+right, with care. Who have you got sitting up with her? You're not to
+sit up with her tonight, I tell you. Do you hear me?"
+
+"Miss Smitham's coming in. But it's no good--I shall have to sit up. I
+shall HAVE to."
+
+"I tell you you won't. You obey ME. I know what's good for you as well
+as for her. I am thinking of you as much as of her."
+
+"But I can't bear it--all alone." This was the beginning of tears. There
+was a dead silence--then a sound of Millicent weeping with her mother.
+As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was an emotional
+sympathetic soul, over forty.
+
+"Never mind--never mind--you aren't alone," came the doctor's
+matter-of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing. "I am here to help you.
+I will do whatever I can--whatever I can."
+
+"I can't bear it. I can't bear it," wept the woman.
+
+Another silence, another nose-blowing, and again the doctor:
+
+"You'll HAVE to bear it--I tell you there's nothing else for it. You'll
+have to bear it--but we'll do our best for you. I will do my best
+for you--always--ALWAYS--in sickness or out of sickness--There!" He
+pronounced _there_ oddly, not quite _dhere_.
+
+"You haven't heard from your husband?" he added.
+
+"I had a letter--"--sobs--"from the bank this morning."
+
+"FROM DE BANK?"
+
+"Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an
+allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling."
+
+"Well then, why not let him travel? You can live."
+
+"But to leave me alone," there was burning indignation in her voice. "To
+go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with all the
+burden."
+
+"Well I wouldn't trouble about him. Aren't you better off without him?"
+
+"I am. I am," she cried fiercely. "When I got that letter this morning,
+I said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON. And I hope it may."
+
+
+"Well-well, well-well, don't fret. Don't be angry, it won't make it any
+better, I tell you."
+
+"Angry! I AM angry. I'm worse than angry. A week ago I hadn't a grey
+hair in my head. Now look here--" There was a pause.
+
+"Well-well, well-well, never mind. You will be all right, don't you
+bother. Your hair is beautiful anyhow."
+
+"What makes me so mad is that he should go off like that--never a
+word--coolly takes his hook. I could kill him for it."
+
+"Were you ever happy together?"
+
+"We were all right at first. I know I was fond of him. But he'd kill
+anything.--He kept himself back, always kept himself back, couldn't give
+himself--"
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Ah well," sighed the doctor. "Marriage is a mystery. I'm glad I'm not
+entangled in it."
+
+"Yes, to make some woman's life a misery.--I'm sure it was death to live
+with him, he seemed to kill everything off inside you. He was a man you
+couldn't quarrel with, and get it over. Quiet--quiet in his tempers, and
+selfish through and through. I've lived with him twelve years--I know
+what it is. Killing! You don't know what he was--"
+
+"I think I knew him. A fair man? Yes?" said the doctor.
+
+"Fair to look at.--There's a photograph of him in the parlour--taken
+when he was married--and one of me.--Yes, he's fairhaired."
+
+Aaron guessed that she was getting a candle to come into the parlour. He
+was tempted to wait and meet them--and accept it all again. Devilishly
+tempted, he was. Then he thought of her voice, and his heart went cold.
+Quick as thought, he obeyed his first impulse. He felt behind the couch,
+on the floor where the curtains fell. Yes--the bag was there. He took it
+at once. In the next breath he stepped out of the room and tip-toed
+into the passage. He retreated to the far end, near the street door, and
+stood behind the coats that hung on the hall-stand.
+
+At that moment his wife came into the passage, holding a candle. She was
+red-eyed with weeping, and looked frail.
+
+"Did YOU leave the parlour door open?" she asked of Millicent,
+suspiciously.
+
+"No," said Millicent from the kitchen.
+
+The doctor, with his soft, Oriental tread followed Mrs. Sisson into the
+parlour. Aaron saw his wife hold up the candle before his portrait and
+begin to weep. But he knew her. The doctor laid his hand softly on
+her arm, and left it there, sympathetically. Nor did he remove it when
+Millicent stole into the room, looking very woe-begone and important.
+The wife wept silently, and the child joined in.
+
+"Yes, I know him," said the doctor. "If he thinks he will be happier
+when he's gone away, you must be happier too, Mrs. Sisson. That's
+all. Don't let him triumph over you by making you miserable. You enjoy
+yourself as well. You're only a girl---"
+
+But a tear came from his eye, and he blew his nose vigorously on a large
+white silk handkerchief, and began to polish his _pince nez_. Then he
+turned, and they all bundled out of the room.
+
+The doctor took his departure. Mrs. Sisson went almost immediately
+upstairs, and Millicent shortly crept after her. Then Aaron, who had
+stood motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down
+the passage and into the living room. His face was very pale,
+ghastly-looking. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the
+mantel, as he passed, and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal.
+But his heart did not relax, nevertheless. So he hurried into the night,
+down the garden, climbed the fence into the field, and went away across
+the field in the rain, towards the highroad.
+
+He felt sick in every fibre. He almost hated the little handbag he
+carried, which held his flute and piccolo. It seemed a burden just
+then--a millstone round his neck. He hated the scene he had left--and
+he hated the hard, inviolable heart that stuck unchanging in his own
+breast.
+
+Coming to the high-road, he saw a tall, luminous tram-car roving along
+through the rain. The trams ran across country from town to town. He
+dared not board, because people knew him. So he took a side road, and
+walked in a detour for two miles. Then he came out on the high-road
+again and waited for a tram-car. The rain blew on his face. He waited a
+long time for the last car.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V. AT THE OPERA
+
+
+A friend had given Josephine Ford a box at the opera for one evening;
+our story continues by night. The box was large and important, near the
+stage. Josephine and Julia were there, with Robert and Jim--also two
+more men. The women sat in the front of the box, conspicuously. They
+were both poor, they were rather excited. But they belonged to a set
+which looked on social triumphs as a downfall that one allows oneself.
+The two men, Lilly and Struthers, were artists, the former literary, the
+latter a painter. Lilly sat by Josephine in the front of the box: he was
+her little lion of the evening.
+
+Few women can sit in the front of a big box, on a crowded and full-swing
+opera night, without thrilling and dilating. There is an intoxication in
+being thus thrust forward, conspicuous and enhanced, right in the eye of
+the vast crowd that lines the hollow shell of the auditorium. Thus even
+Josephine and Julia leaned their elbows and poised their heads regally,
+looking condescendingly down upon the watchful world. They were two poor
+women, having nothing to do with society. Half bohemians.
+
+Josephine was an artist. In Paris she was a friend of a very fashionable
+dressmaker and decorator, master of modern elegance. Sometimes she
+designed dresses for him, and sometimes she accepted from him a
+commission to decorate a room. Usually at her last sou, it gave her
+pleasure to dispose of costly and exquisite things for other people, and
+then be rid of them.
+
+This evening her dress was a simple, but a marvellously poised thing of
+black and silver: in the words of the correct journal. With her tight,
+black, bright hair, her arched brows, her dusky-ruddy face and her bare
+shoulders; her strange equanimity, her long, slow, slanting looks; she
+looked foreign and frightening, clear as a cameo, but dark, far off.
+Julia was the English beauty, in a lovely blue dress. Her hair was
+becomingly untidy on her low brow, her dark blue eyes wandered and got
+excited, her nervous mouth twitched. Her high-pitched, sing-song voice
+and her hurried laugh could be heard in the theatre. She twisted a
+beautiful little fan that a dead artist had given her.
+
+Not being fashionable, they were in the box when the overture began. The
+opera was Verdi--_Aida_. If it is impossible to be in an important box
+at the opera without experiencing the strange intoxication of social
+pre-eminence, it is just as impossible to be there without some feeling
+of horror at the sight the stage presents.
+
+Josephine leaned her elbow and looked down: she knew how arresting
+that proud, rather stiff bend of her head was. She had some aboriginal
+American in her blood. But as she looked, she pursed her mouth. The
+artist in her forgot everything, she was filled with disgust. The sham
+Egypt of _Aida_ hid from her nothing of its shame. The singers were all
+colour-washed, deliberately colour-washed to a bright orange tint. The
+men had oblong dabs of black wool under their lower lip; the beard of
+the mighty Pharaohs. This oblong dab shook and wagged to the singing.
+
+The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable. They all looked
+such good meat. Why were their haunches so prominent? It was a question
+Josephine could not solve. She scanned their really expensive, brilliant
+clothing. It was _nearly_ right--nearly splendid. It only lacked that
+last subtlety which the world always lacks, the last final clinching
+which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet is the opposite pole to
+machine fixity.
+
+But the leading tenor was the chief pain. He was large, stout, swathed
+in a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch. This fattish, emasculated
+look seems common in stage heroes--even the extremely popular. The tenor
+sang bravely, his mouth made a large, coffin-shaped, yawning gap in his
+orange face, his little beard fluttered oddly, like a tail. He turned
+up his eyes to Josephine's box as he sang--that being the regulation
+direction. Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his breath, the
+flesh of his fat, naked arms swayed.
+
+Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian, immovable,
+inscrutable. It was not till the scene was ended that she lifted her
+head as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue rapidly over
+her dried lips, and looked round into the box. Her brown eyes expressed
+shame, fear, and disgust. A curious grimace went over her face--a
+grimace only to be expressed by the exclamation _Merde!_ But she was
+mortally afraid of society, and its fixed institutions. Rapidly she
+scanned the eyes of her friends in the box. She rested on the eyes of
+Lilly, a dark, ugly man.
+
+"Isn't it nasty?" she said.
+
+"You shouldn't look so closely," he said. But he took it calmly, easily,
+whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to destroy it all.
+
+"Oh-ho-ho!" laughed Julia. "It's so fu-nny--so funny!"
+
+"Of course we are too near," said Robert.
+
+"Say you admire that pink fondant over there," said Struthers,
+indicating with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with
+pink edging, who sat in a box opposite, on the upper tier.
+
+"Oh, the fondant--exactly--the fondant! Yes, I admire her immensely!
+Isn't she exactly IT!" sang Julia.
+
+Josephine was scanning the auditorium. So many myriads of faces--like
+beads on a bead-work pattern--all bead-work, in different layers. She
+bowed to various acquaintances--mostly Americans in uniform, whom she
+had known in Paris. She smiled to Lady Cochrane, two boxes off--Lady
+Cochrane had given her the box. But she felt rather coldly towards her.
+
+The curtain rose, the opera wound its slow length along. The audience
+loved it. They cheered with mad enthusiasm. Josephine looked down on the
+choppy sea of applause, white gloves clapping, heads shaking. The
+noise was strange and rattling. What a curious multiple object a
+theatre-audience was! It seemed to have a million heads, a million
+hands, and one monstrous, unnatural consciousness. The singers appeared
+before the curtain--the applause rose up like clouds of dust.
+
+"Oh, isn't it too wonderful!" cried Julia. "I am wild with excitement.
+Are you all of you?"
+
+"Absolutely wild," said Lilly laconically.
+
+"Where is Scott to-night?" asked Struthers.
+
+Julia turned to him and gave him a long, queer look from her dark blue
+eyes.
+
+"He's in the country," she said, rather enigmatic.
+
+"Don't you know, he's got a house down in Dorset," said Robert, verbally
+rushing in. "He wants Julia to go down and stay."
+
+"Is she going?" said Lilly.
+
+"She hasn't decided," replied Robert.
+
+"Oh! What's the objection?" asked Struthers.
+
+"Well, none whatsoever, as far as can be seen, except that she can't
+make up her mind," replied Robert.
+
+"Julia's got no mind," said Jim rudely.
+
+"Oh! Hear the brotherly verdict!" laughed Julia hurriedly.
+
+"You mean to go down to Dorset alone!" said Struthers.
+
+"Why not?" replied Robert, answering for her.
+
+"And stay how long?"
+
+"Oh--as long as it lasts," said Robert again.
+
+"Starting with eternity," said Lilly, "and working back to a fortnight."
+
+"And what's the matter?--looks bad in the eyes of the world?"
+
+"Yes--about that. Afraid of compromising herself--"
+
+Lilly looked at them.
+
+"Depends what you take the world to mean. Do you mean us in this box, or
+the crew outside there?" he jerked his head towards the auditorium.
+
+"Do you think, Lilly, that we're the world?" said Robert ironically.
+
+"Oh, yes, I guess we're shipwrecked in this box, like Robinson Crusoes.
+And what we do on our own little island matters to us alone. As for the
+infinite crowds of howling savages outside there in the unspeakable, all
+you've got to do is mind they don't scrap you."
+
+"But WON'T they?" said Struthers.
+
+"Not unless you put your head in their hands," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know--" said Jim.
+
+But the curtain had risen, they hushed him into silence.
+
+All through the next scene, Julia puzzled herself, as to whether she
+should go down to the country and live with Scott. She had carried on a
+nervous kind of _amour_ with him, based on soul sympathy and emotional
+excitement. But whether to go and live with him? She didn't know if she
+wanted to or not: and she couldn't for her life find out. She was in
+that nervous state when desire seems to evaporate the moment fulfilment
+is offered.
+
+When the curtain dropped she turned.
+
+"You see," she said, screwing up her eyes, "I have to think of
+Robert." She cut the word in two, with an odd little hitch in her
+voice--"ROB-ert."
+
+"My dear Julia, can't you believe that I'm tired of being thought of,"
+cried Robert, flushing.
+
+Julia screwed up her eyes in a slow smile, oddly cogitating.
+
+"Well, who AM I to think of?" she asked.
+
+"Yourself," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, yes! Why, yes! I never thought of that!" She gave a hurried little
+laugh. "But then it's no FUN to think about oneself," she cried flatly.
+"I think about ROB-ert, and SCOTT." She screwed up her eyes and peered
+oddly at the company.
+
+"Which of them will find you the greatest treat," said Lilly
+sarcastically.
+
+"Anyhow," interjected Robert nervously, "it will be something new for
+Scott."
+
+"Stale buns for you, old boy," said Jim drily.
+
+"I don't say so. But--" exclaimed the flushed, full-blooded Robert, who
+was nothing if not courteous to women.
+
+"How long ha' you been married? Eh?" asked Jim.
+
+"Six years!" sang Julia sweetly.
+
+"Good God!"
+
+"You see," said Robert, "Julia can't decide anything for herself. She
+waits for someone else to decide, then she puts her spoke in."
+
+"Put it plainly--" began Struthers.
+
+"But don't you know, it's no USE putting it plainly," cried Julia.
+
+"But DO you want to be with Scott, out and out, or DON'T you?" said
+Lilly.
+
+"Exactly!" chimed Robert. "That's the question for you to answer Julia."
+
+"I WON'T answer it," she cried. "Why should I?" And she looked away into
+the restless hive of the theatre. She spoke so wildly that she attracted
+attention. But it half pleased her. She stared abstractedly down at the
+pit.
+
+The men looked at one another in some comic consternation.
+
+"Oh, damn it all!" said the long Jim, rising and stretching himself.
+"She's dead nuts on Scott. She's all over him. She'd have eloped with
+him weeks ago if it hadn't been so easy. She can't stand it that Robert
+offers to hand her into the taxi."
+
+He gave his malevolent grin round the company, then went out. He did not
+reappear for the next scene.
+
+"Of course, if she loves Scott--" began Struthers.
+
+Julia suddenly turned with wild desperation, and cried:
+
+"I like him tremendously--tre-men-dous-ly! He DOES understand."
+
+"Which we don't," said Robert.
+
+Julia smiled her long, odd smile in their faces: one might almost say
+she smiled in their teeth.
+
+"What do YOU think, Josephine?" asked Lilly.
+
+Josephine was leaning froward. She started. Her tongue went rapidly over
+her lips. "Who--? I--?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I think Julia should go with Scott," said Josephine. "She'll bother
+with the idea till she's done it. She loves him, really."
+
+"Of course she does," cried Robert.
+
+Julia, with her chin resting on her arms, in a position which irritated
+the neighbouring Lady Cochrane sincerely, was gazing with unseeing eyes
+down upon the stalls.
+
+"Well then--" began Struthers. But the music struck up softly. They
+were all rather bored. Struthers kept on making small, half audible
+remarks--which was bad form, and displeased Josephine, the hostess of
+the evening.
+
+When the curtain came down for the end of the act, the men got up.
+Lilly's wife, Tanny, suddenly appeared. She had come on after a dinner
+engagement.
+
+"Would you like tea or anything?" Lilly asked.
+
+The women refused. The men filtered out on to the crimson and white,
+curving corridor. Julia, Josephine and Tanny remained in the box. Tanny
+was soon hitched on to the conversation in hand.
+
+"Of course," she replied, "one can't decide such a thing like drinking a
+cup of tea."
+
+"Of course, one can't, dear Tanny," said Julia.
+
+"After all, one doesn't leave one's husband every day, to go and live
+with another man. Even if one looks on it as an experiment--."
+
+"It's difficult!" cried Julia. "It's difficult! I feel they all want to
+FORCE me to decide. It's cruel."
+
+"Oh, men with their beastly logic, their either-this-or-that stunt, they
+are an awful bore.--But of course, Robert can't love you REALLY, or he'd
+want to keep you. I can see Lilly discussing such a thing for ME. But
+then you don't love Robert either," said Tanny.
+
+"I do! Oh, I do, Tanny! I DO love him, I love him dearly. I think he's
+beautiful. Robert's beautiful. And he NEEDS me. And I need him too. I
+need his support. Yes, I do love him."
+
+"But you like Scott better," said Tanny.
+
+"Only because he--he's different," sang Julia, in long tones. "You see
+Scott has his art. His art matters. And ROB-ert--Robert is a dilettante,
+don't you think--he's dilettante--" She screwed up her eyes at Tanny.
+Tanny cogitated.
+
+"Of course I don't think that matters," she replied.
+
+"But it does, it matters tremendously, dear Tanny, tremendously."
+
+"Of course," Tanny sheered off. "I can see Scott has great
+attractions--a great warmth somewhere--"
+
+"Exactly!" cried Julia. "He UNDERSTANDS!"
+
+"And I believe he's a real artist. You might even work together. You
+might write his librettos."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--" Julia spoke with a long, pondering hiss.
+
+"It might be AWFULLY nice," said Tanny rapturously.
+
+"Yes!--It might!--It might--!" pondered Julia. Suddenly she gave herself
+a shake. Then she laughed hurriedly, as if breaking from her line of
+thought.
+
+"And wouldn't Robert be an AWFULLY nice lover for Josephine! Oh,
+wouldn't that be splendid!" she cried, with her high laugh.
+
+Josephine, who had been gazing down into the orchestra, turned now,
+flushing darkly.
+
+"But I don't want a lover, Julia," she said, hurt.
+
+"Josephine dear! Dear old Josephine! Don't you really! Oh, yes,
+you do.--I want one so BADLY," cried Julia, with her shaking laugh.
+"Robert's awfully good to me. But we've been married six years. And it
+does make a difference, doesn't it, Tanny dear?"
+
+"A great difference," said Tanny.
+
+"Yes, it makes a difference, it makes a difference," mused Julia. "Dear
+old Rob-ert--I wouldn't hurt him for worlds. I wouldn't. Do you think it
+would hurt Robert?"
+
+She screwed up her eyes, looking at Tanny.
+
+"Perhaps it would do Robert good to be hurt a little," said Tanny. "He's
+so well-nourished."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--I see what you mean, Tanny!--Poor old ROB-ert! Oh, poor old
+Rob-ert, he's so young!"
+
+"He DOES seem young," said Tanny. "One doesn't forgive it."
+
+"He is young," said Julia. "I'm five years older than he. He's only
+twenty-seven. Poor Old Robert."
+
+"Robert is young, and inexperienced," said Josephine, suddenly turning
+with anger. "But I don't know why you talk about him."
+
+"Is he inexperienced, Josephine dear? IS he?" sang Julia. Josephine
+flushed darkly, and turned away.
+
+"Ah, he's not so innocent as all that," said Tanny roughly. "Those young
+young men, who seem so fresh, they're deep enough, really. They're far
+less innocent really than men who are experienced."
+
+"They are, aren't they, Tanny," repeated Julia softly. "They're
+old--older than the Old Man of the Seas, sometimes, aren't they?
+Incredibly old, like little boys who know too much--aren't they? Yes!"
+She spoke quietly, seriously, as if it had struck her.
+
+Below, the orchestra was coming in. Josephine was watching closely.
+Julia became aware of this.
+
+"Do you see anybody we know, Josephine?" she asked.
+
+Josephine started.
+
+"No," she said, looking at her friends quickly and furtively.
+
+"Dear old Josephine, she knows all sorts of people," sang Julia.
+
+At that moment the men returned.
+
+"Have you actually come back!" exclaimed Tanny to them. They sat down
+without answering. Jim spread himself as far as he could, in the narrow
+space. He stared upwards, wrinkling his ugly, queer face. It was evident
+he was in one of his moods.
+
+"If only somebody loved me!" he complained. "If only somebody loved me I
+should be all right. I'm going to pieces." He sat up and peered into the
+faces of the women.
+
+"But we ALL love you," said Josephine, laughing uneasily. "Why aren't
+you satisfied?"
+
+"I'm not satisfied. I'm not satisfied," murmured Jim.
+
+"Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the
+breast?" asked Lilly, disagreeably.
+
+Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at his
+questioner.
+
+"Yes," he said. Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body
+across the box again.
+
+"You should try loving somebody, for a change," said Tanny. "You've been
+loved too often. Why not try and love somebody?"
+
+Jim eyed her narrowly.
+
+"I couldn't love YOU," he said, in vicious tones.
+
+"_A la bonne heure_!" said Tanny.
+
+But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
+
+"I want to be loved."
+
+"How many times have you been loved?" Robert asked him. "It would be
+rather interesting to know."
+
+Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
+
+"Did you ever keep count?" Tanny persisted.
+
+Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
+
+"I believe I did," he replied.
+
+"Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up," said Lilly.
+
+Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
+
+"I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail," he said.
+
+He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead. Josephine
+glanced round. She had become a dusky white colour. She was afraid of
+him, and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
+
+"Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?" she asked.
+
+The party in the box had become dead silent. They looked down. The
+conductor was at his stand. The music began. They all remained silent
+and motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts.
+Jim was uncomfortable. He wanted to make good. He sat with his elbows
+on his knees, grinning slightly, looking down. At the next interval he
+stood up suddenly.
+
+"It IS the chap--What?" he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his
+friends.
+
+"Who?" said Tanny.
+
+"It IS he?" said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
+
+"Sure!" he barked.
+
+He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his hand,
+as if trying to attract attention. Then he made signals.
+
+"There you are!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "That's the chap."
+
+"Who? Who?" they cried.
+
+But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
+
+The next was the long interval. Jim and Josephine gazed down at the
+orchestra. The musicians were laying aside their instruments and rising.
+The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend. Jim suddenly bolted out.
+
+"Is it that man Aaron Sisson?" asked Robert.
+
+"Where? Where?" cried Julia. "It can't be."
+
+But Josephine's face was closed and silent. She did not answer.
+
+The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway. Groups of
+people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to pay
+visits or to find drinks. Josephine's party stared around, talking
+desultorily. And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading
+Aaron Sisson by the arm. Jim was grinning, the flautist looked
+unwilling. He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt--a certain
+comely blondness and repose. And as much a gentleman as anybody.
+
+"Well!" cried Josephine to him. "How do you come here?"
+
+"I play the flute," he answered, as he shook hands.
+
+The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
+
+"How wonderful of you to be here!" cried Julia.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Do you think so?" he answered.
+
+"Yes, I do.--It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.--Oh,
+wasn't it exciting!" cried Julia.
+
+Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
+
+"We've heard all about you," said Tanny playfully.
+
+"Oh, yes," he replied.
+
+"Come!" said Josephine, rather irritated. "We crowd up the gangway." And
+she led the way inside the box.
+
+Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
+
+"You get all the view," he said.
+
+"We do, don't we!" cried Julia.
+
+"More than's good for us," said Lilly.
+
+"Tell us what you are doing. You've got a permanent job?" asked
+Josephine.
+
+"Yes--at present."
+
+"Ah! It's more interesting for you than at Beldover."
+
+She had taken her seat. He looked down at her dusky young face. Her
+voice was always clear and measured.
+
+"It's a change," he said, smiling.
+
+"Oh, it must be more than that," she said. "Why, you must feel a whole
+difference. It's a whole new life."
+
+He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently. She flushed.
+
+"But isn't it?" she persisted.
+
+"Yes. It can be," he replied.
+
+He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated. None of the
+people in the box were quite real to him. He was not really amused.
+Julia found him dull, stupid. Tanny also was offended that he could not
+_perceive her_. The men remained practically silent.
+
+"You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again," said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes!" replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
+
+"But perhaps he doesn't like us! Perhaps he's not glad that we turned
+up," said Julia, leaving her sting.
+
+The flautist turned and looked at her.
+
+"You can't REMEMBER us, can you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I can remember you."
+
+"Oh," she laughed. "You are unflattering."
+
+He was annoyed. He did not know what she was getting at.
+
+"How are your wife and children?" she asked spitefully.
+
+"All right, I think."
+
+"But you've been back to them?" cried Josephine in dismay.
+
+He looked at her, a slow, half smiling look, but did not speak.
+
+"Come and have a drink. Damn the women," said Jim uncouthly, seizing
+Aaron by the arm and dragging him off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI. TALK
+
+
+The party stayed to the end of the interminable opera. They had agreed
+to wait for Aaron. He was to come around to the vestibule for them,
+after the show. They trooped slowly down-stairs into the crush of the
+entrance hall. Chattering, swirling people, red carpet, palms green
+against cream-and-gilt walls, small whirlpools of life at the open, dark
+doorways, men in opera hats steering decisively about-it was the old
+scene. But there were no taxis--absolutely no taxis. And it was raining.
+Fortunately the women had brought shoes. They slipped these on. Jim
+rocked through the crowd, in his tall hat, looking for the flautist.
+
+At last Aaron was found--wearing a bowler hat. Julia groaned in spirit.
+Josephine's brow knitted. Not that anybody cared, really. But as one
+must frown at something, why not at the bowler hat? Acquaintances and
+elegant young men in uniforms insisted on rushing up and bowing and
+exchanging a few words, either with Josephine, or Jim, or Julia, or
+Lilly. They were coldly received. The party veered out into the night.
+
+The women hugged their wraps about them, and set off sharply, feeling
+some repugnance for the wet pavements and the crowd. They had not far to
+go--only to Jim's rooms in Adelphi. Jim was leading Aaron, holding
+him by the arm and slightly pinching his muscles. It gave him
+great satisfaction to have between his fingers the arm-muscles of a
+working-man, one of the common people, the _fons et origo_ of modern
+life. Jim was talking rather vaguely about Labour and Robert Smillie,
+and Bolshevism. He was all for revolution and the triumph of labour.
+
+So they arrived, mounted a dark stair, and entered a large, handsome
+room, one of the Adams rooms. Jim had furnished it from Heale's with
+striped hangings, green and white and yellow and dark purple, and with
+a green-and-black checked carpet, and great stripe-covered chairs
+and Chesterfield. A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old
+fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy.
+
+While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was
+making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano--the pianola, rather. The
+chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire. The party threw
+off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of modern
+bohemia. They needed the Bach to take away the bad taste that _Aida_ had
+left in their mouths. They needed the whiskey and curacao to rouse their
+spirits. They needed the profound comfort in which to sink away from the
+world. All the men, except Aaron, had been through the war in some
+way or other. But here they were, in the old setting exactly, the old
+bohemian routine.
+
+The bell rang, Jim went downstairs. He returned shortly with a frail,
+elegant woman--fashionable rather than bohemian. She was cream and
+auburn, Irish, with a slightly-lifted upper lip that gave her a pathetic
+look. She dropped her wrap and sat down by Julia, taking her hand
+delicately.
+
+"How are you, darling?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--I'm happy," said Julia, giving her odd, screwed-up smile.
+
+The pianola stopped, they all chatted indiscriminately. Jim was watching
+the new-comer--Mrs. Browning--with a concentrated wolfish grin.
+
+"I like her," he said at last. "I've seen her before, haven't I?--I like
+her awfully."
+
+"Yes," said Josephine, with a slight grunt of a laugh. "He wants to be
+loved."
+
+"Oh," cried Clariss. "So do I!"
+
+"Then there you are!" cried Tanny.
+
+"Alas, no, there we aren't," cried Clariss. She was beautiful too, with
+her lifted upper-lip. "We both want to be loved, and so we miss each
+other entirely. We run on in two parallel lines, that can never meet."
+She laughed low and half sad.
+
+"Doesn't SHE love you?" said Aaron to Jim amused, indicating Josephine.
+"I thought you were engaged."
+
+"HER!" leered Jim vindictively, glancing at Josephine. "She doesn't love
+me."
+
+"Is that true?" asked Robert hastily, of Josephine.
+
+"Why," she said, "yes. Why should he make me say out here that I don't
+love him!"
+
+"Got you my girl," said Jim.
+
+"Then it's no engagement?" said Robert.
+
+"Listen to the row fools make, rushing in," said Jim maliciously.
+
+"No, the engagement is broken," said Josephine.
+
+"World coming to pieces bit by bit," said Lilly. Jim was twisting in
+his chair, and looking like a Chinese dragon, diabolical. The room was
+uneasy.
+
+"What gives you such a belly-ache for love, Jim?" said Lilly, "or for
+being loved? Why do you want so badly to be loved?"
+
+"Because I like it, damn you," barked Jim. "Because I'm in need of it."
+
+None of them quite knew whether they ought to take it as a joke. It was
+just a bit too real to be quite pleasant.
+
+"Why are you such a baby?" said Lilly. "There you are, six foot in
+length, have been a cavalry officer and fought in two wars, and you
+spend your time crying for somebody to love you. You're a comic."
+
+"Am I though?" said Jim. "I'm losing life. I'm getting thin."
+
+"You don't look as if you were losing life," said Lilly.
+
+"Don't I? I am, though. I'm dying."
+
+"What of? Lack of life?"
+
+"That's about it, my young cock. Life's leaving me."
+
+"Better sing Tosti's Farewell to it."
+
+Jim who had been sprawling full length in his arm-chair, the centre
+of interest of all the company, suddenly sprang forward and pushed his
+face, grinning, in the face of Lilly.
+
+"You're a funny customer, you are," he said.
+
+Then he turned round in his chair, and saw Clariss sitting at the feet
+of Julia, with one white arm over her friend's knee. Jim immediately
+stuck forward his muzzle and gazed at her. Clariss had loosened her
+masses of thick, auburn hair, so that it hung half free. Her face was
+creamy pale, her upper lip lifted with odd pathos! She had rose-rubies
+in her ears.
+
+"I like HER," said Jim. "What's her name?"
+
+"Mrs. Browning. Don't be so rude," said Josephine.
+
+"Browning for gravies. Any relation of Robert?"
+
+"Oh, yes! You ask my husband," came the slow, plangent voice of Clariss.
+
+"You've got a husband, have you?"
+
+"Rather! Haven't I, Juley?"
+
+"Yes," said Julia, vaguely and wispily. "Yes, dear, you have."
+
+"And two fine children," put in Robert.
+
+"No! You don't mean it!" said Jim. "Who's your husband? Anybody?"
+
+"Rather!" came the deep voice of Clariss. "He sees to that."
+
+Jim stared, grinning, showing his pointed teeth, reaching nearer and
+nearer to Clariss who, in her frail scrap of an evening dress, amethyst
+and silver, was sitting still in the deep black hearth-rug, her arm over
+Julia's knee, taking very little notice of Jim, although he amused her.
+
+"I like you awfully, I say," he repeated.
+
+"Thanks, I'm sure," she said.
+
+The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping curacao
+and taking a sandwich or a cigarette. Aaron Sisson alone sat upright,
+smiling flickeringly. Josephine watched him, and her pointed tongue went
+from time to time over her lips.
+
+"But I'm sure," she broke in, "this isn't very interesting for the
+others. Awfully boring! Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we must go
+home."
+
+Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes. He hated her voice. She let her
+eye rest on his for a moment. Then she put her cigarette to her lips.
+Robert was watching them both.
+
+Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.
+
+"Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson," she said. "How do you like being
+in London?"
+
+"I like London," said Aaron.
+
+Where did he live? Bloomsbury. Did he know many people? No--nobody
+except a man in the orchestra. How had he got his job? Through an agent.
+Etc. Etc.
+
+"What do you make of the miners?" said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.
+
+"Me?" said Sisson. "I don't make anything of them."
+
+"Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Nationalisation."
+
+"They might, one day."
+
+"Think they'd fight?"
+
+"Fight?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron sat laughing.
+
+"What have they to fight for?"
+
+"Why, everything! What haven't they to fight for?" cried Josephine
+fiercely. "Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system. Won't
+they fight for that?"
+
+Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.
+
+"Nay," he said, "you mustn't ask me what they'll do--I've only just left
+them, for good. They'll do a lot of cavilling."
+
+"But won't they ACT?" cried Josephine.
+
+"Act?" said Aaron. "How, act?"
+
+"Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands," said
+Josephine.
+
+"They might, some time," said Aaron, rather indifferent.
+
+"I wish they would!" cried Josephine. "My, wouldn't I love it if they'd
+make a bloody revolution!"
+
+They were all looking now at her. Her black brows were twitching, in her
+black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.
+
+"Must it be bloody, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"Why, yes. I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody," said
+Josephine. "Wouldn't I love it! I'd go in front with a red flag."
+
+"It would be rather fun," said Tanny.
+
+"Wouldn't it!" cried Josephine.
+
+"Oh, Josey, dear!" cried Julia hysterically. "Isn't she a red-hot
+Bolsher! _I_ should be frightened."
+
+"No!" cried Josephine. "I should love it."
+
+"So should I," said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice. "What price
+machine-guns at the end of the Strand! That's a day to live for, what?"
+
+"Ha! Ha!" laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh. "We'd all Bolsh
+together. I'd give the cheers."
+
+"I wouldn't mind getting killed. I'd love it, in a real fight," said
+Josephine.
+
+"But, Josephine," said Robert, "don't you think we've had enough of that
+sort of thing in the war? Don't you think it all works out rather stupid
+and unsatisfying?"
+
+"Ah, but a civil war would be different. I've no interest in fighting
+Germans. But a civil war would be different."
+
+"That's a fact, it would," said Jim.
+
+"Only rather worse," said Robert.
+
+"No, I don't agree," cried Josephine. "You'd feel you were doing
+something, in a civil war."
+
+"Pulling the house down," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes," she cried. "Don't you hate it, the house we live
+in--London--England--America! Don't you hate them?"
+
+"I don't like them. But I can't get much fire in my hatred. They pall on
+me rather," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.
+
+Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.
+
+"Still," said Tanny, "there's got to be a clearance some day or other."
+
+"Oh," drawled Clariss. "I'm all for a clearance. I'm all for pulling the
+house down. Only while it stands I do want central heating and a good
+cook."
+
+"May I come to dinner?" said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes. You'd find it rather domestic."
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"Rather far out now--Amersham."
+
+"Amersham? Where's that--?"
+
+"Oh, it's on the map."
+
+There was a little lull. Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the
+sideboard. He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with
+its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd. Aaron Sisson sat
+watching him, unconsciously.
+
+"Hello you!" said Jim. "Have one?"
+
+Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him. It saved the drinks.
+
+"You believe in love, don't you?" said Jim, sitting down near Aaron, and
+grinning at him.
+
+"Love!" said Aaron.
+
+"LOVE! he says," mocked Jim, grinning at the company.
+
+"What about it, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"It's life! Love is life," said Jim fiercely.
+
+"It's a vice, like drink," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh? A vice!" said Jim. "May be for you, old bird."
+
+"More so still for you," said Lilly.
+
+"It's life. It's life!" reiterated Jim. "Don't you agree?" He turned
+wolfishly to Clariss.
+
+"Oh, yes--every time--" she drawled, nonchalant.
+
+"Here, let's write it down," said Lilly. He found a blue pencil and
+printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece
+panel:--LOVE IS LIFE.
+
+Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
+
+"Oh, I hate love. I hate it," she protested.
+
+Jim watched her sardonically.
+
+"Look at her!" he said. "Look at Lesbia who hates love."
+
+"No, but perhaps it is a disease. Perhaps we are all wrong, and we can't
+love properly," put in Josephine.
+
+"Have another try," said Jim,--"I know what love is. I've thought about
+it. Love is the soul's respiration."
+
+"Let's have that down," said Lilly.
+
+LOVE IS THE SOUL'S RESPIRATION. He printed it on the old mantel-piece.
+
+Jim eyed the letters.
+
+"It's right," he said. "Quite right. When you love, your soul breathes
+in. If you don't breathe in, you suffocate."
+
+"What about breathing out?" said Robert. "If you don't breathe out, you
+asphyxiate."
+
+"Right you are, Mock Turtle--" said Jim maliciously.
+
+"Breathing out is a bloody revolution," said Lilly.
+
+"You've hit the nail on the head," said Jim solemnly.
+
+"Let's record it then," said Lilly. And with the blue pencil he printed:
+
+WHEN YOU LOVE, YOUR SOUL BREATHES IN--
+
+WHEN YOUR SOUL BREATHES OUT, IT'S A BLOODY REVOLUTION.
+
+"I say Jim," he said. "You must be busting yourself, trying to breathe
+in."
+
+"Don't you be too clever. I've thought about it," said Jim. "When I'm in
+love, I get a great inrush of energy. I actually feel it rush in--here!"
+He poked his finger on the pit of his stomach. "It's the soul's
+expansion. And if I can't get these rushes of energy, I'M DYING, AND I
+KNOW I AM."
+
+He spoke the last words with sudden ferocity and desperation.
+
+"All _I_ know is," said Tanny, "you don't look it."
+
+"I AM. I am." Jim protested. "I'm dying. Life's leaving me."
+
+"Maybe you're choking with love," said Robert. "Perhaps you have
+breathed in so much, you don't know how to let it go again. Perhaps your
+soul's got a crick in it, with expanding so much."
+
+"You're a bloody young sucking pig, you are," said Jim.
+
+"Even at that age, I've learned my manners," replied Robert.
+
+Jim looked round the party. Then he turned to Aaron Sisson.
+
+"What do you make of 'em, eh?" he said.
+
+Aaron shook his head, and laughed.
+
+"Me?" he said.
+
+But Jim did not wait for an answer.
+
+"I've had enough," said Tanny suddenly rising. "I think you're all
+silly. Besides, it's getting late."
+
+"She!" said Jim, rising and pointing luridly to Clariss. "She's Love.
+And HE's the Working People. The hope is these two--" He jerked a thumb
+at Aaron Sisson, after having indicated Mrs. Browning.
+
+"Oh, how awfully interesting. It's quite a long time since I've been a
+personification.--I suppose you've never been one before?" said Clariss,
+turning to Aaron in conclusion.
+
+"No, I don't think I have," he answered.
+
+"I hope personification is right.--Ought to be _allegory_ or something
+else?" This from Clariss to Robert.
+
+"Or a parable, Clariss," laughed the young lieutenant.
+
+"Goodbye," said Tanny. "I've been awfully bored."
+
+"Have you?" grinned Jim. "Goodbye! Better luck next time."
+
+"We'd better look sharp," said Robert, "if we want to get the tube."
+
+The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the
+Embankment station. Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west, Lilly
+and his wife were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron Sisson were
+going both to Bloomsbury.
+
+"I suppose," said Robert, on the stairs--"Mr. Sisson will see you to
+your door, Josephine. He lives your way."
+
+"There's no need at all," said Josephine.
+
+The four who were going north went down to the low tube level. It
+was nearly the last train. The station was half deserted, half rowdy,
+several fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing. Down there in the
+bowels of London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and
+unnatural.
+
+"How I hate this London," said Tanny. She was half Norwegian, and had
+spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly.
+
+"Yes, so do I," said Josephine. "But if one must earn one's living one
+must stay here. I wish I could get back to Paris. But there's nothing
+doing for me in France.--When do you go back into the country, both of
+you?"
+
+"Friday," said Lilly.
+
+"How lovely for you!--And when will you go to Norway, Tanny?"
+
+"In about a month," said Tanny.
+
+"You must be awfully pleased."
+
+"Oh--thankful--THANKFUL to get out of England--"
+
+"I know. That's how I feel. Everything is so awful--so dismal and
+dreary, I find it--"
+
+They crowded into the train. Men were still yelling like wild
+beasts--others were asleep--soldiers were singing.
+
+"Have you really broken your engagement with Jim?" shrilled Tanny in a
+high voice, as the train roared.
+
+"Yes, he's impossible," said Josephine. "Perfectly hysterical and
+impossible."
+
+"And SELFISH--" cried Tanny.
+
+"Oh terribly--" cried Josephine.
+
+"Come up to Hampstead to lunch with us," said Lilly to Aaron.
+
+"Ay--thank you," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly scribbled directions on a card. The hot, jaded midnight
+underground rattled on. Aaron and Josephine got down to change trains.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII. THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+
+
+Josephine had invited Aaron Sisson to dinner at a restaurant in Soho,
+one Sunday evening. They had a corner to themselves, and with a bottle
+of Burgundy she was getting his history from him.
+
+His father had been a shaft-sinker, earning good money, but had been
+killed by a fall down the shaft when Aaron was only four years old. The
+widow had opened a shop: Aaron was her only child. She had done well
+in her shop. She had wanted Aaron to be a schoolteacher. He had served
+three years apprenticeship, then suddenly thrown it up and gone to the
+pit.
+
+"But why?" said Josephine.
+
+"I couldn't tell you. I felt more like it."
+
+He had a curious quality of an intelligent, almost sophisticated mind,
+which had repudiated education. On purpose he kept the midland accent in
+his speech. He understood perfectly what a personification was--and an
+allegory. But he preferred to be illiterate.
+
+Josephine found out what a miner's checkweighman was. She tried to find
+out what sort of wife Aaron had--but, except that she was the daughter
+of a publican and was delicate in health, she could learn nothing.
+
+"And do you send her money?" she asked.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron. "The house is mine. And I allow her so much a week out
+of the money in the bank. My mother left me a bit over a thousand when
+she died."
+
+"You don't mind what I say, do you?" said Josephine.
+
+"No I don't mind," he laughed.
+
+He had this pleasant-seeming courteous manner. But he really kept her
+at a distance. In some things he reminded her of Robert: blond, erect,
+nicely built, fresh and English-seeming. But there was a curious cold
+distance to him, which she could not get across. An inward indifference
+to her--perhaps to everything. Yet his laugh was so handsome.
+
+"Will you tell me why you left your wife and children?--Didn't you love
+them?"
+
+Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl. She had had her
+hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her ears.
+
+"Why I left her?" he said. "For no particular reason. They're all right
+without me."
+
+Josephine watched his face. She saw a pallor of suffering under its
+freshness, and a strange tension in his eyes.
+
+"But you couldn't leave your little girls for no reason at all--"
+
+"Yes, I did. For no reason--except I wanted to have some free room round
+me--to loose myself--"
+
+"You mean you wanted love?" flashed Josephine, thinking he said _lose_.
+
+"No, I wanted fresh air. I don't know what I wanted. Why should I know?"
+
+"But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt," said she.
+
+"Ah, well! A breath of fresh air, by myself. I felt forced to feel--I
+feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED--forced to love--or
+care--or something."
+
+"Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you," she said.
+
+"Perhaps less. She's made up her mind she loves me, and she's not going
+to let me off."
+
+"Did you never love her?" said Josephine.
+
+"Oh, yes. I shall never love anybody else. But I'm damned if I want to
+be a lover any more. To her or to anybody. That's the top and bottom of
+it. I don't want to CARE, when care isn't in me. And I'm not going to be
+forced to it."
+
+The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near. Josephine let him
+remove the plates and the empty bottle.
+
+"Have more wine," she said to Aaron.
+
+But he refused. She liked him because of his dead-level indifference to
+his surroundings. French waiters and foreign food--he noticed them in
+his quick, amiable-looking fashion--but he was indifferent. Josephine
+was piqued. She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness of his.
+
+She ordered coffee and brandies.
+
+"But you don't want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you? I myself feel
+so LOST sometimes--so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental
+fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don't you know. But
+my LIFE seems alone, for some reason--"
+
+"Haven't you got relations?" he said.
+
+"No one, now mother is dead. Nothing nearer than aunts and cousins in
+America. I suppose I shall see them all again one day. But they hardly
+count over here."
+
+"Why don't you get married?" he said. "How old are you?"
+
+"I'm twenty-five. How old are you?"
+
+"Thirty-three."
+
+"You might almost be any age.--I don't know why I don't get married. In
+a way, I hate earning my own living--yet I go on--and I like my work--"
+
+"What are you doing now?"
+
+"I'm painting scenery for a new play--rather fun--I enjoy it. But I
+often wonder what will become of me."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+She was almost affronted.
+
+"What becomes of me? Oh, I don't know. And it doesn't matter, not to
+anybody but myself."
+
+"What becomes of anybody, anyhow? We live till we die. What do you
+want?"
+
+"Why, I keep saying I want to get married and feel sure of something.
+But I don't know--I feel dreadful sometimes--as if every minute would
+be the last. I keep going on and on--I don't know what for--and IT keeps
+going on and on--goodness knows what it's all for."
+
+"You shouldn't bother yourself," he said. "You should just let it go on
+and on--"
+
+"But I MUST bother," she said. "I must think and feel--"
+
+"You've no occasion," he said.
+
+"How--?" she said, with a sudden grunting, unhappy laugh. Then she lit a
+cigarette.
+
+"No," she said. "What I should really like more than anything would be
+an end of the world. I wish the world would come to an end."
+
+He laughed, and poured his drops of brandy down his throat.
+
+"It won't, for wishing," he said.
+
+"No, that's the awful part of it. It'll just go on and on-- Doesn't it
+make you feel you'd go mad?"
+
+He looked at her and shook his head.
+
+"You see it doesn't concern me," he said. "So long as I can float by
+myself."
+
+"But ARE you SATISFIED!" she cried.
+
+"I like being by myself--I hate feeling and caring, and being forced
+into it. I want to be left alone--"
+
+"You aren't very polite to your hostess of the evening," she said,
+laughing a bit miserably.
+
+"Oh, we're all right," he said. "You know what I mean--"
+
+"You like your own company? Do you?--Sometimes I think I'm nothing when
+I'm alone. Sometimes I think I surely must be nothing--nothingness."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No," he said. "No. I only want to be left alone."
+
+"Not to have anything to do with anybody?" she queried ironically.
+
+"Not to any extent."
+
+She watched him--and then she bubbled with a laugh.
+
+"I think you're funny," she said. "You don't mind?"
+
+"No--why--It's just as you see it.--Jim Bricknell's a rare comic, to my
+eye."
+
+"Oh, him!--no, not actually. He's self-conscious and selfish and
+hysterical. It isn't a bit funny after a while."
+
+"I only know what I've seen," said Aaron. "You'd both of you like a
+bloody revolution, though."
+
+"Yes. Only when it came he wouldn't be there."
+
+"Would you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I would. I would give everything to be in it. I'd give
+heaven and earth for a great big upheaval--and then darkness."
+
+"Perhaps you'll get it, when you die," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but I don't want to die and leave all this standing. I hate it so."
+
+"Why do you?"
+
+"But don't you?"
+
+"No, it doesn't really bother me."
+
+"It makes me feel I can't live."
+
+"I can't see that."
+
+"But you always disagree with one!" said Josephine. "How do you like
+Lilly? What do you think of him?"
+
+"He seems sharp," said Aaron.
+
+"But he's more than sharp."
+
+"Oh, yes! He's got his finger in most pies."
+
+"And doesn't like the plums in any of them," said Josephine tartly.
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+"Writes--stories and plays."
+
+"And makes it pay?"
+
+"Hardly at all.--They want us to go. Shall we?" She rose from the table.
+The waiter handed her her cloak, and they went out into the blowy dark
+night. She folded her wrap round her, and hurried forward with short,
+sharp steps. There was a certain Parisian _chic_ and mincingness about
+her, even in her walk: but underneath, a striding, savage suggestion as
+if she could leg it in great strides, like some savage squaw.
+
+Aaron pressed his bowler hat down on his brow.
+
+"Would you rather take a bus?" she said in a high voice, because of the
+wind.
+
+"I'd rather walk."
+
+"So would I."
+
+They hurried across the Charing Cross Road, where great buses rolled and
+rocked, crammed with people. Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement,
+as they walked east. They crossed Holborn, and passed the Museum. And
+neither of them said anything.
+
+When they came to the corner, she held out her hand.
+
+"Look!" she said. "Don't come any further: don't trouble."
+
+"I'll walk round with you: unless you'd rather not."
+
+"No--But do you want to bother?"
+
+"It's no bother."
+
+So they pursued their way through the high wind, and turned at last
+into the old, beautiful square. It seemed dark and deserted, dark like
+a savage wilderness in the heart of London. The wind was roaring in the
+great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark grove deep
+in a forgotten land.
+
+Josephine opened the gate of the square garden with her key, and let it
+slam to behind him.
+
+"How wonderful the wind is!" she shrilled. "Shall we listen to it for a
+minute?"
+
+She led him across the grass past the shrubs to the big tree in the
+centre. There she climbed up to a seat. He sat beside her. They sat in
+silence, looking at the darkness. Rain was blowing in the wind. They
+huddled against the big tree-trunk, for shelter, and watched the scene.
+
+Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street
+gleamed silently. The houses of the Square rose like a cliff on this
+inner dark sea, dimly lighted at occasional windows. Boughs swayed and
+sang. A taxi-cab swirled round a corner like a cat, and purred to a
+standstill. There was a light of an open hall door. But all far away,
+it seemed, unthinkably far away. Aaron sat still and watched. He was
+frightened, it all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling heart of
+London. Wind boomed and tore like waves ripping a shingle beach. The two
+white lights of the taxi stared round and departed, leaving the coast
+at the foot of the cliffs deserted, faintly spilled with light from the
+high lamp. Beyond there, on the outer rim, a policeman passed solidly.
+
+Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly. Occasionally
+she blew her nose and wiped her face. But he had not realized. She
+hardly realized herself. She sat near the strange man. He seemed so
+still and remote--so fascinating.
+
+"Give me your hand," she said to him, subduedly.
+
+He took her cold hand in his warm, living grasp. She wept more bitterly.
+He noticed at last.
+
+"Why are you crying?" he said.
+
+"I don't know," she replied, rather matter-of-fact, through her tears.
+
+So he let her cry, and said no more, but sat with her cold hand in his
+warm, easy clasp.
+
+"You'll think me a fool," she said. "I don't know why I cry."
+
+"You can cry for nothing, can't you?" he said.
+
+"Why, yes, but it's not very sensible."
+
+He laughed shortly.
+
+"Sensible!" he said.
+
+"You are a strange man," she said.
+
+But he took no notice.
+
+"Did you ever intend to marry Jim Bricknell?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"I can't imagine it," he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Both were watching blankly the roaring night of mid-London, the
+phantasmagoric old Bloomsbury Square. They were still hand in hand.
+
+"Such as you shouldn't marry," he said.
+
+"But why not? I want to."
+
+"You think you do."
+
+"Yes indeed I do."
+
+He did not say any more.
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" she persisted. "I don't know--"
+
+And again he was silent.
+
+"You've known some life, haven't you?" he asked.
+
+"Me? Why?"
+
+"You seem to."
+
+"Do I? I'm sorry. Do I seem vicious?--No, I'm not vicious.--I've seen
+some life, perhaps--in Paris mostly. But not much. Why do you ask?"
+
+"I wasn't thinking."
+
+"But what do you mean? What are you thinking?"
+
+"Nothing. Nothing."
+
+"Don't be so irritating," said she.
+
+But he did not answer, and she became silent also. They sat hand in
+hand.
+
+"Won't you kiss me?" came her voice out of the darkness.
+
+He waited some moments, then his voice sounded gently, half mocking,
+half reproachful.
+
+"Nay!" he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I don't want to."
+
+"Why not?" she asked.
+
+He laughed, but did not reply.
+
+She sat perfectly still for some time. She had ceased to cry. In the
+darkness her face was set and sullen. Sometimes a spray of rain blew
+across it. She drew her hand from his, and rose to her feet.
+
+"Ill go in now," she said.
+
+"You're not offended, are you?" he asked.
+
+"No. Why?"
+
+They stepped down in the darkness from their perch.
+
+"I wondered."
+
+She strode off for some little way. Then she turned and said:
+
+"Yes, I think it is rather insulting."
+
+"Nay," he said. "Not it! Not it!"
+
+And he followed her to the gate.
+
+She opened with her key, and they crossed the road to her door.
+
+"Good-night," she said, turning and giving him her hand.
+
+"You'll come and have dinner with me--or lunch--will you? When shall we
+make it?" he asked.
+
+"Well, I can't say for certain--I'm very busy just now. I'll let you
+know."
+
+A policeman shed his light on the pair of them as they stood on the
+step.
+
+"All right," said Aaron, dropping back, and she hastily opened the big
+door, and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII. A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+
+
+The Lillys had a labourer's cottage in Hampshire--pleasant enough. They
+were poor. Lilly was a little, dark, thin, quick fellow, his wife was
+strong and fair. They had known Robert and Julia for some years, but
+Josephine and Jim were new acquaintances,--fairly new.
+
+One day in early spring Lilly had a telegram, "Coming to see you arrive
+4:30--Bricknell." He was surprised, but he and his wife got the spare
+room ready. And at four o'clock Lilly went off to the station. He was
+a few minutes late, and saw Jim's tall, rather elegant figure stalking
+down the station path. Jim had been an officer in the regular army, and
+still spent hours with his tailor. But instead of being a soldier he was
+a sort of socialist, and a red-hot revolutionary of a very ineffectual
+sort.
+
+"Good lad!" he exclaimed, as Lilly came up. "Thought you wouldn't mind."
+
+"Not at all. Let me carry your bag." Jim had a bag and a knapsack.
+
+"I had an inspiration this morning," said Jim. "I suddenly saw that if
+there was a man in England who could save me, it was you."
+
+"Save you from what?" asked Lilly, rather abashed.
+
+"Eh--?" and Jim stooped, grinning at the smaller man.
+
+Lilly was somewhat puzzled, but he had a certain belief in himself as a
+saviour. The two men tramped rather incongruously through the lanes to
+the cottage.
+
+Tanny was in the doorway as they came up the garden path.
+
+"So nice to see you! Are you all right?" she said.
+
+"A-one!" said Jim, grinning. "Nice of you to have me."
+
+"Oh, we're awfully pleased."
+
+Jim dropped his knapsack on the broad sofa.
+
+"I've brought some food," he said.
+
+"Have you! That's sensible of you. We can't get a great deal here,
+except just at week-ends," said Tanny.
+
+Jim fished out a pound of sausages and a pot of fish paste.
+
+"How lovely the sausages," said Tanny. "We'll have them for dinner
+tonight--and we'll have the other for tea now. You'd like a wash?"
+
+But Jim had already opened his bag, taken off his coat, and put on an
+old one.
+
+"Thanks," he said.
+
+Lilly made the tea, and at length all sat down.
+
+"Well how unexpected this is--and how nice," said Tanny.
+
+"Jolly--eh?" said Jim.
+
+He ate rapidly, stuffing his mouth too full.
+
+"How is everybody?" asked Tanny.
+
+"All right. Julia's gone with Cyril Scott. Can't stand that fellow, can
+you? What?"
+
+"Yes, I think he's rather nice," said Tanny. "What will Robert do?"
+
+"Have a shot at Josephine, apparently."
+
+"Really? Is he in love with her? I thought so. And she likes him too,
+doesn't she?" said Tanny.
+
+"Very likely," said Jim.
+
+"I suppose you're jealous," laughed Tanny.
+
+"Me!" Jim shook his head. "Not a bit. Like to see the ball kept
+rolling."
+
+"What have you been doing lately?"
+
+"Been staying a few days with my wife."
+
+"No, really! I can't believe it."
+
+Jim had a French wife, who had divorced him, and two children. Now he
+was paying visits to this wife again: purely friendly. Tanny did most
+of the talking. Jim excited her, with his way of looking in her face and
+grinning wolfishly, and at the same time asking to be saved.
+
+After tea, he wanted to send telegrams, so Lilly took him round to the
+village post-office. Telegrams were a necessary part of his life. He had
+to be suddenly starting off to keep sudden appointments, or he felt he
+was a void in the atmosphere. He talked to Lilly about social reform,
+and so on. Jim's work in town was merely nominal. He spent his time
+wavering about and going to various meetings, philandering and weeping.
+
+Lilly kept in the back of his mind the Saving which James had come to
+look for. He intended to do his best. After dinner the three sat cosily
+round the kitchen fire.
+
+"But what do you really think will happen to the world?" Lilly asked
+Jim, amid much talk.
+
+"What? There's something big coming," said Jim.
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"Watch Ireland, and watch Japan--they're the two poles of the world,"
+said Jim.
+
+"I thought Russia and America," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh? What? Russia and America! They'll depend on Ireland and Japan. I
+know it. I've had a vision of it. Ireland on this side and Japan on the
+other--they'll settle it."
+
+"I don't see how," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't see HOW--But I had a vision of it."
+
+"What sort of vision?"
+
+"Couldn't describe it."
+
+"But you don't think much of the Japanese, do you?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Don't I! Don't I!" said Jim. "What, don't you think they're wonderful?"
+
+"No. I think they're rather unpleasant."
+
+"I think the salvation of the world lies with them."
+
+"Funny salvation," said Lilly. "I think they're anything but angels."
+
+"Do you though? Now that's funny. Why?"
+
+"Looking at them even. I knew a Russian doctor who'd been through the
+Russo-Japanese war, and who had gone a bit cracked. He said he saw the
+Japs rush a trench. They threw everything away and flung themselves
+through the Russian fire and simply dropped in masses. But those that
+reached the trenches jumped in with bare hands on the Russians and tore
+their faces apart and bit their throats out--fairly ripped the faces
+off the bone.--It had sent the doctor a bit cracked. He said the wounded
+were awful,--their faces torn off and their throats mangled--and dead
+Japs with flesh between the teeth--God knows if it's true. But that's
+the impression the Japanese had made on this man. It had affected his
+mind really."
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and smiled as if he were pleased.
+
+"No--really--!" he said.
+
+"Anyhow they're more demon than angel, I believe," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, no, Rawdon, but you always exaggerate," said Tanny.
+
+"Maybe," said Lilly.
+
+"I think Japanese are fascinating--fascinating--so quick, and such FORCE
+in them--"
+
+"Rather!--eh?" said Jim, looking with a quick smile at Tanny.
+
+"I think a Japanese lover would be marvellous," she laughed riskily.
+
+"I s'd think he would," said Jim, screwing up his eyes.
+
+"Do you hate the normal British as much as I do?" she asked him.
+
+"Hate them! Hate them!" he said, with an intimate grin.
+
+"Their beastly virtue," said she. "And I believe there's nobody more
+vicious underneath."
+
+"Nobody!" said Jim.
+
+"But you're British yourself," said Lilly to Jim.
+
+"No, I'm Irish. Family's Irish--my mother was a Fitz-patrick."
+
+"Anyhow you live in England."
+
+"Because they won't let me go to Ireland."
+
+The talk drifted. Jim finished up all the beer, and they prepared to go
+to bed. Jim was a bit tipsy, grinning. He asked for bread and cheese to
+take upstairs.
+
+"Will you have supper?" said Lilly. He was surprised, because Jim had
+eaten strangely much at dinner.
+
+"No--where's the loaf?" And he cut himself about half of it. There was
+no cheese.
+
+"Bread'll do," said Jim.
+
+"Sit down and eat it. Have cocoa with it," said Tanny.
+
+"No, I like to have it in my bedroom."
+
+"You don't eat bread in the night?" said Lilly.
+
+"I do."
+
+"What a funny thing to do."
+
+The cottage was in darkness. The Lillys slept soundly. Jim woke up and
+chewed bread and slept again. In the morning at dawn he rose and went
+downstairs. Lilly heard him roaming about--heard the woman come in
+to clean--heard them talking. So he got up to look after his visitor,
+though it was not seven o'clock, and the woman was busy.--But before he
+went down, he heard Jim come upstairs again.
+
+Mrs. Short was busy in the kitchen when Lilly went down.
+
+"The other gentleman have been down, Sir," said Mrs. Short. "He asked me
+where the bread and butter were, so I said should I cut him a piece. But
+he wouldn't let me do it. I gave him a knife and he took it for himself,
+in the pantry."
+
+"I say, Bricknell," said Lilly at breakfast time, "why do you eat so
+much bread?"
+
+"I've got to feed up. I've been starved during this damned war."
+
+"But hunks of bread won't feed you up."
+
+"Gives the stomach something to work at, and prevents it grinding on the
+nerves," said Jim.
+
+"But surely you don't want to keep your stomach always full and heavy."
+
+"I do, my boy. I do. It needs keeping solid. I'm losing life, if I
+don't. I tell you I'm losing life. Let me put something inside me."
+
+"I don't believe bread's any use."
+
+During breakfast Jim talked about the future of the world.
+
+"I reckon Christ's the finest thing time has ever produced," said he;
+"and will remain it."
+
+"But you don't want crucifixions _ad infinitum_," said Lilly.
+
+"What? Why not?"
+
+"Once is enough--and have done."
+
+"Don't you think love and sacrifice are the finest things in life?" said
+Jim, over his bacon.
+
+"Depends WHAT love, and what sacrifice," said Lilly. "If I really
+believe in an Almighty God, I am willing to sacrifice for Him. That is,
+I'm willing to yield my own personal interest to the bigger creative
+interest.--But it's obvious Almighty God isn't mere Love."
+
+"I think it is. Love and only love," said Jim. "I think the greatest joy
+is sacrificing oneself to love."
+
+"To SOMEONE you love, you mean," said Tanny.
+
+"No I don't. I don't mean someone at all. I mean love--love--love. I
+sacrifice myself to love. I reckon that's the highest man is capable
+of."
+
+"But you can't sacrifice yourself to an abstract principle," said Tanny.
+
+"That's just what you can do. And that's the beauty of it. Who
+represents the principle doesn't matter. Christ is the principle of
+love," said Jim.
+
+"But no!" said Tanny. "It MUST be more individual. It must be SOMEBODY
+you love, not abstract love in itself. How can you sacrifice yourself to
+an abstraction."
+
+"Ha, I think Love and your Christ detestable," said Lilly--"a sheer
+ignominy."
+
+"Finest thing the world has produced," said Jim.
+
+"No. A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed! No, it's foul. Don't
+you see it's the Judas principle you really worship. Judas is the real
+hero. But for Judas the whole show would have been _manque_."
+
+"Oh yes," said Jim. "Judas was inevitable. I'm not sure that Judas
+wasn't the greatest of the disciples--and Jesus knew it. I'm not sure
+Judas wasn't the disciple Jesus loved."
+
+"Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks," said Tanny.
+
+Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.
+
+"Then it was a nasty combination. And anything which turns on a Judas
+climax is a dirty show, to my thinking. I think your Judas is a rotten,
+dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental twister. And
+out of all Christianity he is the hero today. When people say Christ
+they mean Judas. They find him luscious on the palate. And Jesus
+fostered him--" said Lilly.
+
+"He's a profound figure, is Judas. It's taken two thousand years to
+begin to understand him," said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade into
+his mouth.
+
+"A traitor is a traitor--no need to understand any further. And a system
+which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that treachery
+not only inevitable but sacred. That's why I'm sick of Christianity.--At
+any rate this modern Christ-mongery."
+
+"The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce--Christ
+and Judas--" said Jim.
+
+"Not to me," said Lilly. "Foul combination."
+
+It was a lovely morning in early March. Violets were out, and the first
+wild anemones. The sun was quite warm. The three were about to take out
+a picnic lunch. Lilly however was suffering from Jim's presence.
+
+"Jolly nice here," said Jim. "Mind if I stay till Saturday?"
+
+There was a pause. Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely
+bullied. Was he going to agree? Suddenly he looked up at Jim.
+
+"I'd rather you went tomorrow," he said.
+
+Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.
+
+"What's tomorrow?" said Jim.
+
+"Thursday," said Lilly.
+
+"Thursday," repeated Jim. And he looked up and got Lilly's eye. He
+wanted to say "Friday then?"
+
+"Yes, I'd rather you went Thursday," repeated Lilly.
+
+"But Rawdon--!" broke in Tanny, who was suffering. She stopped, however.
+
+"We can walk across country with you some way if you like," said Lilly
+to Jim. It was a sort of compromise.
+
+"Fine!" said Jim. "We'll do that, then."
+
+It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods. Between Jim
+and Tanny was a sort of growing _rapprochement_, which got on Lilly's
+nerves.
+
+"What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?" cried Lilly
+at Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.
+
+"But I'm not personal at all, am I, Mr. Bricknell?" said Tanny.
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and grinned pleasedly.
+
+"Why shouldn't you be, anyhow?" he said.
+
+"Yes!" she retorted. "Why not!"
+
+"Not while I'm here. I loathe the slimy creepy personal
+intimacy.--'Don't you think, Mr. Bricknell, that it's lovely to be able
+to talk quite simply to somebody? Oh, it's such a relief, after most
+people---'" Lilly mimicked his wife's last speech savagely.
+
+"But I MEAN it," cried Tanny. "It is lovely."
+
+"Dirty messing," said Lilly angrily.
+
+Jim watched the dark, irascible little man with amusement. They rose,
+and went to look for an inn, and beer. Tanny still clung rather stickily
+to Jim's side.
+
+But it was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with
+crocuses and wall-flowers in the cottage gardens, and white cocks
+crowing in the quiet hamlet.
+
+When they got back in the afternoon to the cottage, they found a
+telegram for Jim. He let the Lillys see it--"Meet you for a walk on your
+return journey Lois." At once Tanny wanted to know all about Lois. Lois
+was a nice girl, well-to-do middle-class, but also an actress, and she
+would do anything Jim wanted.
+
+"I must get a wire to her to meet me tomorrow," he said. "Where shall I
+say?"
+
+Lilly produced the map, and they decided on time and station at which
+Lois coming out of London, should meet Jim. Then the happy pair could
+walk along the Thames valley, spending a night perhaps at Marlowe, or
+some such place.
+
+Off went Jim and Lilly once more to the postoffice. They were quite
+good friends. Having so inhospitably fixed the hour of departure,
+Lilly wanted to be nice. Arrived at the postoffice, they found it shut:
+half-day closing for the little shop.
+
+"Well," said Lilly. "We'll go to the station."
+
+They proceeded to the station--found the station-master--were conducted
+down to the signal-box. Lilly naturally hung back from people, but
+Jim was hob-nob with the station-master and the signal man, quite
+officer-and-my-men kind of thing. Lilly sat out on the steps of the
+signal-box, rather ashamed, while the long telegram was shouted over the
+telephone to the junction town--first the young lady and her address,
+then the message "Meet me X. station 3:40 tomorrow walk back great
+pleasure Jim."
+
+Anyhow that was done. They went home to tea. After tea, as the evening
+fell, Lilly suggested a little stroll in the woods, while Tanny prepared
+the dinner. Jim agreed, and they set out. The two men wandered through
+the trees in the dusk, till they came to a bank on the farther edge of
+the wood. There they sat down.
+
+And there Lilly said what he had to say. "As a matter of fact," he said,
+"it's nothing but love and self-sacrifice which makes you feel yourself
+losing life."
+
+"You're wrong. Only love brings it back--and wine. If I drink a bottle
+of Burgundy I feel myself restored at the middle--right here! I feel
+the energy back again. And if I can fall in love--But it's becoming so
+damned hard--"
+
+"What, to fall in love?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why not leave off trying! What do you want to poke yourself and
+prod yourself into love, for?"
+
+"Because I'm DEAD without it. I'm dead. I'm dying."
+
+"Only because you force yourself. If you drop working yourself up--"
+
+"I shall die. I only live when I can fall in love. Otherwise I'm dying
+by inches. Why, man, you don't know what it was like. I used to get
+the most grand feelings--like a great rush of force, or light--a great
+rush--right here, as I've said, at the solar plexus. And it would come
+any time--anywhere--no matter where I was. And then I was all right.
+
+"All right for what?--for making love?"
+
+"Yes, man, I was."
+
+"And now you aren't?--Oh, well, leave love alone, as any twopenny doctor
+would tell you."
+
+"No, you're off it there. It's nothing technical. Technically I can make
+love as much as you like. It's nothing a doctor has any say in. It's
+what I feel inside me. I feel the life going. I know it's going. I never
+get those inrushes now, unless I drink a jolly lot, or if I possibly
+could fall in love. Technically, I'm potent all right--oh, yes!"
+
+"You should leave yourself and your inrushes alone."
+
+"But you can't. It's a sort of ache."
+
+"Then you should stiffen your backbone. It's your backbone that matters.
+You shouldn't want to abandon yourself. You shouldn't want to fling
+yourself all loose into a woman's lap. You should stand by yourself and
+learn to be by yourself. Why don't you be more like the Japanese you
+talk about? Quiet, aloof little devils. They don't bother about being
+loved. They keep themselves taut in their own selves--there, at the
+bottom of the spine--the devil's own power they've got there."
+
+Jim mused a bit.
+
+"Think they have?" he laughed. It seemed comic to him.
+
+"Sure! Look at them. Why can't you gather yourself there?"
+
+"At the tail?"
+
+"Yes. Hold yourself firm there."
+
+Jim broke into a cackle of a laugh, and rose. The two went through
+the dark woods back to the cottage. Jim staggered and stumbled like a
+drunken man: or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia: as if he had no
+power in his lower limbs.
+
+"Walk there--!" said Lilly, finding him the smoothest bit of the
+dark path. But Jim stumbled and shambled, in a state of nauseous weak
+relaxation. However, they reached the cottage: and food and beer--and
+Tanny, piqued with curiosity to know what the men had been saying
+privately to each other.
+
+After dinner they sat once more talking round the fire.
+
+Lilly sat in a small chair facing the fire, the other two in the
+armchairs on either side the hearth.
+
+"How nice it will be for you, walking with Lois towards London
+tomorrow," gushed Tanny sentimentally.
+
+"Good God!" said Lilly. "Why the dickens doesn't he walk by himself,
+without wanting a woman always there, to hold his hand."
+
+"Don't be so spiteful," said Tanny. "YOU see that you have a woman
+always there, to hold YOUR hand."
+
+"My hand doesn't need holding," snapped Lilly.
+
+"Doesn't it! More than most men's! But you're so beastly ungrateful and
+mannish. Because I hold you safe enough all the time you like to pretend
+you're doing it all yourself."
+
+"All right. Don't drag yourself in," said Lilly, detesting his wife
+at that moment. "Anyhow," and he turned to Jim, "it's time you'd done
+slobbering yourself over a lot of little women, one after the other."
+
+"Why shouldn't I, if I like it?" said Jim.
+
+"Yes, why not?" said Tanny.
+
+"Because it makes a fool of you. Look at you, stumbling and staggering
+with no use in your legs. I'd be ashamed if I were you."
+
+"Would you?" said Jim.
+
+"I would. And it's nothing but your wanting to be loved which does it. A
+maudlin crying to be loved, which makes your knees all go rickety."
+
+"Think that's it?" said Jim.
+
+"What else is it. You haven't been here a day, but you must telegraph
+for some female to be ready to hold your hand the moment you go away.
+And before she lets go, you'll be wiring for another. YOU WANT TO BE
+LOVED, you want to be loved--a man of your years. It's disgusting--"
+
+"I don't see it. I believe in love--" said Jim, watching and grinning
+oddly.
+
+"Bah, love! Messing, that's what it is. It wouldn't matter if it did
+you no harm. But when you stagger and stumble down a road, out of sheer
+sloppy relaxation of your will---"
+
+At this point Jim suddenly sprang from his chair at Lilly, and gave him
+two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the body. Then
+he sat down in his own chair again, saying sheepishly:
+
+"I knew I should have to do it, if he said any more."
+
+Lilly sat motionless as a statue, his face like paper. One of the blows
+had caught him rather low, so that he was almost winded and could not
+breathe. He sat rigid, paralysed as a winded man is. But he wouldn't let
+it be seen. With all his will he prevented himself from gasping. Only
+through his parted lips he drew tiny gasps, controlled, nothing revealed
+to the other two. He hated them both far too much.
+
+For some minutes there was dead silence, whilst Lilly silently and
+viciously fought for his breath. Tanny opened her eyes wide in a sort
+of pleased bewilderment, and Jim turned his face aside, and hung his
+clasped hands between his knees.
+
+"There's a great silence, suddenly!" said Tanny.
+
+"What is there to say?" ejaculated Lilly rapidly, with a spoonful of
+breath which he managed to compress and control into speech. Then he sat
+motionless again, concerned with the business of getting back his wind,
+and not letting the other two see.
+
+Jim jerked in his chair, and looked round.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like the man," he said, in a rather small voice.
+"But I knew if he went on I should have to do it."
+
+To Lilly, rigid and physically preoccupied, there sounded a sort of
+self-consciousness in Jim's voice, as if the whole thing had been
+semi-deliberate. He detected the sort of maudlin deliberateness which
+goes with hysterics, and he was colder, more icy than ever.
+
+Tanny looked at Lilly, puzzled, bewildered, but still rather pleased, as
+if she demanded an answer. None being forthcoming, she said:
+
+"Of course, you mustn't expect to say all those things without rousing a
+man."
+
+Still Lilly did not answer. Jim glanced at him, then looked at Tanny.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like him," he said, slowly. "I like him better
+than any man I've ever known, I believe." He clasped his hands and
+turned aside his face.
+
+"Judas!" flashed through Lilly's mind.
+
+Again Tanny looked for her husband's answer.
+
+"Yes, Rawdon," she said. "You can't say the things you do without their
+having an effect. You really ask for it, you know."
+
+"It's no matter." Lilly squeezed the words out coldly. "He wanted to do
+it, and he did it."
+
+A dead silence ensued now. Tanny looked from man to man.
+
+"I could feel it coming on me," said Jim.
+
+"Of course!" said Tanny. "Rawdon doesn't know the things he says." She
+was pleased that he had had to pay for them, for once.
+
+It takes a man a long time to get his breath back, after a sharp blow in
+the wind. Lilly was managing by degrees. The others no doubt attributed
+his silence to deep or fierce thoughts. It was nothing of the kind,
+merely a cold struggle to get his wind back, without letting them know
+he was struggling: and a sheer, stock-stiff hatred of the pair of them.
+
+"I like the man," said Jim. "Never liked a man more than I like him." He
+spoke as if with difficulty.
+
+"The man" stuck safely in Lilly's ears.
+
+"Oh, well," he managed to say. "It's nothing. I've done my talking and
+had an answer, for once."
+
+"Yes, Rawdy, you've had an answer, for once. Usually you don't get an
+answer, you know--and that's why you go so far--in the things you say.
+Now you'll know how you make people feel."
+
+"Quite!" said Lilly.
+
+"_I_ don't feel anything. I don't mind what he says," said Jim.
+
+"Yes, but he ought to know the things he DOES say," said Tanny. "He goes
+on, without considering the person he's talking to. This time it's come
+back on him. He mustn't say such personal things, if he's not going to
+risk an answer."
+
+"I don't mind what he says. I don't mind a bit," said Jim.
+
+"Nor do I mind," said Lilly indifferently. "I say what I feel--You do as
+you feel--There's an end of it."
+
+A sheepish sort of silence followed this speech. It was broken by a
+sudden laugh from Tanny.
+
+"The things that happen to us!" she said, laughing rather shrilly.
+"Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, we're all struck into silence!"
+
+"Rum game, eh!" said Jim, grinning.
+
+"Isn't it funny! Isn't life too funny!" She looked again at her husband.
+"But, Rawdy, you must admit it was your own fault."
+
+Lilly's stiff face did not change.
+
+"Why FAULT!" he said, looking at her coldly. "What is there to talk
+about?"
+
+"Usually there's so much," she said sarcastically.
+
+A few phrases dribbled out of the silence. In vain Jim, tried to get
+Lilly to thaw, and in vain Tanny gave her digs at her husband. Lilly's
+stiff, inscrutable face did not change, he was polite and aloof. So they
+all went to bed.
+
+In the morning, the walk was to take place, as arranged, Lilly and Tanny
+accompanying Jim to the third station across country. The morning was
+lovely, the country beautiful. Lilly liked the countryside and enjoyed
+the walk. But a hardness inside himself never relaxed. Jim talked
+a little again about the future of the world, and a higher state of
+Christlikeness in man. But Lilly only laughed. Then Tanny managed to
+get ahead with Jim, sticking to his side and talking sympathetic
+personalities. But Lilly, feeling it from afar, ran after them and
+caught them up. They were silent.
+
+"What was the interesting topic?" he said cuttingly.
+
+"Nothing at all!" said Tanny, nettled. "Why must you interfere?"
+
+"Because I intend to," said Lilly.
+
+And the two others fell apart, as if severed with a knife. Jim walked
+rather sheepishly, as if cut out.
+
+So they came at last past the canals to the wayside station: and at last
+Jim's train came. They all said goodbye. Jim and Tanny were both waiting
+for Lilly to show some sign of real reconciliation. But none came. He
+was cheerful and aloof.
+
+"Goodbye," he said to Jim. "Hope Lois will be there all right. Third
+station on. Goodbye! Goodbye!"
+
+"You'll come to Rackham?" said Jim, leaning out of the train.
+
+"We should love to," called Tanny, after the receding train.
+
+"All right," said Lilly, non-committal.
+
+But he and his wife never saw Jim again. Lilly never intended to see
+him: a devil sat in the little man's breast.
+
+"You shouldn't play at little Jesus, coming so near to people, wanting
+to help them," was Tanny's last word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX. LOW-WATER MARK
+
+
+Tanny went away to Norway to visit her people, for the first time for
+three years. Lilly did not go: he did not want to. He came to London
+and settled in a room over Covent Garden market. The room was high up, a
+fair size, and stood at the corner of one of the streets and the market
+itself, looking down on the stalls and the carts and the arcade. Lilly
+would climb out of the window and sit for hours watching the behaviour
+of the great draught-horses which brought the mountains of boxes and
+vegetables. Funny half-human creatures they seemed, so massive and
+fleshy, yet so Cockney. There was one which could not bear donkeys,
+and which used to stretch out its great teeth like some massive serpent
+after every poor diminutive ass that came with a coster's barrow.
+Another great horse could not endure standing. It would shake itself
+and give little starts, and back into the heaps of carrots and broccoli,
+whilst the driver went into a frenzy of rage.
+
+There was always something to watch. One minute it was two great loads
+of empty crates, which in passing had got entangled, and reeled, leaning
+to fall disastrously. Then the drivers cursed and swore and dismounted
+and stared at their jeopardised loads: till a thin fellow was persuaded
+to scramble up the airy mountains of cages, like a monkey. And he
+actually managed to put them to rights. Great sigh of relief when the
+vans rocked out of the market.
+
+Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and perky
+behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to somewhere, under
+the arches beside the market. The great brawny porters would tease him,
+and he would stop to give them cheek. One afternoon a giant lunged after
+him: the boy darted gracefully among the heaps of vegetables, still
+bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some young blue-buttoned acolyte
+fleeing before a false god. The giant rolled after him--when alas, the
+acolyte of the tea-tray slipped among the vegetables, and down came the
+tray. Then tears, and a roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants. Lilly
+felt they were going to make it up to him.
+
+Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
+vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered why.
+But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of silver
+brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet. Evidently
+an assignation. Yet what could be more conspicuous than this elegant
+pair, picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?
+
+And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
+overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly. Lilly had risen and was
+just retiring out of the chill, damp air. For some reason he lingered to
+watch the figure. The man was walking east. He stepped rather insecurely
+off the pavement, and wavered across the setts between the wheels of the
+standing vans. And suddenly he went down. Lilly could not see him on the
+ground, but he saw some van-men go forward, and he saw one of them pick
+up the man's hat.
+
+"I'd better go down," said Lilly to himself.
+
+So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past
+the many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the
+market. A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just
+rowing into the centre of the interest. Lilly, always a hoverer on the
+edge of public commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts of the
+crowd.
+
+"What is it?" he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.
+
+"Drunk," said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney, he
+pronounced it "Drank."
+
+Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.
+
+"Come on here. Where d' you want to go?" he heard the hearty tones of
+the policeman.
+
+"I'm all right. I'm all right," came the testy drunken answer.
+
+"All right, are yer! All right, and then some,--come on, get on your
+pins."
+
+"I'm all right! I'm all right."
+
+The voice made Lilly peer between the people. And sitting on the granite
+setts, being hauled up by a burly policeman, he saw our acquaintance
+Aaron, very pale in the face and a little dishevelled.
+
+"Like me to tuck the sheets round you, shouldn't you? Fancy yourself
+snug in bed, don't you? You won't believe you're right in the way of
+traffic, will you now, in Covent Garden Market? Come on, we'll see to
+you." And the policeman hoisted the bitter and unwilling Aaron.
+
+Lilly was quickly at the centre of the affair, unobtrusive like a
+shadow, different from the other people.
+
+"Help him up to my room, will you?" he said to the constable. "Friend of
+mine."
+
+The large constable looked down on the bare-headed wispy, unobtrusive
+Lilly with good-humoured suspicion and incredulity. Lilly could not have
+borne it if the policeman had uttered any of this cockney suspicion, so
+he watched him. There was a great gulf between the public official and
+the odd, quiet little individual--yet Lilly had his way.
+
+"Which room?" said the policeman, dubious.
+
+Lilly pointed quickly round. Then he said to Aaron:
+
+"Were you coming to see me, Sisson? You'll come in, won't you?"
+
+Aaron nodded rather stupidly and testily. His eyes looked angry.
+Somebody stuck his hat on his head for him, and made him look a fool.
+Lilly took it off again, and carried it for him. He turned and the crowd
+eased. He watched Aaron sharply, and saw that it was with difficulty
+he could walk. So he caught him by the arm on the other side from the
+policeman, and they crossed the road to the pavement.
+
+"Not so much of this sort of thing these days," said the policeman.
+
+"Not so much opportunity," said Lilly.
+
+"More than there was, though. Coming back to the old days, like. Working
+round, bit by bit."
+
+They had arrived at the stairs. Aaron stumbled up.
+
+"Steady now! Steady does it!" said the policeman, steering his charge.
+There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
+
+At last Lilly opened his own door. The room was pleasant. The fire
+burned warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions and
+papers. Books and papers covered the big writing desk. Beyond the screen
+made by the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with washstand by
+one of the large windows, the one through which Lilly had climbed.
+
+The policeman looked round curiously.
+
+"More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!" he said.
+
+Lilly laughed. He was hastily clearing the sofa.
+
+"Sit on the sofa, Sisson," he said.
+
+The policeman lowered his charge, with a--
+
+"Right we are, then!"
+
+Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown. But
+he was watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and
+semi-conscious.
+
+"Do you feel ill, Sisson?" he said sharply.
+
+Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
+
+"I believe you are," said Lilly, taking his hand.
+
+"Might be a bit o' this flu, you know," said the policeman.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly. "Where is there a doctor?" he added, on reflection.
+
+"The nearest?" said the policeman. And he told him. "Leave a message for
+you, Sir?"
+
+Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
+
+"No, I'll run round myself if necessary," he said.
+
+And the policeman departed.
+
+"You'll go to bed, won't you?" said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was
+shut. Aaron shook his head sulkily.
+
+"I would if I were you. You can stay here till you're all right. I'm
+alone, so it doesn't matter."
+
+But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness. Lilly put the big kettle
+on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire. Then he hovered in
+front of the stupefied man. He felt uneasy. Again he took Aaron's hand
+and felt the pulse.
+
+"I'm sure you aren't well. You must go to bed," he said. And he kneeled
+and unfastened his visitor's boots. Meanwhile the kettle began to boil,
+he put a hot-water bottle into the bed.
+
+"Let us get your overcoat off," he said to the stupefied man. "Come
+along." And with coaxing and pulling and pushing he got off the overcoat
+and coat and waistcoat.
+
+At last Aaron was undressed and in bed. Lilly brought him tea. With
+a dim kind of obedience he took the cup and would drink. He looked at
+Lilly with heavy eyes.
+
+"I gave in, I gave in to her, else I should ha' been all right," he
+said.
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"I gave in to her--and afterwards I cried, thinking of Lottie and the
+children. I felt my heart break, you know. And that's what did it. I
+should have been all right if I hadn't given in to her--"
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"Josephine. I felt, the minute I was loving her, I'd done myself. And I
+had. Everything came back on me. If I hadn't given in to her, I should
+ha' kept all right."
+
+"Don't bother now. Get warm and still--"
+
+"I felt it--I felt it go, inside me, the minute I gave in to her. It's
+perhaps killed me."
+
+"No, not it. Never mind, be still. Be still, and you'll be all right in
+the morning."
+
+"It's my own fault, for giving in to her. If I'd kept myself back, my
+liver wouldn't have broken inside me, and I shouldn't have been sick.
+And I knew--"
+
+"Never mind now. Have you drunk your tea? Lie down. Lie down, and go to
+sleep."
+
+Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over. Then he
+thrust his hands under the bedclothes and felt his feet--still cold. He
+arranged the water bottle. Then he put another cover on the bed.
+
+Aaron lay still, rather grey and peaked-looking, in a stillness that was
+not healthy. For some time Lilly went about stealthily, glancing at his
+patient from time to time. Then he sat down to read.
+
+He was roused after a time by a moaning of troubled breathing and a
+fretful stirring in the bed. He went across. Aaron's eyes were open, and
+dark looking.
+
+"Have a little hot milk," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron shook his head faintly, not noticing.
+
+"A little Bovril?"
+
+The same faint shake.
+
+Then Lilly wrote a note for the doctor, went into the office on the same
+landing, and got a clerk, who would be leaving in a few minutes, to call
+with the note. When he came back he found Aaron still watching.
+
+"Are you here by yourself?" asked the sick man.
+
+"Yes. My wife's gone to Norway."
+
+"For good?"
+
+"No," laughed Lilly. "For a couple of months or so. She'll come back
+here: unless she joins me in Switzerland or somewhere."
+
+Aaron was still for a while.
+
+"You've not gone with her," he said at length.
+
+"To see her people? No, I don't think they want me very badly--and I
+didn't want very badly to go. Why should I? It's better for married
+people to be separated sometimes."
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, watching the other man with fever-darkened eyes.
+
+"I hate married people who are two in one--stuck together like two
+jujube lozenges," said Lilly.
+
+"Me an' all. I hate 'em myself," said Aaron.
+
+"Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place--men and
+women as well. They can come together, in the second place, if
+they like. But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone,
+intrinsically."
+
+"I'm with you there," said Aaron. "If I'd kep' myself to myself I
+shouldn't be bad now--though I'm not very bad. I s'll be all right in
+the morning. But I did myself in when I went with another woman. I felt
+myself go--as if the bile broke inside me, and I was sick."
+
+"Josephine seduced you?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Ay, right enough," replied Aaron grimly. "She won't be coming here,
+will she?"
+
+"Not unless I ask her."
+
+"You won't ask her, though?"
+
+"No, not if you don't want her."
+
+"I don't."
+
+The fever made Aaron naive and communicative, unlike himself. And he
+knew he was being unlike himself, he knew that he was not in proper
+control of himself, so he was unhappy, uneasy.
+
+"I'll stop here the night then, if you don't mind," he said.
+
+"You'll have to," said Lilly. "I've sent for the doctor. I believe
+you've got the flu."
+
+"Think I have?" said Aaron frightened.
+
+"Don't be scared," laughed Lilly.
+
+There was a long pause. Lilly stood at the window looking at the
+darkening market, beneath the street-lamps.
+
+"I s'll have to go to the hospital, if I have," came Aaron's voice.
+
+"No, if it's only going to be a week or a fortnight's business, you can
+stop here. I've nothing to do," said Lilly.
+
+"There's no occasion for you to saddle yourself with me," said Aaron
+dejectedly.
+
+"You can go to your hospital if you like--or back to your lodging--if
+you wish to," said Lilly. "You can make up your mind when you see how
+you are in the morning."
+
+"No use going back to my lodgings," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll send a telegram to your wife if you like," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron was silent, dead silent, for some time.
+
+"Nay," he said at length, in a decided voice. "Not if I die for it."
+
+Lilly remained still, and the other man lapsed into a sort of
+semi-sleep, motionless and abandoned. The darkness had fallen over
+London, and away below the lamps were white.
+
+Lilly lit the green-shaded reading lamp over the desk. Then he stood and
+looked at Aaron, who lay still, looking sick. Rather beautiful the bones
+of the countenance: but the skull too small for such a heavy jaw and
+rather coarse mouth. Aaron half-opened his eyes, and writhed feverishly,
+as if his limbs could not be in the right place. Lilly mended the fire,
+and sat down to write. Then he got up and went downstairs to unfasten
+the street door, so that the doctor could walk up. The business people
+had gone from their various holes, all the lower part of the tall house
+was in darkness.
+
+Lilly waited and waited. He boiled an egg and made himself toast. Aaron
+said he might eat the same. Lilly cooked another egg and took it to the
+sick man. Aaron looked at it and pushed it away with nausea. He would
+have some tea. So Lilly gave him tea.
+
+"Not much fun for you, doing this for somebody who is nothing to you,"
+said Aaron.
+
+"I shouldn't if you were unsympathetic to me," said Lilly. "As it is,
+it's happened so, and so we'll let be."
+
+"What time is it?"
+
+"Nearly eight o'clock."
+
+"Oh, my Lord, the opera."
+
+And Aaron got half out of bed. But as he sat on the bedside he knew he
+could not safely get to his feet. He remained a picture of dejection.
+
+"Perhaps we ought to let them know," said Lilly.
+
+But Aaron, blank with stupid misery, sat huddled there on the bedside
+without answering.
+
+"Ill run round with a note," said Lilly. "I suppose others have had flu,
+besides you. Lie down!"
+
+But Aaron stupidly and dejectedly sat huddled on the side of the bed,
+wearing old flannel pyjamas of Lilly's, rather small for him. He felt
+too sick to move.
+
+"Lie down! Lie down!" said Lilly. "And keep still while I'm gone. I
+shan't be more than ten minutes."
+
+"I don't care if I die," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly laughed.
+
+"You're a long way from dying," said he, "or you wouldn't say it."
+
+But Aaron only looked up at him with queer, far-off, haggard eyes,
+something like a criminal who is just being executed.
+
+"Lie down!" said Lilly, pushing him gently into the bed. "You won't
+improve yourself sitting there, anyhow."
+
+Aaron lay down, turned away, and was quite still. Lilly quietly left the
+room on his errand.
+
+The doctor did not come until ten o'clock: and worn out with work when
+he did come.
+
+"Isn't there a lift in this establishment?" he said, as he groped his
+way up the stone stairs. Lilly had heard him, and run down to meet him.
+
+The doctor poked the thermometer under Aaron's tongue and felt the
+pulse. Then he asked a few questions: listened to the heart and
+breathing.
+
+"Yes, it's the flu," he said curtly. "Nothing to do but to keep warm in
+bed and not move, and take plenty of milk and liquid nourishment. I'll
+come round in the morning and give you an injection. Lungs are all right
+so far."
+
+"How long shall I have to be in bed?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh--depends. A week at least."
+
+Aaron watched him sullenly--and hated him. Lilly laughed to himself. The
+sick man was like a dog that is ill but which growls from a deep corner,
+and will bite if you put your hand in. He was in a state of black
+depression.
+
+Lilly settled him down for the night, and himself went to bed. Aaron
+squirmed with heavy, pained limbs, the night through, and slept and had
+bad dreams. Lilly got up to give him drinks. The din in the market was
+terrific before dawn, and Aaron suffered bitterly.
+
+In the morning he was worse. The doctor gave him injections against
+pneumonia.
+
+"You wouldn't like me to wire to your wife?" said Lilly.
+
+"No," said Aaron abruptly. "You can send me to the hospital. I'm nothing
+but a piece of carrion."
+
+"Carrion!" said Lilly. "Why?"
+
+"I know it. I feel like it."
+
+"Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu."
+
+"I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of. I can't
+stand myself--"
+
+He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion.
+
+"It's the germ that makes you feel like that," said Lilly. "It poisons
+the system for a time. But you'll work it off."
+
+At evening he was no better, the fever was still high. Yet there were no
+complications--except that the heart was irregular.
+
+"The one thing I wonder," said Lilly, "is whether you hadn't better be
+moved out of the noise of the market. It's fearful for you in the early
+morning."
+
+"It makes no difference to me," said Aaron.
+
+The next day he was a little worse, if anything. The doctor knew there
+was nothing to be done. At evening he gave the patient a calomel pill.
+It was rather strong, and Aaron had a bad time. His burning, parched,
+poisoned inside was twisted and torn. Meanwhile carts banged, porters
+shouted, all the hell of the market went on outside, away down on the
+cobble setts. But this time the two men did not hear.
+
+"You'll feel better now," said Lilly, "after the operation."
+
+"It's done me harm," cried Aaron fretfully. "Send me to the hospital, or
+you'll repent it. Get rid of me in time."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly. "You get better. Damn it, you're only one among a
+million."
+
+Again over Aaron's face went the ghastly grimace of self-repulsion.
+
+"My soul's gone rotten," he said.
+
+"No," said Lilly. "Only toxin in the blood."
+
+Next day the patient seemed worse, and the heart more irregular. He
+rested badly. So far, Lilly had got a fair night's rest. Now Aaron was
+not sleeping, and he seemed to struggle in the bed.
+
+"Keep your courage up, man," said the doctor sharply. "You give way."
+
+Aaron looked at him blackly, and did not answer.
+
+In the night Lilly was up time after time. Aaron would slip down on his
+back, and go semi-conscious. And then he would awake, as if drowning,
+struggling to move, mentally shouting aloud, yet making no sound for
+some moments, mentally shouting in frenzy, but unable to stir or make a
+sound. When at last he got some sort of physical control he cried: "Lift
+me up! Lift me up!"
+
+Lilly hurried and lifted him up, and he sat panting with a sobbing
+motion, his eyes gloomy and terrified, more than ever like a criminal
+who is just being executed. He drank brandy, and was laid down on his
+side.
+
+"Don't let me lie on my back," he said, terrified. "No, I won't," said
+Lilly. Aaron frowned curiously on his nurse. "Mind you don't let me," he
+said, exacting and really terrified.
+
+"No, I won't let you."
+
+And now Lilly was continually crossing over and pulling Aaron on to his
+side, whenever he found him slipped down on his back.
+
+In the morning the doctor was puzzled. Probably it was the toxin in the
+blood which poisoned the heart. There was no pneumonia. And yet Aaron
+was clearly growing worse. The doctor agreed to send in a nurse for the
+coming night.
+
+"What's the matter with you, man!" he said sharply to his patient. "You
+give way! You give way! Can't you pull yourself together?"
+
+But Aaron only became more gloomily withheld, retracting from life.
+And Lilly began to be really troubled. He got a friend to sit with the
+patient in the afternoon, whilst he himself went out and arranged to
+sleep in Aaron's room, at his lodging.
+
+The next morning, when he came in, he found the patient lying as ever,
+in a sort of heap in the bed. Nurse had had to lift him up and hold him
+up again. And now Aaron lay in a sort of semi-stupor of fear, frustrated
+anger, misery and self-repulsion: a sort of interlocked depression.
+
+The doctor frowned when he came. He talked with the nurse, and wrote
+another prescription. Then he drew Lilly away to the door.
+
+"What's the matter with the fellow?" he said. "Can't you rouse his
+spirit? He seems to be sulking himself out of life. He'll drop out quite
+suddenly, you know, if he goes on like this. Can't you rouse him up?"
+
+"I think it depresses him partly that his bowels won't work. It
+frightens him. He's never been ill in his life before," said Lilly.
+
+"His bowels won't work if he lets all his spirit go, like an animal
+dying of the sulks," said the doctor impatiently. "He might go off quite
+suddenly--dead before you can turn round--"
+
+Lilly was properly troubled. Yet he did not quite know what to do. It
+was early afternoon, and the sun was shining into the room. There were
+daffodils and anemones in a jar, and freezias and violets. Down below in
+the market were two stalls of golden and blue flowers, gay.
+
+"The flowers are lovely in the spring sunshine," said Lilly. "I wish I
+were in the country, don't you? As soon as you are better we'll go. It's
+been a terrible cold, wet spring. But now it's going to be nice. Do you
+like being in the country?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+He was thinking of his garden. He loved it. Never in his life had he
+been away from a garden before.
+
+"Make haste and get better, and we'll go."
+
+"Where?" said Aaron.
+
+"Hampshire. Or Berkshire. Or perhaps you'd like to go home? Would you?"
+
+Aaron lay still, and did not answer.
+
+"Perhaps you want to, and you don't want to," said Lilly. "You can
+please yourself, anyhow."
+
+There was no getting anything definite out of the sick man--his soul
+seemed stuck, as if it would not move.
+
+Suddenly Lilly rose and went to the dressing-table.
+
+"I'm going to rub you with oil," he said. "I'm going to rub you as
+mothers do their babies whose bowels don't work."
+
+Aaron frowned slightly as he glanced at the dark, self-possessed face of
+the little man.
+
+"What's the good of that?" he said irritably. "I'd rather be left
+alone."
+
+"Then you won't be."
+
+Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to
+rub the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion,
+a sort of massage. For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily, then
+went over the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort of
+incantation. He rubbed every speck of the man's lower body--the abdomen,
+the buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed it all
+warm and glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing the toes
+swiftly, till he was almost exhausted. Then Aaron was covered up again,
+and Lilly sat down in fatigue to look at his patient.
+
+He saw a change. The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the
+faint trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face. Aaron was
+regaining himself. But Lilly said nothing. He watched his patient fall
+into a proper sleep.
+
+And he sat and watched him sleep. And he thought to himself: "I wonder
+why I do it. I wonder why I bother with him.... Jim ought to have taught
+me my lesson. As soon as this man's really better he'll punch me in the
+wind, metaphorically if not actually, for having interfered with him.
+And Tanny would say, he was quite right to do it. She says I want power
+over them. What if I do? They don't care how much power the mob has over
+them, the nation, Lloyd George and Northcliffe and the police and money.
+They'll yield themselves up to that sort of power quickly enough, and
+immolate themselves _pro bono publico_ by the million. And what's
+the bonum publicum but a mob power? Why can't they submit to a bit of
+healthy individual authority? The fool would die, without me: just as
+that fool Jim will die in hysterics one day. Why does he last so long!
+
+"Tanny's the same. She does nothing really but resist me: my authority,
+or my influence, or just ME. At the bottom of her heart she just blindly
+and persistently opposes me. God knows what it is she opposes: just me
+myself. She thinks I want her to submit to me. So I do, in a measure
+natural to our two selves. Somewhere, she ought to submit to me. But
+they all prefer to kick against the pricks. Not that THEY get many
+pricks. I get them. Damn them all, why don't I leave them alone? They
+only grin and feel triumphant when they've insulted one and punched one
+in the wind.
+
+"This Aaron will do just the same. I like him, and he ought to like me.
+And he'll be another Jim: he WILL like me, if he can knock the wind out
+of me. A lot of little Stavrogins coming up to whisper affectionately,
+and biting one's ear.
+
+"But anyhow I can soon see the last of this chap: and him the last of
+all the rest. I'll be damned for ever if I see their Jims and Roberts
+and Julias and Scotts any more. Let them dance round their insipid
+hell-broth. Thin tack it is.
+
+"There's a whole world besides this little gang of Europeans. Except,
+dear God, that they've exterminated all the peoples worth knowing. I
+can't do with folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs
+and orientals altogether. Only vermin teem by the billion. Higher types
+breed slower. I would have loved the Aztecs and the Red Indians. I KNOW
+they hold the element in life which I am looking for--they had living
+pride. Not like the flea-bitten Asiatics--even niggers are better than
+Asiatics, though they are wallowers--the American races--and the South
+Sea Islanders--the Marquesans, the Maori blood. That was the true blood.
+It wasn't frightened. All the rest are craven--Europeans, Asiatics,
+Africans--everyone at his own individual quick craven and cringing: only
+conceited in the mass, the mob. How I hate them: the mass-bullies, the
+individual Judases.
+
+"Well, if one will be a Jesus he must expect his Judas. That's why
+Abraham Lincoln gets shot. A Jesus makes a Judas inevitable. A man
+should remain himself, not try to spread himself over humanity. He
+should pivot himself on his own pride.
+
+"I suppose really I ought to have packed this Aaron off to the hospital.
+Instead of which here am I rubbing him with oil to rub the life into
+him. And I KNOW he'll bite me, like a warmed snake, the moment he
+recovers. And Tanny will say 'Quite right, too,' I shouldn't have been
+so intimate. No, I should have left it to mechanical doctors and nurses.
+
+"So I should. Everything to its own. And Aaron belongs to this little
+system, and Jim is waiting to be psychoanalysed, and Tanny is waiting
+for her own glorification.
+
+"All right, Aaron. Last time I break my bread for anybody, this is. So
+get better, my flautist, so that I can go away.
+
+"It was easy for the Red Indians and the Others to take their hook into
+death. They might have stayed a bit longer to help one to defy the white
+masses.
+
+"I'll make some tea--"
+
+Lilly rose softly and went across to the fire. He had to cross a landing
+to a sort of little lavatory, with a sink and a tap, for water. The
+clerks peeped out at him from an adjoining office and nodded. He nodded,
+and disappeared from their sight as quickly as possible, with his
+kettle. His dark eyes were quick, his dark hair was untidy, there was
+something silent and withheld about him. People could never approach him
+quite ordinarily.
+
+He put on the kettle, and quietly set cups and plates on a tray. The
+room was clean and cosy and pleasant. He did the cleaning himself, and
+was as efficient and inobtrusive a housewife as any woman. While the
+kettle boiled, he sat darning the socks which he had taken off Aaron's
+feet when the flautist arrived, and which he had washed. He preferred
+that no outsider should see him doing these things. Yet he preferred
+also to do them himself, so that he should be independent of outside
+aid.
+
+His face was dark and hollow, he seemed frail, sitting there in the
+London afternoon darning the black woollen socks. His full brow was
+knitted slightly, there was a tension. At the same time, there was an
+indomitable stillness about him, as it were in the atmosphere about him.
+His hands, though small, were not very thin. He bit off the wool as he
+finished his darn.
+
+As he was making the tea he saw Aaron rouse up in bed.
+
+"I've been to sleep. I feel better," said the patient, turning round to
+look what the other man was doing. And the sight of the water steaming
+in a jet from the teapot seemed attractive.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly. "You've slept for a good two hours."
+
+"I believe I have," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you like a little tea?"
+
+"Ay--and a bit of toast."
+
+"You're not supposed to have solid food. Let me take your temperature."
+
+The temperature was down to a hundred, and Lilly, in spite of the
+doctor, gave Aaron a piece of toast with his tea, enjoining him not to
+mention it to the nurse.
+
+In the evening the two men talked.
+
+"You do everything for yourself, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I prefer it."
+
+"You like living all alone?"
+
+"I don't know about that. I never have lived alone. Tanny and I have
+been very much alone in various countries: but that's two, not one."
+
+"You miss her then?"
+
+"Yes, of course. I missed her horribly in the cottage, when she'd first
+gone. I felt my heart was broken. But here, where we've never been
+together, I don't notice it so much."
+
+"She'll come back," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, she'll come back. But I'd rather meet her abroad than here--and
+get on a different footing."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. There's something with marriage altogether, I think.
+_Egoisme a deux_--"
+
+"What's that mean?"
+
+"_Egoisme a deux_? Two people, one egoism. Marriage is a self-conscious
+egoistic state, it seems to me."
+
+"You've got no children?" said Aaron.
+
+"No. Tanny wants children badly. I don't. I'm thankful we have none."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I can't quite say. I think of them as a burden. Besides, there ARE such
+millions and billions of children in the world. And we know well enough
+what sort of millions and billions of people they'll grow up into. I
+don't want to add my quota to the mass--it's against my instinct--"
+
+"Ay!" laughed Aaron, with a curt acquiescence.
+
+"Tanny's furious. But then, when a woman has got children, she thinks
+the world wags only for them and her. Nothing else. The whole world wags
+for the sake of the children--and their sacred mother."
+
+"Ay, that's DAMNED true," said Aaron.
+
+"And myself, I'm sick of the children stunt. Children are all right, so
+long as you just take them for what they are: young immature things like
+kittens and half-grown dogs, nuisances, sometimes very charming. But
+I'll be hanged if I can see anything high and holy about children. I
+should be sorry, too, it would be so bad for the children. Young brats,
+tiresome and amusing in turns."
+
+"When they don't give themselves airs," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, indeed. Which they do half the time. Sacred children, and sacred
+motherhood, I'm absolutely fed stiff by it. That's why I'm thankful I
+have no children. Tanny can't come it over me there."
+
+"It's a fact. When a woman's got her children, by God, she's a bitch
+in the manger. You can starve while she sits on the hay. It's useful to
+keep her pups warm."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why, you know," Aaron turned excitedly in the bed, "they look on a man
+as if he was nothing but an instrument to get and rear children. If you
+have anything to do with a woman, she thinks it's because you want to
+get children by her. And I'm damned if it is. I want my own pleasure, or
+nothing: and children be damned."
+
+"Ah, women--THEY must be loved, at any price!" said Lilly. "And if you
+just don't want to love them--and tell them so--what a crime."
+
+"A crime!" said Aaron. "They make a criminal of you. Them and their
+children be cursed. Is my life given me for nothing but to get children,
+and work to bring them up? See them all in hell first. They'd better die
+while they're children, if childhood's all that important."
+
+"I quite agree," said Lilly. "If childhood is more important than
+manhood, then why live to be a man at all? Why not remain an infant?"
+
+"Be damned and blasted to women and all their importances," cried Aaron.
+"They want to get you under, and children is their chief weapon."
+
+"Men have got to stand up to the fact that manhood is more than
+childhood--and then force women to admit it," said Lilly. "But the
+rotten whiners, they're all grovelling before a baby's napkin and a
+woman's petticoat."
+
+"It's a fact," said Aaron. But he glanced at Lilly oddly, as if
+suspiciously. And Lilly caught the look. But he continued:
+
+"And if they think you try to stand on your legs and walk with the feet
+of manhood, why, there isn't a blooming father and lover among them but
+will do his best to get you down and suffocate you--either with a baby's
+napkin or a woman's petticoat."
+
+Lilly's lips were curling; he was dark and bitter.
+
+"Ay, it is like that," said Aaron, rather subduedly.
+
+"The man's spirit has gone out of the world. Men can't move an inch
+unless they can grovel humbly at the end of the journey."
+
+"No," said Aaron, watching with keen, half-amused eyes.
+
+"That's why marriage wants readjusting--or extending--to get men on to
+their own legs once more, and to give them the adventure again. But men
+won't stick together and fight for it. Because once a woman has climbed
+up with her children, she'll find plenty of grovellers ready to support
+her and suffocate any defiant spirit. And women will sacrifice eleven
+men, fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers, for one baby--or for her
+own female self-conceit--"
+
+"She will that," said Aaron.
+
+"And can you find two men to stick together, without feeling criminal,
+and without cringing, and without betraying one another? You can't. One
+is sure to go fawning round some female, then they both enjoy giving
+each other away, and doing a new grovel before a woman again."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+After which Lilly was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X. THE WAR AGAIN
+
+
+"One is a fool," said Lilly, "to be lachrymose. The thing to do is to
+get a move on."
+
+Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile. The two men were sitting
+before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron convalescent,
+somewhat chastened in appearance.
+
+"Ay," he said rather sourly. "A move back to Guilford Street."
+
+"Oh, I meant to tell you," said Lilly. "I was reading an old Baden
+history. They made a law in 1528--not a law, but a regulation--that: if
+a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the said
+wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him. I thought that
+would please you. Does it?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron briefly.
+
+"They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter."
+
+"I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate," grinned
+Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no. You might quite like them here." But Lilly saw the white frown
+of determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
+
+"Wouldn't you?" he asked.
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"No," he said. And it was obvious he objected to the topic. "What are
+you going to do about your move on?"
+
+"Me!" said Lilly. "I'm going to sail away next week--or steam dirtily
+away on a tramp called the _Maud Allen Wing_."
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"London Dock. I fixed up my passage this morning for ten pounds. I am
+cook's assistant, signed on."
+
+Aaron looked at him with a little admiration.
+
+"You can take a sudden jump, can't you?" he said.
+
+"The difficulty is to refrain from jumping: overboard or anywhere."
+
+Aaron smoked his pipe slowly.
+
+"And what good will Malta do you?" he asked, envious.
+
+"Heaven knows. I shall cross to Syracuse, and move up Italy."
+
+"Sounds as if you were a millionaire."
+
+"I've got thirty-five pounds in all the world. But something will come
+along."
+
+"I've got more than that," said Aaron.
+
+"Good for you," replied Lilly.
+
+He rose and went to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and a basket of
+potatoes. He sat down again, paring the potatoes. His busy activity
+annoyed Aaron.
+
+"But what's the good of going to Malta? Shall YOU be any different in
+yourself, in another place? You'll be the same there as you are here."
+
+"How am I here?"
+
+"Why, you're all the time grinding yourself against something inside
+you. You're never free. You're never content. You never stop chafing."
+
+Lilly dipped his potato into the water, and cut out the eyes carefully.
+Then he cut it in two, and dropped it in the clean water of the second
+bowl. He had not expected this criticism.
+
+"Perhaps I don't," said he.
+
+"Then what's the use of going somewhere else? You won't change
+yourself."
+
+"I may in the end," said Lilly.
+
+"You'll be yourself, whether it's Malta or London," said Aaron.
+
+"There's a doom for me," laughed Lilly. The water on the fire was
+boiling. He rose and threw in salt, then dropped in the potatoes with
+little plops. "There there are lots of mes. I'm not only just one
+proposition. A new place brings out a new thing in a man. Otherwise
+you'd have stayed in your old place with your family."
+
+"The man in the middle of you doesn't change," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it so?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay. Every time."
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Nothing, as far as I can see. You get as much amusement out of life as
+possible, and there's the end of it."
+
+"All right then, I'll get the amusement."
+
+"Ay, all right then," said Aaron. "But there isn't anything wonderful
+about it. You talk as if you were doing something special. You aren't.
+You're no more than a man who drops into a pub for a drink, to liven
+himself up a bit. Only you give it a lot of names, and make out as if
+you were looking for the philosopher's stone, or something like that.
+When you're only killing time like the rest of folks, before time kills
+you."
+
+Lilly did not answer. It was not yet seven o'clock, but the sky was
+dark. Aaron sat in the firelight. Even the saucepan on the fire was
+silent. Darkness, silence, the firelight in the upper room, and the two
+men together.
+
+"It isn't quite true," said Lilly, leaning on the mantelpiece and
+staring down into the fire.
+
+"Where isn't it? You talk, and you make a man believe you've got
+something he hasn't got? But where is it, when it comes to? What have
+you got, more than me or Jim Bricknell! Only a bigger choice of words,
+it seems to me."
+
+Lilly was motionless and inscrutable like a shadow.
+
+"Does it, Aaron!" he said, in a colorless voice.
+
+"Yes. What else is there to it?" Aaron sounded testy.
+
+"Why," said Lilly at last, "there's something. I agree, it's true what
+you say about me. But there's a bit of something else. There's just a
+bit of something in me, I think, which ISN'T a man running into a pub
+for a drink--"
+
+"And what--?"
+
+The question fell into the twilight like a drop of water falling down a
+deep shaft into a well.
+
+"I think a man may come into possession of his own soul at last--as
+the Buddhists teach--but without ceasing to love, or even to hate. One
+loves, one hates--but somewhere beyond it all, one understands, and
+possesses one's soul in patience and in peace--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron slowly, "while you only stand and talk about it.
+But when you've got no chance to talk about it--and when you've got to
+live--you don't possess your soul, neither in patience nor in peace,
+but any devil that likes possesses you and does what it likes with you,
+while you fridge yourself and fray yourself out like a worn rag."
+
+"I don't care," said Lilly, "I'm learning to possess my soul in patience
+and in peace, and I know it. And it isn't a negative Nirvana either. And
+if Tanny possesses her own soul in patience and peace as well--and if in
+this we understand each other at last--then there we are, together
+and apart at the same time, and free of each other, and eternally
+inseparable. I have my Nirvana--and I have it all to myself. But more
+than that. It coincides with her Nirvana."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Aaron. "But I don't understand all that word-splitting."
+
+"I do, though. You learn to be quite alone, and possess your own soul
+in isolation--and at the same time, to be perfectly WITH someone
+else--that's all I ask."
+
+"Sort of sit on a mountain top, back to back with somebody else, like a
+couple of idols."
+
+"No--because it isn't a case of sitting--or a case of back to back. It's
+what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual fulfilment.
+And it never does away with the fighting and with the sensual passion.
+It flowers on top of them, and it would never flower save on top of
+them."
+
+"What wouldn't?"
+
+"The possessing one's own soul--and the being together with someone else
+in silence, beyond speech."
+
+"And you've got them?"
+
+"I've got a BIT of the real quietness inside me."
+
+"So has a dog on a mat."
+
+"So I believe, too."
+
+"Or a man in a pub."
+
+"Which I don't believe."
+
+"You prefer the dog?"
+
+"Maybe."
+
+There was silence for a few moments.
+
+"And I'm the man in the pub," said Aaron.
+
+"You aren't the dog on the mat, anyhow."
+
+"And you're the idol on the mountain top, worshipping yourself."
+
+"You talk to me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+"How do you talk to ME, do you think?"
+
+"How do I?"
+
+"Are the potatoes done?"
+
+Lilly turned quickly aside, and switched on the electric light.
+Everything changed. Aaron sat still before the fire, irritated. Lilly
+went about preparing the supper.
+
+The room was pleasant at night. Two tall, dark screens hid the two beds.
+In front, the piano was littered with music, the desk littered with
+papers. Lilly went out on to the landing, and set the chops to grill on
+the gas stove. Hastily he put a small table on the hearth-rug, spread it
+with a blue-and-white cloth, set plates and glasses. Aaron did not move.
+It was not his nature to concern himself with domestic matters--and
+Lilly did it best alone.
+
+The two men had an almost uncanny understanding of one another--like
+brothers. They came from the same district, from the same class. Each
+might have been born into the other's circumstance. Like brothers, there
+was a profound hostility between them. But hostility is not antipathy.
+
+Lilly's skilful housewifery always irritated Aaron: it was so
+self-sufficient. But most irritating of all was the little man's
+unconscious assumption of priority. Lilly was actually unaware that he
+assumed this quiet predominance over others. He mashed the potatoes, he
+heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked eggs into the
+milk pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid. But none of this
+detracted from the silent assurance with which he bore himself, and with
+which he seemed to domineer over his acquaintance.
+
+At last the meal was ready. Lilly drew the curtains, switched off the
+central light, put the green-shaded electric lamp on the table, and
+the two men drew up to the meal. It was good food, well cooked and hot.
+Certainly Lilly's hands were no longer clean: but it was clean dirt, as
+he said.
+
+Aaron sat in the low arm-chair at table. So his face was below, in the
+full light. Lilly sat high on a small chair, so that his face was in
+the green shadow. Aaron was handsome, and always had that peculiar
+well-dressed look of his type. Lilly was indifferent to his own
+appearance, and his collar was a rag.
+
+So the two men ate in silence. They had been together alone for a
+fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity. Aaron was well
+now--only he suffered from the depression and the sort of fear that
+follows influenza.
+
+"When are you going?" he asked irritably, looking up at Lilly, whose
+face hovered in that green shadow above, and worried him.
+
+"One day next week. They'll send me a telegram. Not later than
+Thursday."
+
+"You're looking forward to going?" The question was half bitter.
+
+"Yes. I want to get a new tune out of myself."
+
+"Had enough of this?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+A flush of anger came on Aaron's face.
+
+"You're easily on, and easily off," he said, rather insulting.
+
+"Am I?" said Lilly. "What makes you think so?"
+
+"Circumstances," replied Aaron sourly.
+
+To which there was no answer. The host cleared away the plates, and put
+the pudding on the table. He pushed the bowl to Aaron.
+
+"I suppose I shall never see you again, once you've gone," said Aaron.
+
+"It's your choice. I will leave you an address."
+
+After this, the pudding was eaten in silence.
+
+"Besides, Aaron," said Lilly, drinking his last sip of wine, "what do
+you care whether you see me again or not? What do you care whether
+you see anybody again or not? You want to be amused. And now you're
+irritated because you think I am not going to amuse you any more: and
+you don't know who is going to amuse you. I admit it's a dilemma. But
+it's a hedonistic dilemma of the commonest sort."
+
+"I don't know hedonistic. And supposing I am as you say--are you any
+different?"
+
+"No, I'm not very different. But I always persuade myself there's a bit
+of difference. Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me? She's
+had her lovers enough. 'There isn't any such thing as love, Lilly,' she
+said. 'Men are simply afraid to be alone. That is absolutely all there
+is in it: fear of being alone.'"
+
+"What by that?" said Aaron.
+
+"You agree?"
+
+"Yes, on the whole."
+
+"So do I--on the whole. And then I asked her what about woman. And then
+she said with a woman it wasn't fear, it was just boredom. A woman is
+like a violinist: any fiddle, any instrument rather than empty hands and
+no tune going."
+
+"Yes--what I said before: getting as much amusement out of life as
+possible," said Aaron.
+
+"You amuse me--and I'll amuse you."
+
+"Yes--just about that."
+
+"All right, Aaron," said Lilly. "I'm not going to amuse you, or try to
+amuse you any more."
+
+"Going to try somebody else; and Malta."
+
+"Malta, anyhow."
+
+"Oh, and somebody else--in the next five minutes."
+
+"Yes--that also."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron."
+
+With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes. Aaron sat alone under
+the zone of light, turning over a score of _Pelleas_. Though the noise
+of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep
+silence. Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
+
+Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the
+opera on his knee. He had not played since his illness. The noise came
+out a little tremulous, but low and sweet. Lilly came forward with a
+plate and a cloth in his hand.
+
+"Aaron's rod is putting forth again," he said, smiling.
+
+"What?" said Aaron, looking up.
+
+"I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again."
+
+"What rod?"
+
+"Your flute, for the moment."
+
+"It's got to put forth my bread and butter."
+
+"Is that all the buds it's going to have?"
+
+"What else!"
+
+"Nay--that's for you to show. What flowers do you imagine came out of
+the rod of Moses's brother?"
+
+"Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them."
+
+"Scarlet enough, I'll bet."
+
+Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music. Lilly finished the wiping of
+the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.
+
+"It's all one to you, then," said Aaron suddenly, "whether we ever see
+one another again?"
+
+"Not a bit," said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles. "I very much
+wish there might be something that held us together."
+
+"Then if you wish it, why isn't there?"
+
+"You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the
+joints."
+
+"Ay--I might. And it would be all the same."
+
+The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.
+
+"Oh, we shall run across one another again some time," said Aaron.
+
+"Sure," said Lilly. "More than that: I'll write you an address that will
+always find me. And when you write I will answer you."
+
+He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address. Aaron folded it and put
+it into his waistcoat pocket. It was an Italian address.
+
+"But how can I live in Italy?" he said. "You can shift about. I'm tied
+to a job."
+
+"You--with your budding rod, your flute--and your charm--you can always
+do as you like."
+
+"My what?"
+
+"Your flute and your charm."
+
+"What charm?"
+
+"Just your own. Don't pretend you don't know you've got it. I don't
+really like charm myself; too much of a trick about it. But whether or
+not, you've got it."
+
+"It's news to me."
+
+"Not it."
+
+"Fact, it is."
+
+"Ha! Somebody will always take a fancy to you. And you can live on that,
+as well as on anything else."
+
+"Why do you always speak so despisingly?"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?"
+
+"Have you any right to despise another man?"
+
+"When did it go by rights?"
+
+"No, not with you."
+
+"You answer me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+Again there was a space of silence. And again it was Aaron who at last
+broke it.
+
+"We're in different positions, you and me," he said.
+
+"How?"
+
+"You can live by your writing--but I've got to have a job."
+
+"Is that all?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay. And plenty. You've got the advantage of me."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly. "But why? I was a dirty-nosed little boy when
+you were a clean-nosed little boy. And I always had more patches on my
+breeches than you: neat patches, too, my poor mother! So what's the good
+of talking about advantages? You had the start. And at this very moment
+you could buy me up, lock, stock, and barrel. So don't feel hard done
+by. It's a lie."
+
+"You've got your freedom."
+
+"I make it and I take it."
+
+"Circumstances make it for you."
+
+"As you like."
+
+"You don't do a man justice," said Aaron.
+
+"Does a man care?"
+
+"He might."
+
+"Then he's no man."
+
+"Thanks again, old fellow."
+
+"Welcome," said Lilly, grimacing.
+
+Again Aaron looked at him, baffled, almost with hatred. Lilly grimaced
+at the blank wall opposite, and seemed to ruminate. Then he went back to
+his book. And no sooner had he forgotten Aaron, reading the fantasies of
+a certain Leo Frobenius, than Aaron must stride in again.
+
+"You can't say there isn't a difference between your position and mine,"
+he said pertinently.
+
+Lilly looked darkly over his spectacles.
+
+"No, by God," he said. "I should be in a poor way otherwise."
+
+"You can't say you haven't the advantage--your JOB gives you the
+advantage."
+
+"All right. Then leave it out with my job, and leave me alone."
+
+"That's your way of dodging it."
+
+"My dear Aaron, I agree with you perfectly. There is no difference
+between us, save the fictitious advantage given to me by my job. Save
+for my job--which is to write lies--Aaron and I are two identical little
+men in one and the same little boat. Shall we leave it at that, now?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "That's about it."
+
+"Let us shake hands on it--and go to bed, my dear chap. You are just
+recovering from influenza, and look paler than I like."
+
+"You mean you want to be rid of me," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I do mean that," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+And after a few minutes more staring at the score of _Pelleas_, he rose,
+put the score away on the piano, laid his flute beside it, and retired
+behind the screen. In silence, the strange dim noise of London sounding
+from below, Lilly read on about the Kabyles. His soul had the faculty of
+divesting itself of the moment, and seeking further, deeper interests.
+These old Africans! And Atlantis! Strange, strange wisdom of the
+Kabyles! Old, old dark Africa, and the world before the flood! How
+jealous Aaron seemed! The child of a jealous God. A jealous God! Could
+any race be anything but despicable, with such an antecedent?
+
+But no, persistent as a jealous God himself, Aaron reappeared in his
+pyjamas, and seated himself in his chair.
+
+"What is the difference then between you and me, Lilly?" he said.
+
+"Haven't we shaken hands on it--a difference of jobs."
+
+"You don't believe that, though, do you?"
+
+"Nay, now I reckon you're trespassing."
+
+"Why am I? I know you don't believe it."
+
+"What do I believe then?" said Lilly.
+
+"You believe you know something better than me--and that you are
+something better than me. Don't you?"
+
+"Do YOU believe it?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"That I AM something better than you, and that I KNOW something better?"
+
+"No, because I don't see it," said Aaron.
+
+"Then if you don't see it, it isn't there. So go to bed and sleep the
+sleep of the just and the convalescent. I am not to be badgered any
+more."
+
+"Am I badgering you?" said Aaron.
+
+"Indeed you are."
+
+"So I'm in the wrong again?"
+
+"Once more, my dear."
+
+"You're a God-Almighty in your way, you know."
+
+"So long as I'm not in anybody else's way--Anyhow, you'd be much better
+sleeping the sleep of the just. And I'm going out for a minute or two.
+Don't catch cold there with nothing on--
+
+"I want to catch the post," he added, rising.
+
+Aaron looked up at him quickly. But almost before there was time to
+speak, Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters, and
+gone.
+
+It was a rainy night. Lilly turned down King Street to walk to Charing
+Cross. He liked being out of doors. He liked to post his letters at
+Charing Cross post office. He did not want to talk to Aaron any more. He
+was glad to be alone.
+
+He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing
+blackly towards the sea. It had an endless fascination for him: never
+failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty. He liked the
+night, the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic. He enjoyed the
+sense of friction he got from the streaming of people who meant nothing
+to him. It was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting cattle.
+
+When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi standing
+outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping and hallooing.
+He hurried forward.
+
+It was a man called Herbertson.
+
+"Oh, why, there you are!" exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near. "Can
+I come up and have a chat?"
+
+"I've got that man who's had flu. I should think he is gone to bed."
+
+"Oh!" The disappointment was plain. "Well, look here I'll just come up
+for a couple of minutes." He laid his hand on Lilly's arm. "I heard you
+were going away. Where are you going?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Malta! Oh, I know Malta very well. Well now, it'll be all right if
+I come up for a minute? I'm not going to see much more of you,
+apparently." He turned quickly to the taxi. "What is it on the clock?"
+
+The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs. Aaron was in bed, but he
+called as Lilly entered the room.
+
+"Hullo!" said Lilly. "Not asleep? Captain Herbertson has come in for a
+minute."
+
+"Hope I shan't disturb you," said Captain Herbertson, laying down his
+stick and gloves, and his cap. He was in uniform. He was one of the
+few surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty-five,
+good-looking, getting rather stout. He settled himself in the chair
+where Aaron had sat, hitching up his trousers. The gold identity plate,
+with its gold chain, fell conspicuously over his wrist.
+
+"Been to 'Rosemary,'" he said. "Rotten play, you know--but passes the
+time awfully well. Oh, I quite enjoyed it."
+
+Lilly offered him Sauterne--the only thing in the house.
+
+"Oh, yes! How awfully nice! Yes, thanks, I shall love it. Can I have it
+with soda? Thanks! Do you know, I think that's the very best drink in
+the tropics: sweet white wine, with soda? Yes--well!-- Well--now, why
+are you going away?"
+
+"For a change," said Lilly.
+
+"You're quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all
+over. As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off. Malta! Yes! I've
+been in Malta several times. I think Valletta is quite enjoyable,
+particularly in winter, with the opera. Oh--er--how's your wife? All
+right? Yes!--glad to see her people again. Bound to be-- Oh, by the
+way, I met Jim Bricknell. Sends you a message hoping you'll go down and
+stay--down at Captain Bingham's place in Surrey, you know. Awfully queer
+lot down there. Not my sort, no. You won't go down? No, I shouldn't. Not
+the right sort of people."
+
+Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic. He had been through the very
+front hell of the war--and like every man who had, he had the war at the
+back of his mind, like an obsession. But in the meantime, he skirmished.
+
+"Yes. I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea-parties
+to the blind. Awful affair. But the children are awfully nice children.
+Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice. Prince Henry smart boy,
+too--oh, a smart boy. Queen Mary poured the tea, and I handed round
+bread and butter. She told me I made a very good waiter. I said,
+Thank you, Madam. But I like the children. Very different from
+the Battenbergs. Oh!--" he wrinkled his nose. "I can't stand the
+Battenbergs."
+
+"Mount Battens," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes! Awful mistake, changing the royal name. They were Guelfs, why not
+remain it? Why, I'll tell you what Battenberg did. He was in the Guards,
+too--"
+
+The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace and
+St. James.
+
+"Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria. Man named Joyce, something
+or other, often used to dine at the Palace. And he was an awfully good
+imitator--really clever, you know. Used to imitate the Queen. 'Mr.
+Joyce,' she said, 'I hear your imitation is very amusing. Will you do it
+for us now, and let us see what it is like?' 'Oh, no, Madam! I'm afraid
+I couldn't do it now. I'm afraid I'm not in the humour.' But she would
+have him do it. And it was really awfully funny. He had to do it. You
+know what he did. He used to take a table-napkin, and put it on with
+one corner over his forehead, and the rest hanging down behind, like
+her veil thing. And then he sent for the kettle-lid. He always had the
+kettle-lid, for that little crown of hers. And then he impersonated her.
+But he was awfully good--so clever. 'Mr. Joyce,' she said. 'We are not
+amused. Please leave the room.' Yes, that is exactly what she said: 'WE
+are not amused--please leave the room.' I like the WE, don't you? And he
+a man of sixty or so. However, he left the room and for a fortnight or
+so he wasn't invited--Wasn't she wonderful--Queen Victoria?"
+
+And so, by light transitions, to the Prince of Wales at the front, and
+thus into the trenches. And then Herbertson was on the subject he was
+obsessed by. He had come, unconsciously, for this and this only, to talk
+war to Lilly: or at Lilly. For the latter listened and watched, and said
+nothing. As a man at night helplessly takes a taxi to find some woman,
+some prostitute, Herbertson had almost unthinkingly got into a taxi and
+come battering at the door in Covent Garden, only to talk war to Lilly,
+whom he knew very little. But it was a driving instinct--to come and get
+it off his chest.
+
+And on and on he talked, over his wine and soda. He was not
+conceited--he was not showing off--far from it. It was the same thing
+here in this officer as it was with the privates, and the same with this
+Englishman as with a Frenchman or a German or an Italian. Lilly had sat
+in a cowshed listening to a youth in the north country: he had sat on
+the corn-straw that the oxen had been treading out, in Calabria, under
+the moon: he had sat in a farm-kitchen with a German prisoner: and every
+time it was the same thing, the same hot, blind, anguished voice of a
+man who has seen too much, experienced too much, and doesn't know where
+to turn. None of the glamour of returned heroes, none of the romance of
+war: only a hot, blind, mesmerised voice, going on and on, mesmerised by
+a vision that the soul cannot bear.
+
+In this officer, of course, there was a lightness and an appearance of
+bright diffidence and humour. But underneath it all was the same as in
+the common men of all the combatant nations: the hot, seared burn of
+unbearable experience, which did not heal nor cool, and whose irritation
+was not to be relieved. The experience gradually cooled on top: but only
+with a surface crust. The soul did not heal, did not recover.
+
+"I used to be awfully frightened," laughed Herbertson. "Now you say,
+Lilly, you'd never have stood it. But you would. You're nervous--and
+it was just the nervous ones that did stand it. When nearly all our
+officers were gone, we had a man come out--a man called Margeritson,
+from India--big merchant people out there. They all said he was no
+good--not a bit of good--nervous chap. No good at all. But when you
+had to get out of the trench and go for the Germans he was
+perfect--perfect--It all came to him then, at the crisis, and he was
+perfect.
+
+"Some things frighten one man, and some another. Now shells would never
+frighten me. But I couldn't stand bombs. You could tell the
+difference between our machines and the Germans. Ours was a steady
+noise--drrrrrrrr!--but their's was heavy, drrrrRURUrrrrRURU!-- My word,
+that got on my nerves....
+
+"No I was never hit. The nearest thing was when I was knocked down by an
+exploding shell--several times that--you know. When you shout like mad
+for the men to come and dig you out, under all the earth. And my word,
+you do feel frightened then." Herbertson laughed with a twinkling motion
+to Lilly. But between his brows there was a tension like madness.
+
+"And a funny thing you know--how you don't notice things. In--let me
+see--1916, the German guns were a lot better than ours. Ours were old,
+and when they're old you can't tell where they'll hit: whether they'll
+go beyond the mark, or whether they'll fall short. Well, this day our
+guns were firing short, and killing our own men. We'd had the order to
+charge, and were running forward, and I suddenly felt hot water spurting
+on my neck--" He put his hand to the back of his neck and glanced round
+apprehensively. "It was a chap called Innes--Oh, an awfully decent
+sort--people were in the Argentine. He'd been calling out to me as we
+were running, and I was just answering. When I felt this hot water on my
+neck and saw him running past me with no head--he'd got no head, and he
+went running past me. I don't know how far, but a long way.... Blood,
+you know--Yes--well--
+
+"Oh, I hated Chelsea--I loathed Chelsea--Chelsea was purgatory to me.
+I had a corporal called Wallace--he was a fine chap--oh, he was a
+fine chap--six foot two--and about twenty-four years old. He was my
+stand-back. Oh, I hated Chelsea, and parades, and drills. You know, when
+it's drill, and you're giving orders, you forget what order you've just
+given--in front of the Palace there the crowd don't notice--but it's
+AWFUL for you. And you know you daren't look round to see what the men
+are doing. But Wallace was splendid. He was just behind me, and I'd
+hear him, quite quiet you know, 'It's right wheel, sir.' Always perfect,
+always perfect--yes--well....
+
+"You know you don't get killed if you don't think you will. Now I never
+thought I should get killed. And I never knew a man get killed if he
+hadn't been thinking he would. I said to Wallace I'd rather be out here,
+at the front, than at Chelsea. I hated Chelsea--I can't tell you how
+much. 'Oh no, sir!' he said. 'I'd rather be at Chelsea than here. I'd
+rather be at Chelsea. There isn't hell like this at Chelsea.' We'd had
+orders that we were to go back to the real camp the next day. 'Never
+mind, Wallace,' I said. 'We shall be out of this hell-on-earth
+tomorrow.' And he took my hand. We weren't much for showing feeling
+or anything in the guards. But he took my hand. And we climbed out to
+charge--Poor fellow, he was killed--" Herbertson dropped his head, and
+for some moments seemed to go unconscious, as if struck. Then he lifted
+his face, and went on in the same animated chatty fashion: "You see, he
+had a presentiment. I'm sure he had a presentiment. None of the men got
+killed unless they had a presentiment--like that, you know...."
+
+Herbertson nodded keenly at Lilly, with his sharp, twinkling, yet
+obsessed eyes. Lilly wondered why he made the presentiment responsible
+for the death--which he obviously did--and not vice versa. Herbertson
+implied every time, that you'd never get killed if you could keep
+yourself from having a presentiment. Perhaps there was something in it.
+Perhaps the soul issues its own ticket of death, when it can stand no
+more. Surely life controls life: and not accident.
+
+"It's a funny thing what shock will do. We had a sergeant and he shouted
+to me. Both his feet were off--both his feet, clean at the ankle. I gave
+him morphia. You know officers aren't allowed to use the needle--might
+give the man blood poisoning. You give those tabloids. They say they act
+in a few minutes, but they DON'T. It's a quarter of an hour. And nothing
+is more demoralising than when you have a man, wounded, you know, and
+crying out. Well, this man I gave him the morphia before he got over the
+stunning, you know. So he didn't feel the pain. Well, they carried him
+in. I always used to like to look after my men. So I went next morning
+and I found he hadn't been removed to the Clearing Station. I got hold
+of the doctor and I said, 'Look here! Why hasn't this man been taken
+to the Clearing Station?' I used to get excited. But after some years
+they'd got used to me. 'Don't get excited, Herbertson, the man's dying.'
+'But,' I said, 'he's just been talking to me as strong as you are.' And
+he had--he'd talk as strong and well as you or me, then go quiet for
+a bit. I said I gave him the morphia before he came round from the
+stunning. So he'd felt nothing. But in two hours he was dead. The doctor
+says that the shock does it like that sometimes. You can do nothing
+for them. Nothing vital is injured--and yet the life is broken in them.
+Nothing can be done--funny thing--Must be something in the brain--"
+
+"It's obviously not the brain," said Lilly. "It's deeper than the
+brain."
+
+"Deeper," said Herbertson, nodding.
+
+"Funny thing where life is. We had a lieutenant. You know we all buried
+our own dead. Well, he looked as if he was asleep. Most of the chaps
+looked like that." Herbertson closed his eyes and laid his face aside,
+like a man asleep and dead peacefully. "You very rarely see a man dead
+with any other look on his face--you know the other look.--" And
+he clenched his teeth with a sudden, momentaneous, ghastly
+distortion.--"Well, you'd never have known this chap was dead. He had a
+wound here--in the back of the head--and a bit of blood on his hand--and
+nothing else, nothing. Well, I said we'd give him a decent burial. He
+lay there waiting--and they'd wrapped him in a filthy blanket--you know.
+Well, I said he should have a proper blanket. He'd been dead lying there
+a day and a half you know. So I went and got a blanket, a beautiful
+blanket, out of his private kit--his people were Scotch, well-known
+family--and I got the pins, you know, ready to pin him up properly, for
+the Scots Guards to bury him. And I thought he'd be stiff, you see. But
+when I took him by the arms, to lift him on, he sat up. It gave me an
+awful shock. 'Why he's alive!' I said. But they said he was dead. I
+couldn't believe it. It gave me an awful shock. He was as flexible as
+you or me, and looked as if he was asleep. You couldn't believe he was
+dead. But we pinned him up in his blanket. It was an awful shock to me.
+I couldn't believe a man could be like that after he'd been dead two
+days....
+
+"The Germans were wonderful with the machine guns--it's a wicked thing,
+a machine gun. But they couldn't touch us with the bayonet. Every time
+the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully good.
+You know when you thrust at the Germans--so--if you miss him, you bring
+your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt comes up and
+hits up under the jaw. It's one movement, following on with the stab,
+you see, if you miss him. It was too quick for them--But bayonet charge
+was worst, you know. Because your man cries out when you catch him, when
+you get him, you know. That's what does you....
+
+"No, oh no, this was no war like other wars. All the machinery of it.
+No, you couldn't stand it, but for the men. The men are wonderful, you
+know. They'll be wiped out.... No, it's your men who keep you going,
+if you're an officer.... But there'll never be another war like this.
+Because the Germans are the only people who could make a war like
+this--and I don't think they'll ever do it again, do you?
+
+"Oh, they were wonderful, the Germans. They were amazing. It was
+incredible, what they invented and did. We had to learn from them, in
+the first two years. But they were too methodical. That's why they lost
+the war. They were too methodical. They'd fire their guns every ten
+minutes--regular. Think of it. Of course we knew when to run, and when
+to lie down. You got so that you knew almost exactly what they'd do--if
+you'd been out long enough. And then you could time what you wanted to
+do yourselves.
+
+"They were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last. They sent up
+enough light at night from their trenches--you know, those things that
+burst in the air like electric light--we had none of that to do--they
+did it all for us--lit up everything. They were more nervous than we
+were...."
+
+It was nearly two o'clock when Herbertson left. Lilly, depressed,
+remained before the fire. Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to the
+fire.
+
+"It gives me the bellyache, that damned war," he said.
+
+"So it does me," said Lilly. "All unreal."
+
+"Real enough for those that had to go through it."
+
+"No, least of all for them," said Lilly sullenly. "Not as real as a bad
+dream. Why the hell don't they wake up and realise it!"
+
+"That's a fact," said Aaron. "They're hypnotised by it."
+
+"And they want to hypnotise me. And I won't be hypnotised. The war was a
+lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody busts it."
+
+"It was a fact--you can't bust that. You can't bust the fact that it
+happened."
+
+"Yes you can. It never happened. It never happened to me. No more than
+my dreams happen. My dreams don't happen: they only seem."
+
+"But the war did happen, right enough," smiled Aaron palely.
+
+"No, it didn't. Not to me or to any man, in his own self. It took place
+in the automatic sphere, like dreams do. But the ACTUAL MAN in every man
+was just absent--asleep--or drugged--inert--dream-logged. That's it."
+
+"You tell 'em so," said Aaron.
+
+"I do. But it's no good. Because they won't wake up now even--perhaps
+never. They'll all kill themselves in their sleep."
+
+"They wouldn't be any better if they did wake up and be themselves--that
+is, supposing they are asleep, which I can't see. They are what they
+are--and they're all alike--and never very different from what they are
+now."
+
+Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
+
+"Do you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?" he asked slowly.
+
+"I don't even want to believe in them."
+
+"But in yourself?" Lilly was almost wistful--and Aaron uneasy.
+
+"I don't know that I've any more right to believe in myself than in
+them," he replied. Lilly watched and pondered.
+
+"No," he said. "That's not true--I KNEW the war was false: humanly
+quite false. I always knew it was false. The Germans were false, we were
+false, everybody was false."
+
+"And not you?" asked Aaron shrewishly.
+
+"There was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war
+and all that horrible movement was false for me. And so I wasn't going
+to be dragged in. The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what
+they liked: I wouldn't have joined the WAR. I would like to kill my
+enemy. But become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the
+war, that I never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven
+mothers violated. But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more than
+one enemy. But not as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism. That never:
+no, never."
+
+Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement. Aaron made a fine nose. It
+seemed to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of a hole.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got men and nations, and you've got the
+machines of war--so how are you going to get out of it? League of
+Nations?"
+
+"Damn all leagues. Damn all masses and groups, anyhow. All I want is
+to get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm. The
+swarm to me is nightmare and nullity--horrible helpless writhing in
+a dream. I want to get myself awake, out of it all--all that
+mass-consciousness, all that mass-activity--it's the most horrible
+nightmare to me. No man is awake and himself. No man who was awake and
+in possession of himself would use poison gases: no man. His own awake
+self would scorn such a thing. It's only when the ghastly mob-sleep,
+the dream helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he becomes
+completely base and obscene."
+
+"Ha--well," said Aaron. "It's the wide-awake ones that invent the poison
+gas, and use it. Where should we be without it?"
+
+Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
+
+"Do you mean that, Aaron?" he said, looking into Aaron's face with a
+hard, inflexible look.
+
+Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
+
+"That's how it looks on the face of it, isn't it?" he said.
+
+"Look here, my friend, it's too late for you to be talking to me about
+the face of things. If that's how you feel, put your things on and
+follow Herbertson. Yes--go out of my room. I don't put up with the face
+of things here."
+
+Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
+
+"It'll do tomorrow morning, won't it?" he asked rather mocking.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly coldly. "But please go tomorrow morning."
+
+"Oh, I'll go all right," said Aaron. "Everybody's got to agree with
+you--that's your price."
+
+But Lilly did not answer. Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile
+under his nose. Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of
+affairs.
+
+As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once
+more to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
+
+"I'm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things. No,
+and I don't have friends who don't fundamentally agree with me. A friend
+means one who is at one with me in matters of life and death. And if
+you're at one with all the rest, then you're THEIR friend, not mine. So
+be their friend. And please leave me in the morning. You owe me
+nothing, you have nothing more to do with me. I have had enough of these
+friendships where I pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
+
+"Let me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than
+ever they won. A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual. Your heroic
+officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home. Bah, your
+Herbertson! The only justification for war is what we learn from it. And
+what have they learnt?--Why did so many of them have presentiments, as
+he called it? Because they could feel inside them, there was nothing
+to come after. There was no life-courage: only death-courage. Nothing
+beyond this hell--only death or love--languishing--"
+
+"What could they have seen, anyhow?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's not what you see, actually. It's the kind of spirit you keep
+inside you: the life spirit. When Wallace had presentiments, Herbertson,
+being officer, should have said: 'None of that, Wallace. You and I,
+we've got to live and make life smoke.'--Instead of which he let Wallace
+be killed and his own heart be broken. Always the death-choice-- And we
+won't, we simply will not face the world as we've made it, and our own
+souls as we find them, and take the responsibility. We'll never get
+anywhere till we stand up man to man and face EVERYTHING out, and
+break the old forms, but never let our own pride and courage of life be
+broken."
+
+Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed. Aaron turned over to sleep,
+rather resenting the sound of so many words. What difference did it
+make, anyhow? In the morning, however, when he saw the other man's pale,
+closed, rather haughty face, he realised that something _had_ happened.
+Lilly was courteous and even affable: but with a curious cold space
+between him and Aaron. Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew that he must
+leave. There was something in Lilly's bearing which just showed him the
+door. In some surprise and confusion, and in some anger, not unmingled
+with humorous irony, he put his things in his bag. He put on his hat and
+coat. Lilly was seated rather stiffly writing.
+
+"Well," said Aaron. "I suppose we shall meet again."
+
+"Oh, sure to," said Lilly, rising from his chair. "We are sure to run
+across one another."
+
+"When are you going?" asked Aaron.
+
+"In a few days' time."
+
+"Oh, well, I'll run in and see you before you go, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and then
+returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
+
+Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called. He took it rather
+as a slap in the face. But then he knew quite well that Lilly had made
+a certain call on his, Aaron's soul: a call which he, Aaron, did not
+at all intend to obey. If in return the soul-caller chose to shut his
+street-door in the face of the world-friend--well, let it be quits. He
+was not sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly enemy or not. He
+rather thought he did.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI. MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+
+
+The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a group
+of musical people in a village by the sea. He accepted, and spent a
+pleasant month. It pleased the young men musically-inclined and bohemian
+by profession to patronise the flautist, whom they declared marvellous.
+Bohemians with well-to-do parents, they could already afford to squander
+a little spasmodic and self-gratifying patronage. And Aaron did not mind
+being patronised. He had nothing else to do.
+
+But the party broke up early in September. The flautist was detained a
+few days at a country house, for the amusement of the guests. Then he
+left for London.
+
+In London he found himself at a loose end. A certain fretful dislike
+of the patronage of indifferent young men, younger than himself, and a
+certain distaste for regular work in the orchestra made him look round.
+He wanted something else. He wanted to disappear again. Qualms and
+emotions concerning his abandoned family overcame him. The early,
+delicate autumn affected him. He took a train to the Midlands.
+
+And again, just after dark, he strolled with his little bag across the
+field which lay at the end of his garden. It had been mown, and the
+grass was already growing long. He stood and looked at the line of back
+windows, lighted once more. He smelled the scents of autumn, phlox and
+moist old vegetation and corn in sheaf. A nostalgia which was half at
+least revulsion affected him. The place, the home, at once fascinated
+and revolted him.
+
+Sitting in his shed, he scrutinised his garden carefully, in the
+starlight. There were two rows of beans, rather disshevelled. Near at
+hand the marrow plants sprawled from their old bed. He could detect
+the perfume of a few carnations. He wondered who it was had planted
+the garden, during his long absence. Anyhow, there it was, planted and
+fruited and waning into autumn.
+
+The blind was not drawn. It was eight o'clock. The children were going
+to bed. Aaron waited in his shed, his bowels stirred with violent but
+only half-admitted emotions. There was his wife, slim and graceful,
+holding a little mug to the baby's mouth. And the baby was drinking. She
+looked lonely. Wild emotions attacked his heart. There was going to be a
+wild and emotional reconciliation.
+
+Was there? It seemed like something fearful and imminent. A passion
+arose in him, a craving for the violent emotional reconciliation. He
+waited impatiently for the children to be gone to bed, gnawed with
+restless desire.
+
+He heard the clock strike nine, then half-past, from the village behind.
+The children would be asleep. His wife was sitting sewing some little
+frock. He went lingering down the garden path, stooping to lift the
+fallen carnations, to see how they were. There were many flowers, but
+small. He broke one off, then threw it away. The golden rod was out.
+Even in the little lawn there were asters, as of old.
+
+His wife started to listen, hearing his step. He was filled with a
+violent conflict of tenderness, like a sickness. He hesitated, tapping
+at the door, and entered. His wife started to her feet, at bay.
+
+"What have you come for!" was her involuntary ejaculation.
+
+But he, with the familiar odd jerk of his head towards the garden, asked
+with a faint smile:
+
+"Who planted the garden?"
+
+And he felt himself dropping into the twang of the vernacular, which he
+had discarded.
+
+Lottie only stood and stared at him, objectively. She did not think
+to answer. He took his hat off, and put it on the dresser. Again the
+familiar act maddened her.
+
+"What have you come for?" she cried again, with a voice full of hate. Or
+perhaps it was fear and doubt and even hope as well. He heard only hate.
+
+This time he turned to look at her. The old dagger was drawn in her.
+
+"I wonder," he said, "myself."
+
+Then she recovered herself, and with trembling hand picked up her sewing
+again. But she still stood at bay, beyond the table. She said nothing.
+He, feeling tired, sat down on the chair nearest the door. But he
+reached for his hat, and kept it on his knee. She, as she stood there
+unnaturally, went on with her sewing. There was silence for some time.
+Curious sensations and emotions went through the man's frame seeming to
+destroy him. They were like electric shocks, which he felt she emitted
+against him. And an old sickness came in him again. He had forgotten
+it. It was the sickness of the unrecognised and incomprehensible strain
+between him and her.
+
+After a time she put down her sewing, and sat again in her chair.
+
+"Do you know how vilely you've treated me?" she said, staring across the
+space at him. He averted his face.
+
+Yet he answered, not without irony.
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"And why?" she cried. "I should like to know why."
+
+He did not answer. The way she rushed in made him go vague.
+
+"Justify yourself. Say why you've been so vile to me. Say what you had
+against me," she demanded.
+
+"What I HAD against her," he mused to himself: and he wondered that she
+used the past tense. He made no answer.
+
+"Accuse me," she insisted. "Say what I've done to make you treat me like
+this. Say it. You must THINK it hard enough."
+
+"Nay," he said. "I don't think it."
+
+This speech, by which he merely meant that he did not trouble to
+formulate any injuries he had against her, puzzled her.
+
+"Don't come pretending you love me, NOW. It's too late," she said with
+contempt. Yet perhaps also hope.
+
+"You might wait till I start pretending," he said.
+
+This enraged her.
+
+"You vile creature!" she exclaimed. "Go! What have you come for?"
+
+"To look at YOU," he said sarcastically.
+
+After a few minutes she began to cry, sobbing violently into her apron.
+And again his bowels stirred and boiled.
+
+"What have I done! What have I done! I don't know what I've done that he
+should be like this to me," she sobbed, into her apron. It was childish,
+and perhaps true. At least it was true from the childish part of her
+nature. He sat gloomy and uneasy.
+
+She took the apron from her tear-stained face, and looked at him. It
+was true, in her moments of roused exposure she was a beautiful woman--a
+beautiful woman. At this moment, with her flushed, tear-stained, wilful
+distress, she was beautiful.
+
+"Tell me," she challenged. "Tell me! Tell me what I've done. Tell me
+what you have against me. Tell me."
+
+Watching like a lynx, she saw the puzzled, hurt look in his face.
+Telling isn't so easy--especially when the trouble goes too deep for
+conscious comprehension. He couldn't _tell_ what he had against her. And
+he had not the slightest intention of doing what she would have liked
+him to do, starting to pile up detailed grievances. He knew the detailed
+grievances were nothing in themselves.
+
+"You CAN'T," she cried vindictively. "You CAN'T. You CAN'T find anything
+real to bring against me, though you'd like to. You'd like to be able
+to accuse me of something, but you CAN'T, because you know there isn't
+anything."
+
+She watched him, watched. And he sat in the chair near the door, without
+moving.
+
+"You're unnatural, that's what you are," she cried. "You're unnatural.
+You're not a man. You haven't got a man's feelings. You're nasty, and
+cold, and unnatural. And you're a coward. You're a coward. You run away
+from me, without telling me what you've got against me."
+
+"When you've had enough, you go away and you don't care what you do," he
+said, epigrammatic.
+
+She paused a moment.
+
+"Enough of what?" she said. "What have you had enough of? Of me and your
+children? It's a nice manly thing to say. Haven't I loved you? Haven't
+I loved you for twelve years, and worked and slaved for you and tried to
+keep you right? Heaven knows where you'd have been but for me, evil as
+you are at the bottom. You're evil, that's what it is--and weak. You're
+too weak to love a woman and give her what she wants: too weak. Unmanly
+and cowardly, he runs away."
+
+"No wonder," he said.
+
+"No," she cried. "It IS no wonder, with a nature like yours: weak and
+unnatural and evil. It IS no wonder."
+
+She became quiet--and then started to cry again, into her apron. Aaron
+waited. He felt physically weak.
+
+"And who knows what you've been doing all these months?" she wept. "Who
+knows all the vile things you've been doing? And you're the father of my
+children--the father of my little girls--and who knows what vile things
+he's guilty of, all these months?"
+
+"I shouldn't let my imagination run away with me," he answered. "I've
+been playing the flute in the orchestra of one of the theatres in
+London."
+
+"Ha!" she cried. "It's more than that. Don't think I'm going to believe
+you. I know you, with your smooth-sounding lies. You're a liar, as you
+know. And I know you've been doing other things besides play a flute
+in an orchestra. You!--as if I don't know you. And then coming crawling
+back to me with your lies and your pretense. Don't think I'm taken in."
+
+"I should be sorry," he said.
+
+"Coming crawling back to me, and expecting to be forgiven," she went on.
+"But no--I don't forgive--and I can't forgive--never--not as long as I
+live shall I forgive what you've done to me."
+
+"You can wait till you're asked, anyhow," he said.
+
+"And you can wait," she said. "And you shall wait." She took up her
+sewing, and stitched steadily, as if calmly. Anyone glancing in would
+have imagined a quiet domestic hearth at that moment. He, too, feeling
+physically weak, remained silent, feeling his soul absent from the
+scene.
+
+Again she suddenly burst into tears, weeping bitterly.
+
+"And the children," she sobbed, rocking herself with grief and chagrin.
+"What have I been able to say to the children--what have I been able to
+tell them?"
+
+"What HAVE you told them?" he asked coldly.
+
+"I told them you'd gone away to work," she sobbed, laying her head on
+her arms on the table. "What else could I tell them? I couldn't tell
+them the vile truth about their father. I couldn't tell THEM how evil
+you are." She sobbed and moaned.
+
+He wondered what exactly the vile truth would have been, had she
+_started_ to tell it. And he began to feel, coldly and cynically, that
+among all her distress there was a luxuriating in the violent emotions
+of the scene in hand, and the situation altogether.
+
+Then again she became quiet, and picked up her sewing. She stitched
+quietly, wistfully, for some time. Then she looked up at him--a long
+look of reproach, and sombre accusation, and wifely tenderness. He
+turned his face aside.
+
+"You know you've been wrong to me, don't you?" she said, half wistfully,
+half menacing.
+
+He felt her wistfulness and her menace tearing him in his bowels and
+loins.
+
+"You do know, don't you?" she insisted, still with the wistful appeal,
+and the veiled threat.
+
+"You do, or you would answer," she said. "You've still got enough that's
+right in you, for you to know."
+
+She waited. He sat still, as if drawn by hot wires.
+
+Then she slipped across to him, put her arms round him, sank on her
+knees at his side, and sank her face against his thigh.
+
+"Say you know how wrong you are. Say you know how cruel you've been to
+me," she pleaded. But under her female pleading and appeal he felt the
+iron of her threat.
+
+"You DO know it," she murmured, looking up into his face as she crouched
+by his knee. "You DO know it. I can see in your eyes that you know it.
+And why have you come back to me, if you don't know it! Why have you
+come back to me? Tell me!" Her arms gave him a sharp, compulsory little
+clutch round the waist. "Tell me! Tell me!" she murmured, with all her
+appeal liquid in her throat.
+
+But him, it half overcame, and at the same time, horrified. He had a
+certain horror of her. The strange liquid sound of her appeal seemed
+to him like the swaying of a serpent which mesmerises the fated,
+fluttering, helpless bird. She clasped her arms round him, she drew
+him to her, she half roused his passion. At the same time she coldly
+horrified and repelled him. He had not the faintest feeling, at the
+moment, of his own wrong. But she wanted to win his own self-betrayal
+out of him. He could see himself as the fascinated victim, falling to
+this cajoling, awful woman, the wife of his bosom. But as well, he had
+a soul outside himself, which looked on the whole scene with cold
+revulsion, and which was as unchangeable as time.
+
+"No," he said. "I don't feel wrong."
+
+"You DO!" she said, giving him a sharp, admonitory clutch. "You DO.
+Only you're silly, and obstinate, babyish and silly and obstinate. An
+obstinate little boy--you DO feel wrong. And you ARE wrong. And you've
+got to say it."
+
+But quietly he disengaged himself and got to his feet, his face pale and
+set, obstinate as she said. He put his hat on, and took his little bag.
+She watched him curiously, still crouching by his chair.
+
+"I'll go," he said, putting his hand on the latch.
+
+Suddenly she sprang to her feet and clutched him by the shirt-neck, her
+hand inside his soft collar, half strangling him.
+
+"You villain," she said, and her face was transfigured with passion as
+he had never seen it before, horrible. "You villain!" she said thickly.
+"What have you come here for?"
+
+His soul went black as he looked at her. He broke her hand away from his
+shirt collar, bursting the stud-holes. She recoiled in silence. And in
+one black, unconscious movement he was gone, down the garden and over
+the fence and across the country, swallowed in a black unconsciousness.
+
+She, realising, sank upon the hearth-rug and lay there curled upon
+herself. She was defeated. But she, too, would never yield. She lay
+quite motionless for some time. Then she got up, feeling the draught on
+the floor. She closed the door, and drew down the blind. Then she looked
+at her wrist, which he had gripped, and which pained her. Then she
+went to the mirror and looked for a long time at her white, strained,
+determined face. Come life, come death, she, too would never yield. And
+she realised now that he would never yield.
+
+She was faint with weariness, and would be glad to get to bed and sleep.
+
+Aaron meanwhile had walked across the country and was looking for a
+place to rest. He found a cornfield with a half-built stack, and sheaves
+in stook. Ten to one some tramp would have found the stack. He threw
+a dozen sheaves together and lay down, looking at the stars in the
+September sky. He, too, would never yield. The illusion of love was gone
+for ever. Love was a battle in which each party strove for the mastery
+of the other's soul. So far, man had yielded the mastery to woman. Now
+he was fighting for it back again. And too late, for the woman would
+never yield.
+
+But whether woman yielded or not, he would keep the mastery of his own
+soul and conscience and actions. He would never yield himself up to her
+judgment again. He would hold himself forever beyond her jurisdiction.
+
+Henceforth, life single, not life double.
+
+He looked at the sky, and thanked the universe for the blessedness
+of being alone in the universe. To be alone, to be oneself, not to be
+driven or violated into something which is not oneself, surely it is
+better than anything. He thought of Lottie, and knew how much more truly
+herself she was when she was alone, with no man to distort her. And he
+was thankful for the division between them. Such scenes as the last were
+too horrible and unreal.
+
+As for future unions, too soon to think about it. Let there be clean
+and pure division first, perfected singleness. That is the only way to
+final, living unison: through sheer, finished singleness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII. NOVARA
+
+
+Having no job for the autumn, Aaron fidgetted in London. He played at
+some concerts and some private shows. He was one of an odd quartette,
+for example, which went to play to Lady Artemis Hooper, when she lay
+in bed after her famous escapade of falling through the window of her
+taxi-cab. Aaron had that curious knack, which belongs to some people,
+of getting into the swim without knowing he was doing it. Lady Artemis
+thought his flute lovely, and had him again to play for her. Aaron
+looked at her and she at him. She, as she reclined there in bed in a
+sort of half-light, well made-up, smoking her cigarettes and talking in
+a rather raucous voice, making her slightly rasping witty comments
+to the other men in the room--of course there were other men, the
+audience--was a shock to the flautist. This was the bride of the moment!
+Curious how raucous her voice sounded out of the cigarette smoke. Yet
+he liked her--the reckless note of the modern, social freebooter. In
+himself was a touch of the same quality.
+
+"Do you love playing?" she asked him.
+
+"Yes," he said, with that shadow of irony which seemed like a smile on
+his face.
+
+"Live for it, so to speak," she said.
+
+"I make my living by it," he said.
+
+"But that's not really how you take it?" she said. He eyed her. She
+watched him over her cigarette. It was a personal moment.
+
+"I don't think about it," he said.
+
+"I'm sure you don't. You wouldn't be so good if you did. You're awfully
+lucky, you know, to be able to pour yourself down your flute."
+
+"You think I go down easy?" he laughed.
+
+"Ah!" she replied, flicking her cigarette broadcast. "That's the point.
+What should you say, Jimmy?" she turned to one of the men. He screwed
+his eyeglass nervously and stiffened himself to look at her.
+
+"I--I shouldn't like to say, off-hand," came the small-voiced,
+self-conscious answer. And Jimmy bridled himself and glanced at Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it a tight squeeze, then?" she said, turning to Aaron once
+more.
+
+"No, I can't say that," he answered. "What of me goes down goes down
+easy enough. It's what doesn't go down."
+
+"And how much is that?" she asked, eying him.
+
+"A good bit, maybe," he said.
+
+"Slops over, so to speak," she retorted sarcastically. "And which do you
+enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the lap of
+Mother Earth--of Miss, more probably!"
+
+"Depends," he said.
+
+Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left
+him to get off by himself.
+
+So he found London got on his nerves. He felt it rubbed him the wrong
+way. He was flattered, of course, by his own success--and felt at
+the same time irritated by it. This state of mind was by no means
+acceptable. Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly, the
+first place--or a place among the first. Among the musical people
+he frequented, he found himself on a callow kind of equality with
+everybody, even the stars and aristocrats, at one moment, and a
+backstairs outsider the next. It was all just as the moment demanded.
+There was a certain excitement in slithering up and down the social
+scale, one minute chatting in a personal tete-a-tete with the most
+famous, or notorious, of the society beauties: and the next walking in
+the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby lodging in Bloomsbury.
+Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm that lay at the bottom
+of his soul, and which burned there like an unhealthy bile.
+
+Therefore he determined to clear out--to disappear. He had a letter from
+Lilly, from Novara. Lilly was drifting about. Aaron wrote to Novara, and
+asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak of. "Come
+if you want to. Bring your flute. And if you've no money, put on a good
+suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside the best cafe in
+any Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get on with."
+
+It was a sporting chance. Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
+wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
+Franks'. He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London. But
+it didn't.
+
+Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a
+wet, dark evening. He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody. With some
+slight dismay he faced the big, crowded station. The stream of people
+carried him automatically through the barrier, a porter having seized
+his bag, and volleyed various unintelligible questions at him. Aaron
+understood not one word. So he just wandered after the blue blouse of
+the porter.
+
+The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired
+off more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space of
+darkness outside the station. Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he nodded
+and said "Yes." But there were no cabs. So once more the blue-bloused
+porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over his
+shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and a
+sort of theatre place.
+
+One carriage stood there in the rain--yes, and it was free.
+
+"Keb? Yes--orright--sir. Whe'to? Where you go? Sir William Franks? Yes,
+I know. Long way go--go long way. Sir William Franks."
+
+The cabman spattered his few words of English. Aaron gave the porter an
+English shilling. The porter let the coin lie in the middle of his palm,
+as if it were a live beetle, and darted to the light of the carriage to
+examine the beast, exclaiming volubly. The cabman, wild with interest,
+peered down from the box into the palm of the porter, and carried on an
+impassioned dialogue. Aaron stood with one foot on the step.
+
+"What you give--he? One franc?" asked the driver.
+
+"A shilling," said Aaron.
+
+"One sheeling. Yes. I know that. One sheeling English"--and the driver
+went off into impassioned exclamations in Torinese. The porter, still
+muttering and holding his hand as if the coin might sting him, filtered
+away.
+
+"Orright. He know--sheeling--orright. English moneys, eh? Yes, he know.
+You get up, sir."
+
+And away went Aaron, under the hood of the carriage, clattering down the
+wide darkness of Novara, over a bridge apparently, past huge rain-wet
+statues, and through more rainy, half-lit streets.
+
+They stopped at last outside a sort of park wall with trees above. The
+big gates were just beyond.
+
+"Sir William Franks--there." In a mixture of Italian and English the
+driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right. Aaron got
+down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.
+
+"How much?" said Aaron to the driver.
+
+"Ten franc," said the fat driver.
+
+But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink
+ten-shilling note. He waved it in his hand.
+
+"Not good, eh? Not good moneys?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, rather indignantly. "Good English money. Ten
+shillings. Better than ten francs, a good deal. Better--better--"
+
+"Good--you say? Ten sheeling--" The driver muttered and muttered, as
+if dissatisfied. But as a matter of fact he stowed the note in his
+waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron
+curiously, and drove away.
+
+Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished himself
+somewhere else. However, he rang the bell. There was a huge barking
+of dogs on the other side. Presently a light switched on, and a woman,
+followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-opened doorway.
+
+"Sir William Franks?" said Aaron.
+
+"Si, signore."
+
+And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate. Huge dogs jumped
+round. He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the
+park. The woman fastened the gate--Aaron saw a door--and through an
+uncurtained window a man writing at a desk--rather like the clerk in an
+hotel office. He was going with his two bags to the open door, when the
+woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian. It was evident
+he must not go on. So he put down the bags. The man stood a few yards
+away, watchfully.
+
+Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what
+she was saying, but could not. The dogs still barked spasmodically,
+drops fell from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.
+
+"Is Mr. Lilly here? Mr. Lilly?" he asked.
+
+"Signor Lillee. No, Signore--"
+
+And off the woman went in Italian. But it was evident Lilly was not at
+the house. Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had gone to
+an hotel.
+
+He made out that the woman was asking him for his name--"Meester--?
+Meester--?" she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.
+
+"Sisson. Mr. Sisson," said Aaron, who was becoming impatient. And he
+found a visiting card to give her. She seemed appeased--said something
+about telephone--and left him standing.
+
+The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high
+trees. Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk reach
+the telephone. There was a long pause. At length the woman came back
+and motioned to him to go up--up the drive which curved and disappeared
+under the dark trees.
+
+"Go up there?" said Aaron, pointing.
+
+That was evidently the intention. So he picked up his bags and strode
+forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive
+in the darkness. It was a steep incline. He saw trees and the grass
+slopes. There was a tang of snow in the air.
+
+Suddenly, up ahead, a brilliant light switched on. He continued uphill
+through the trees along the path, towards it, and at length, emerged
+at the foot of a great flight of steps, above which was a wide glass
+entrance, and an Italian manservant in white gloves hovering as if on
+the brink.
+
+Aaron emerged from the drive and climbed the steps. The manservant came
+down two steps and took the little bag. Then he ushered Aaron and the
+big bag into a large, pillared hall, with thick Turkish carpet on the
+floor, and handsome appointments. It was spacious, comfortable and warm;
+but somewhat pretentious; rather like the imposing hall into which the
+heroine suddenly enters on the film.
+
+Aaron dropped his heavy bag, with relief, and stood there, hat in hand,
+in his damp overcoat in the circle of light, looking vaguely at the
+yellow marble pillars, the gilded arches above, the shadowy distances
+and the great stairs. The butler disappeared--reappeared in another
+moment--and through an open doorway came the host. Sir William was a
+small, clean old man with a thin, white beard and a courtly deportment,
+wearing a black velvet dinner jacket faced with purple silk.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Sisson. You come straight from England?"
+
+Sir William held out his hand courteously and benevolently, smiling an
+old man's smile of hospitality.
+
+"Mr. Lilly has gone away?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes. He left us several days ago."
+
+Aaron hesitated.
+
+"You didn't expect me, then?"
+
+"Yes, oh, yes. Yes, oh, yes. Very glad to see you--well, now, come in
+and have some dinner--"
+
+At this moment Lady Franks appeared--short, rather plump, but erect and
+definite, in a black silk dress and pearls round her throat.
+
+"How do you do? We are just at dinner," she said. "You haven't eaten?
+No--well, then--would you like a bath now, or--?"
+
+It was evident the Franks had dispensed much hospitality: much of it
+charitable. Aaron felt it.
+
+"No," he said. "I'll wash my hands and come straight in, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps that would be better--"
+
+"I'm afraid I am a nuisance."
+
+"Not at all--Beppe--" and she gave instructions in Italian.
+
+Another footman appeared, and took the big bag. Aaron took the little
+one this time. They climbed the broad, turning stairs, crossed another
+handsome lounge, gilt and ormolu and yellow silk chairs and scattered
+copies of _The Graphic_ or of _Country Life_, then they disappeared
+through a doorway into a much narrower flight of stairs. Man can so
+rarely keep it up all the way, the grandeur.
+
+Two black and white chamber-maids appeared. Aaron found himself in a
+blue silk bedroom, and a footman unstrapping his bag, which he did not
+want unstrapped. Next minute he was beckoned and allured by the Italian
+servants down the corridor, and presented to the handsome, spacious
+bathroom, which was warm and creamy-coloured and glittering with massive
+silver and mysterious with up-to-date conveniences. There he was left to
+his own devices, and felt like a small boy finding out how it works. For
+even the mere turning on of the taps was a problem in silver mechanics.
+
+In spite of all the splendours and the elaborated convenience, he washed
+himself in good hot water, and wished he were having a bath, chiefly
+because of the wardrobe of marvellous Turkish towels. Then he clicked
+his way back to his bedroom, changed his shirt and combed his hair in
+the blue silk bedroom with the Greuze picture, and felt a little dim and
+superficial surprise. He had fallen into country house parties before,
+but never into quite such a plushy sense of riches. He felt he ought to
+have his breath taken away. But alas, the cinema has taken our breath
+away so often, investing us in all the splendours of the splendidest
+American millionaire, or all the heroics and marvels of the Somme or the
+North Pole, that life has now no magnate richer than we, no hero nobler
+than we have been, on the film. _Connu_! _Connu_! Everything life has to
+offer is known to us, couldn't be known better, from the film.
+
+So Aaron tied his tie in front of a big Venice mirror, and nothing was
+a surprise to him. He found a footman hovering to escort him to the
+dining-room--a real Italian footman, uneasy because milady's dinner was
+unsettled. He entered the rather small dining-room, and saw the people
+at table.
+
+He was told various names: bowed to a young, slim woman with big
+blue eyes and dark hair like a photograph, then to a smaller rather
+colourless young woman with a large nose: then to a stout, rubicund,
+bald colonel, and to a tall, thin, Oxford-looking major with a black
+patch over his eye--both these men in khaki: finally to a good-looking,
+well-nourished young man in a dinner-jacket, and he sat down to his
+soup, on his hostess' left hand. The colonel sat on her right, and was
+confidential. Little Sir William, with his hair and his beard white like
+spun glass, his manner very courteous and animated, the purple facings
+of his velvet jacket very impressive, sat at the far end of the table
+jesting with the ladies and showing his teeth in an old man's smile, a
+little bit affected, but pleasant, wishing everybody to be happy.
+
+Aaron ate his soup, trying to catch up. Milady's own confidential
+Italian butler, fidelity itself, hovered quivering near, spiritually
+helping the newcomer to catch up. Two nice little entree dishes,
+specially prepared for Aaron to take the place of the bygone fish and
+vol au-vents of the proper dinner, testified to the courtesy and charity
+of his hostess.
+
+Well, eating rapidly, he had more or less caught up by the time the
+sweets came. So he swallowed a glass of wine and looked round. His
+hostess with her pearls, and her diamond star in her grey hair, was
+speaking of Lilly and then of music to him.
+
+"I hear you are a musician. That's what I should have been if I had had
+my way."
+
+"What instrument?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the piano. Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says. I think the flute
+can be so attractive. But I feel, of course you have more range with the
+piano. I love the piano--and orchestra."
+
+At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her. But she
+came back in snatches. She was a woman who reminded him a little
+of Queen Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her
+attention always given to the successful issue of her duties, the
+remainder at the disposal of her guests. It was an old-fashioned, not
+unpleasant feeling: like retrospect. But she had beautiful, big, smooth
+emeralds and sapphires on her fingers. Money! What a curious thing it
+is! Aaron noticed the deference of all the guests at table: a touch of
+obsequiousness: before the money! And the host and hostess accepted the
+deference, nay, expected it, as their due. Yet both Sir William and Lady
+Franks knew that it was only money and success. They had both a certain
+afterthought, knowing dimly that the game was but a game, and that
+they were the helpless leaders in the game. They had a certain basic
+ordinariness which prevented their making any great hits, and which
+kept them disillusioned all the while. They remembered their poor and
+insignificant days.
+
+"And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden. We came
+back from London last week. I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much."
+
+"Which do you like best?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the Russian. I think _Ivan_. It is such fine music."
+
+"I find _Ivan_ artificial."
+
+"Do you? Oh, I don't think so. No, I don't think you can say that."
+
+Aaron wondered at her assurance. She seemed to put him just a tiny bit
+in his place, even in an opinion on music. Money gave her that right,
+too. Curious--the only authority left. And he deferred to her opinion:
+that is, to her money. He did it almost deliberately. Yes--what did he
+believe in, besides money? What does any man? He looked at the black
+patch over the major's eye. What had he given his eye for?--the nation's
+money. Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise we might be where
+the wretched Austrians are. Instead of which--how smooth his hostess'
+sapphires!
+
+"Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky," said Aaron. "I think he is a
+greater artist. But perhaps it is just personal preference."
+
+"Yes. _Boris_ is wonderful. Oh, some of the scenes in _Boris_!"
+
+"And even more _Kovantchina_," said Aaron. "I wish we could go back
+to melody pure and simple. Yet I find _Kovantchina_, which is all mass
+music practically, gives me more satisfaction than any other opera."
+
+"Do you really? I shouldn't say so: oh, no--but you can't mean that
+you would like all music to go back to melody pure and simple! Just a
+flute--just a pipe! Oh, Mr. Sisson, you are bigoted for your instrument.
+I just LIVE in harmony--chords, chords!" She struck imaginary chords on
+the white damask, and her sapphires swam blue. But at the same time she
+was watching to see if Sir William had still got beside his plate the
+white medicine _cachet_ which he must swallow at every meal. Because if
+so, she must remind him to swallow it. However, at that very moment,
+he put it on his tongue. So that she could turn her attention again to
+Aaron and the imaginary chord on the white damask; the thing she just
+lived in. But the rubicund bald colonel, more rubicund after wine, most
+rubicund now the Marsala was going, snatched her attention with a burly
+homage to her femininity, and shared his fear with her with a boyish
+gallantry.
+
+When the women had gone up, Sir William came near and put his hand on
+Aaron's shoulder. It was evident the charm was beginning to work. Sir
+William was a self-made man, and not in the least a snob. He liked the
+fundamental ordinariness in Aaron, the commonness of the common man.
+
+"Well now, Mr. Sisson, we are very glad to see you! Very glad, indeed. I
+count Mr. Lilly one of the most interesting men it has ever been my good
+fortune to know. And so for your own sake, and for Mr. Lilly's sake,
+we are very glad to see you. Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson some
+Marsala--and take some yourself."
+
+"Thank you, Sir," said the well-nourished young man in nice evening
+clothes. "You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?"
+
+"Yes, I will, I will. I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson. Major, where
+are you wandering off to? Come and take a glass with us, my boy."
+
+"Thanks, Sir William," drawled the young major with the black patch.
+
+"Now, Colonel--I hope you are in good health and spirits."
+
+"Never better, Sir William, never better."
+
+"I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed. Try my Marsala--I think it
+is quite good. Port is beyond us for the moment--for the moment--"
+
+And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again. He made quite a
+handsome picture: but he was frail.
+
+"And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson? Towards Rome?"
+
+"I came to meet Lilly," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah! But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time. Never was such a
+man for crossing frontiers. Wonderful person, to be able to do it."
+
+"Where has he gone?" said Aaron.
+
+"I think to Geneva for the moment. But he certainly talked of Venice.
+You yourself have no definite goal?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah! You have not come to Italy to practice your art?"
+
+"I shall HAVE to practice it: or else--no, I haven't come for that."
+
+"Ah, you will HAVE to practice it. Ah, yes! We are all under the
+necessity to eat. And you have a family in England? Am I not right?"
+
+"Quite. I've got a family depending on me."
+
+"Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art.
+Well--shall we join the ladies? Coffee will no doubt be served."
+
+"Will you take my arm, Sir?" said the well-nourished Arthur.
+
+"Thank you, thank you," the old man motioned him away.
+
+So they went upstairs to where the three women were sitting in the
+library round the fire, chattering not very interested. The entry of Sir
+William at once made a stir.
+
+The girl in white, with the biggish nose, fluttered round him. She was
+Arthur's wife. The girl in soft blue spread herself on the couch: she
+was the young Major's wife, and she had a blue band round her hair. The
+Colonel hovered stout and fidgetty round Lady Franks and the liqueur
+stand. He and the Major were both in khaki--belonging to the service on
+duty in Italy still.
+
+Coffee appeared--and Sir William doled out _creme de menthe_. There
+was no conversation--only tedious words. The little party was just
+commonplace and dull--boring. Yet Sir William, the self-made man, was a
+study. And the young, Oxford-like Major, with his English diffidence and
+his one dark, pensive, baffled eye was only waiting to be earnest, poor
+devil.
+
+The girl in white had been a sort of companion to Lady Franks, so that
+Arthur was more or less a son-in-law. In this capacity, he acted. Aaron
+strayed round uneasily looking at the books, bought but not read, and at
+the big pictures above. It was Arthur who fetched out the little boxes
+containing the orders conferred on Sir William for his war-work: and
+perhaps more, for the many thousands of pounds he had spent on his
+war-work.
+
+There were three orders: one British, and quite important, a large
+silver star for the breast: one Italian, smaller, and silver and gold;
+and one from the State of Ruritania, in silver and red-and-green enamel,
+smaller than the others.
+
+"Come now, William," said Lady Franks, "you must try them all on. You
+must try them all on together, and let us see how you look."
+
+The little, frail old man, with his strange old man's blue eyes and his
+old man's perpetual laugh, swelled out his chest and said:
+
+"What, am I to appear in all my vanities?" And he laughed shortly.
+
+"Of course you are. We want to see you," said the white girl.
+
+"Indeed we do! We shouldn't mind all appearing in such vanities--what,
+Lady Franks!" boomed the Colonel.
+
+"I should think not," replied his hostess. "When a man has honours
+conferred on him, it shows a poor spirit if he isn't proud of them."
+
+"Of course I am proud of them!" said Sir William. "Well then, come and
+have them pinned on. I think it's wonderful to have got so much in one
+life-time--wonderful," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, Sir William is a wonderful man," said the Colonel. "Well--we won't
+say so before him. But let us look at him in his orders."
+
+Arthur, always ready on these occasions, had taken the large and shining
+British star from its box, and drew near to Sir William, who stood
+swelling his chest, pleased, proud, and a little wistful.
+
+"This one first, Sir," said Arthur.
+
+Sir William stood very still, half tremulous, like a man undergoing an
+operation.
+
+"And it goes just here--the level of the heart. This is where it goes."
+And carefully he pinned the large, radiating ornament on the black
+velvet dinner-jacket of the old man.
+
+"That is the first--and very becoming," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, very becoming! Very becoming!" said the tall wife of the Major--she
+was a handsome young woman of the tall, frail type.
+
+"Do you think so, my dear?" said the old man, with his eternal smile:
+the curious smile of old people when they are dead.
+
+"Not only becoming, Sir," said the Major, bending his tall, slim figure
+forwards. "But a reassuring sign that a nation knows how to distinguish
+her valuable men."
+
+"Quite!" said Lady Franks. "I think it is a very great honour to have
+got it. The king was most gracious, too-- Now the other. That goes
+beside it--the Italian--"
+
+Sir William stood there undergoing the operation of the pinning-on. The
+Italian star being somewhat smaller than the British, there was a
+slight question as to where exactly it should be placed. However, Arthur
+decided it: and the old man stood before the company with his two stars
+on his breast.
+
+"And now the Ruritanian," said Lady Franks eagerly.
+
+"That doesn't go on the same level with the others, Lady Franks," said
+Arthur. "That goes much lower down--about here."
+
+"Are you sure?" said Lady Franks. "Doesn't it go more here?"
+
+"No no, no no, not at all. Here! Isn't it so, Sybil?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," said Sybil.
+
+Old Sir William stood quite silent, his breast prepared, peering over
+the facings of his coat to see where the star was going. The Colonel was
+called in, and though he knew nothing about it, he agreed with Arthur,
+who apparently did know something. So the star was pinned quite low
+down. Sir William, peeping down, exclaimed:
+
+"Well, that is most curious now! I wear an order over the pit of my
+stomach! I think that is very curious: a curious place to wear an
+order."
+
+"Stand up! Stand up and let us look!" said Lady Franks. "There now,
+isn't it handsome? And isn't it a great deal of honour for one man?
+Could he have expected so much, in one life-time? I call it wonderful.
+Come and look at yourself, dear"--and she led him to a mirror.
+
+"What's more, all thoroughly deserved," said Arthur.
+
+"I should think so," said the Colonel, fidgetting.
+
+"Ah, yes, nobody has deserved them better," cooed Sybil.
+
+"Nor on more humane and generous grounds," said the Major, _sotto voce._
+
+"The effort to save life, indeed," returned the Major's young wife:
+"splendid!"
+
+Sir William stood naively before the mirror and looked at his three
+stars on his black velvet dinner-jacket.
+
+"Almost directly over the pit of my stomach," he said. "I hope that is
+not a decoration for my greedy APPETITE." And he laughed at the young
+women.
+
+"I assure you it is in position, Sir," said Arthur. "Absolutely correct.
+I will read it out to you later."
+
+"Aren't you satisfied? Aren't you a proud man! Isn't it wonderful?" said
+Lady Franks. "Why, what more could a man want from life? He could never
+EXPECT so much."
+
+"Yes, my dear. I AM a proud man. Three countries have honoured me--"
+There was a little, breathless pause.
+
+"And not more than they ought to have done," said Sybil.
+
+"Well! Well! I shall have my head turned. Let me return to my own humble
+self. I am too much in the stars at the moment."
+
+Sir William turned to Arthur to have his decorations removed. Aaron,
+standing in the background, felt the whole scene strange, childish, a
+little touching. And Lady Franks was so obviously trying to _console_
+her husband: to console the frail, excitable old man with his honours.
+But why console him? Did he need consolation? And did she? It was
+evident that only the hard-money woman in her put any price on the
+decorations.
+
+Aaron came forward and examined the orders, one after the other. Just
+metal playthings of curious shiny silver and gilt and enamel. Heavy the
+British one--but only like some heavy buckle, a piece of metal merely
+when one turned it over. Somebody dropped the Italian cross, and there
+was a moment of horror. But the lump of metal took no hurt. Queer to see
+the things stowed in their boxes again. Aaron had always imagined these
+mysterious decorations as shining by nature on the breasts of heroes.
+Pinned-on pieces of metal were a considerable come-down.
+
+The orders were put away, the party sat round the fire in the
+comfortable library, the men sipping more _creme de menthe_, since
+nothing else offered, and the couple of hours in front promising the
+tedium of small-talk of tedious people who had really nothing to say and
+no particular originality in saying it.
+
+Aaron, however, had reckoned without his host. Sir William sat upright
+in his chair, with all the determination of a frail old man who insists
+on being level with the young. The new guest sat in a lower chair,
+smoking, that curious glimmer on his face which made him so attractive,
+and which only meant that he was looking on the whole scene from the
+outside, as it were, from beyond a fence. Sir William came almost
+directly to the attack.
+
+"And so, Mr. Sisson, you have no definite purpose in coming to Italy?"
+
+"No, none," said Aaron. "I wanted to join Lilly."
+
+"But when you had joined him--?"
+
+"Oh, nothing--stay here a time, in this country, if I could earn my
+keep."
+
+"Ah!--earn your keep? So you hope to earn your keep here? May I ask
+how?"
+
+"By my flute."
+
+"Italy is a poor country."
+
+"I don't want much."
+
+"You have a family to provide for."
+
+"They are provided for--for a couple of years."
+
+"Oh, indeed! Is that so?"
+
+The old man got out of Aaron the detailed account of his
+circumstances--how he had left so much money to be paid over to his
+wife, and had received only a small amount for himself.
+
+"I see you are like Lilly--you trust to Providence," said Sir William.
+
+"Providence or fate," said Aaron.
+
+"Lilly calls it Providence," said Sir William. "For my own part, I
+always advise Providence plus a banking account. I have every belief in
+Providence, plus a banking account. Providence and no banking account I
+have observed to be almost invariably fatal. Lilly and I have argued it.
+He believes in casting his bread upon the waters. I sincerely hope
+he won't have to cast himself after his bread, one of these days.
+Providence with a banking account. Believe in Providence once you have
+secured enough to live on. I should consider it disastrous to believe in
+Providence BEFORE. One can never be SURE of Providence."
+
+"What can you be sure of, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Well, in moderation, I can believe in a little hard cash, and in my own
+ability to earn a little hard cash."
+
+"Perhaps Lilly believes in his own ability, too."
+
+"No. Not so. Because he will never directly work to earn money. He
+works--and works quite well, I am told: but only as the spirit moves
+him, and never with any eye to the market. Now I call that TEMPTING
+Providence, myself. The spirit may move him in quite an opposite
+direction to the market--then where is Lilly? I have put it to him more
+than once."
+
+"The spirit generally does move him dead against the market," said
+Aaron. "But he manages to scrape along."
+
+"In a state of jeopardy: all the time in a state of jeopardy," said
+the old man. "His whole existence, and that of his wife, is completely
+precarious. I found, in my youth, the spirit moved me to various things
+which would have left me and my wife starving. So I realised in time,
+this was no good. I took my spirit in hand, therefore, and made him
+pull the cart which mankind is riding in. I harnessed him to the work of
+productive labour. And so he brought me my reward."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "But every man according to his belief."
+
+"I don't see," said Sir William, "how a man can BELIEVE in a Providence
+unless he sets himself definitely to the work of earning his daily
+bread, and making provision for future needs. That's what Providence
+means to me--making provision for oneself and one's family. Now, Mr.
+Lilly--and you yourself--you say you believe in a Providence that does
+NOT compel you to earn your daily bread, and make provision. I confess
+myself I cannot see it: and Lilly has never been able to convince me."
+
+"I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence," said Aaron, "and I don't
+believe Lilly does. But I believe in chance. I believe, if I go my own
+way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always throw something
+in my way: enough to get along with."
+
+"But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?"
+
+"I just feel like that."
+
+"And if you are ever quite without success--and nothing to fall back
+on?"
+
+"I can work at something."
+
+"In case of illness, for example?"
+
+"I can go to a hospital--or die."
+
+"Dear me! However, you are more logical than Lilly. He seems to believe
+that he has the Invisible--call it Providence if you will--on his side,
+and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch, or let him
+down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain, and NEVER
+works for his own ends. I don't quite see how he works. Certainly he
+seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent unworthily. Yet
+for some reason or other he calls this true, genuine activity, and has
+a contempt for actual work by which a man makes provision for his years
+and for his family. In the end, he will have to fall back on charity.
+But when I say so, he denies it, and says that in the end we, the men
+who work and make provision, will have to fall back on him. Well, all
+I can say is, that SO FAR he is in far greater danger of having to fall
+back on me, than I on him."
+
+The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph. But it
+smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in his
+life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
+
+"I don't suppose he will do much falling back," he said.
+
+"Well, he is young yet. You are both young. You are squandering your
+youth. I am an old man, and I see the end."
+
+"What end, Sir William?"
+
+"Charity--and poverty--and some not very congenial 'job,' as you call
+it, to put bread in your mouth. No, no, I would not like to trust myself
+to your Providence, or to your Chance. Though I admit your Chance is
+a sounder proposition than Lilly's Providence. You speculate with your
+life and your talent. I admit the nature which is a born speculator.
+After all, with your flute, you will speculate in other people's taste
+for luxury, as a man may speculate in theatres or _trains de luxe_. You
+are the speculator. That may be your way of wisdom. But Lilly does not
+even speculate. I cannot see his point. I cannot see his point. I cannot
+see his point. Yet I have the greatest admiration for his mentality."
+
+The old man had fired up during this conversation--and all the others
+in the room had gone silent. Lady Franks was palpably uneasy. She alone
+knew how frail the old man was--frailer by far than his years. She alone
+knew what fear of his own age, what fear of death haunted him now: fear
+of his own non-existence. His own old age was an agony to him; worse
+than an agony, a horror. He wanted to be young--to live, to live. And
+he was old, he was breaking up. The glistening youth of Aaron, the
+impetuousness of Lilly fascinated him. And both these men seemed calmly
+to contradict his own wealth and honours.
+
+Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of normal
+chit-chat. The Colonel was horribly bored--so were all the women--Arthur
+was indifferent. Only the young Major was implicated, troubled in his
+earnest and philosophic spirit.
+
+"What I can't see," he said, "is the place that others have in your
+scheme."
+
+"Is isn't a scheme," said Aaron.
+
+"Well then, your way of life. Isn't it pretty selfish, to marry a woman
+and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that always
+precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or in
+Chance: which I think worse? What I don't see is where others come in.
+What would the world be like if everybody lived that way?"
+
+"Other people can please themselves," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they can't--because you take first choice, it seems to me.
+Supposing your wife--or Lilly's wife--asks for security and for
+provision, as Sir William says. Surely she has a right to it."
+
+"If I've no right to it myself--and I HAVE no right to it, if I don't
+want it--then what right has she?"
+
+"Every right, I should say. All the more since you are improvident."
+
+"Then she must manage her rights for herself. It's no good her foisting
+her rights on to me."
+
+"Isn't that pure selfishness?"
+
+"It may be. I shall send my wife money as long as I've money to send."
+
+"And supposing you have none?"
+
+"Then I can't send it--and she must look out for herself."
+
+"I call that almost criminal selfishness."
+
+"I can't help it."
+
+The conversation with the young Major broke off.
+
+"It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr.
+Lilly are not common," said Sir William, laughing.
+
+"Becoming commoner every day, you'll find," interjaculated the Colonel.
+
+"Indeed! Indeed! Well. May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson? I
+hope you don't object to our catechism?"
+
+"No. Nor your judgment afterwards," said Aaron, grinning.
+
+"Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family? I know it is a
+tender subject. But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could
+see...."
+
+"There were no grounds," said Aaron. "No, there weren't I just left
+them."
+
+"Mere caprice?"
+
+"If it's a caprice to be begotten--and a caprice to be born--and a
+caprice to die--then that was a caprice, for it was the same."
+
+"Like birth or death? I don't follow."
+
+"It happened to me: as birth happened to me once--and death will happen.
+It was a sort of death, too: or a sort of birth. But as undeniable as
+either. And without any more grounds."
+
+The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.
+
+"A natural event," said Sir William.
+
+"A natural event," said Aaron.
+
+"Not that you loved any other woman?"
+
+"God save me from it."
+
+"You just left off loving?"
+
+"Not even that. I went away."
+
+"What from?"
+
+"From it all."
+
+"From the woman in particular?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Yes. Yes, that."
+
+"And you couldn't go back?"
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"Yet you can give no reasons?"
+
+"Not any reasons that would be any good. It wasn't a question of
+reasons. It was a question of her and me and what must be. What makes a
+child be born out of its mother to the pain and trouble of both of them?
+I don't know."
+
+"But that is a natural process."
+
+"So is this--or nothing."
+
+"No," interposed the Major. "Because birth is a universal process--and
+yours is a specific, almost unique event."
+
+"Well, unique or not, it so came about. I didn't ever leave off loving
+her--not as far as I know. I left her as I shall leave the earth when I
+die--because it has to be."
+
+"Do you know what I think it is, Mr. Sisson?" put in Lady Franks. "I
+think you are just in a wicked state of mind: just that. Mr. Lilly, too.
+And you must be very careful, or some great misfortune will happen to
+you."
+
+"It may," said Aaron.
+
+"And it will, mark my word, it will."
+
+"You almost wish it might, as a judgment on me," smiled Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no, indeed. I should only be too sorry. But I feel it will, unless
+you are careful."
+
+"I'll be careful, then."
+
+"Yes, and you can't be too careful."
+
+"You make me frightened."
+
+"I would like to make you very frightened indeed, so that you went back
+humbly to your wife and family."
+
+"It would HAVE to be a big fright then, I assure you."
+
+"Ah, you are really heartless. It makes me angry."
+
+She turned angrily aside.
+
+"Well, well! Well, well! Life! Life! Young men are a new thing to me!"
+said Sir William, shaking his head. "Well, well! What do you say to
+whiskey and soda, Colonel?"
+
+"Why, delighted, Sir William," said the Colonel, bouncing up.
+
+"A night-cap, and then we retire," said Lady Franks.
+
+Aaron sat thinking. He knew Sir William liked him: and that Lady Franks
+didn't. One day he might have to seek help from Sir William. So he had
+better placate milady. Wrinkling the fine, half mischievous smile on his
+face, and trading on his charm, he turned to his hostess.
+
+"You wouldn't mind, Lady Franks, if I said nasty things about my wife
+and found a lot of fault with her. What makes you angry is that I know
+it is not a bit more her fault than mine, that we come apart. It can't
+be helped."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed. I disapprove of your way of looking at things
+altogether. It seems to me altogether cold and unmanly and inhuman.
+Thank goodness my experience of a man has been different."
+
+"We can't all be alike, can we? And if I don't choose to let you see me
+crying, that doesn't prove I've never had a bad half hour, does it? I've
+had many--ay, and a many."
+
+"Then why are you so WRONG, so wrong in your behaviour?"
+
+"I suppose I've got to have my bout out: and when it's out, I can
+alter."
+
+"Then I hope you've almost had your bout out," she said.
+
+"So do I," said he, with a half-repentant, half-depressed look on his
+attractive face. The corners of his mouth grimaced slightly under his
+moustache.
+
+"The best thing you can do is to go straight back to England, and to
+her."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better ask her if she wants me, first," he said drily.
+
+"Yes, you might do that, too." And Lady Franks felt she was quite
+getting on with her work of reform, and the restoring of woman to her
+natural throne. Best not go too fast, either.
+
+"Say when," shouted the Colonel, who was manipulating the syphon.
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+The men stood up to their drinks.
+
+"Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Sisson?" asked Lady Franks.
+
+"May I stay till Monday morning?" said Aaron. They were at Saturday
+evening.
+
+"Certainly. And you will take breakfast in your room: we all do. At what
+time? Half past eight?"
+
+"Thank you very much."
+
+"Then at half past eight the man will bring it in. Goodnight."
+
+Once more in his blue silk bedroom, Aaron grimaced to himself and stood
+in the middle of the room grimacing. His hostess' admonitions were like
+vitriol in his ears. He looked out of the window. Through the darkness
+of trees, the lights of a city below. Italy! The air was cold with snow.
+He came back into his soft, warm room. Luxurious it was. And luxurious
+the deep, warm bed.
+
+He was still asleep when the man came noiselessly in with the tray: and
+it was morning. Aaron woke and sat up. He felt that the deep, warm bed,
+and the soft, warm room had made him sleep too well: robbed him of his
+night, like a narcotic. He preferred to be more uncomfortable and more
+aware of the flight of the dark hours. It seemed numbing.
+
+The footman in his grey house-jacket was neat and Italian and
+sympathising. He gave good-morning in Italian--then softly arranged the
+little table by the bedside, and put out the toast and coffee and butter
+and boiled egg and honey, with silver and delicate china. Aaron watched
+the soft, catlike motions of the man. The dark eyes glanced once at the
+blond man, leaning on his elbow on the pillow. Aaron's face had that
+watchful, half-amused expression. The man said something in Italian.
+Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said:
+
+"Tell me in English."
+
+The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with his
+hand.
+
+"Yes, do," said Aaron.
+
+So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting
+in bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further
+heaven great snowy mountains.
+
+"The Alps," he said in surprise.
+
+"Gli Alpi--si, signore." The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes, and
+silently retired.
+
+Aaron watched through the window. It was a frosty morning at the end
+of September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful,
+snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting.
+There they were, hovering round, circling, waiting. They reminded him
+of marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the
+red-roofed city. Aaron looked, and looked again. In the near distance,
+under the house elm-tree tops were yellowing. He felt himself changing
+inside his skin.
+
+So he turned away to his coffee and eggs. A little silver egg-cup with a
+curious little frill round it: honey in a frail, iridescent glass bowl,
+gold-iridescent: the charm of delicate and fine things. He smiled half
+mockingly to himself. Two instincts played in him: the one, an instinct
+for fine, delicate things: he had attractive hands; the other, an
+inclination to throw the dainty little table with all its niceties out
+of the window. It evoked a sort of devil in him.
+
+He took his bath: the man had brought back his things: he dressed and
+went downstairs. No one in the lounge: he went down to the ground floor:
+no one in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and its gold
+arches, its enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet. He stood before the great
+glass doors. Some red flowers still were blooming in the tubs, on the
+steps, handsome: and beautiful chrysanthemums in the wide portico.
+Beyond, yellow leaves were already falling on the green grass and the
+neat drive. Everywhere was silent and empty. He climbed the wide stairs,
+sat in the long, upper lounge where the papers were. He wanted his hat
+and coat, and did not know where to find them. The windows looked on to
+a terraced garden, the hill rising steeply behind the house. He wanted
+to go out.
+
+So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five or
+six manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven, neat,
+with neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather brooms, and
+all frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys. They were all
+of the same neat, smallish size. They were all laughing. They rolled
+back a great rug as if it were some football game, one flew at the
+curtains. And they merely looked at Aaron and went on chattering, and
+laughing and dusting.
+
+Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a
+moment looking out. The noise went on behind him. So he turned, smiling,
+and asked for his hat, pointing to his head. They knew at once what he
+wanted. One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to the hall and to
+the long cupboard place where hats and coats and sticks were hung. There
+was his hat; he put it on, while the man chattered to him pleasantly and
+unintelligibly, and opened for him the back door, into the garden.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII. WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+
+
+The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house. So
+Aaron found it. He felt himself dashing up the steps into the garden
+like a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught: that warm
+and luxurious house. Heaven bless us, we who want to save civilisation.
+We had better make up our minds what of it we want to save. The kernel
+may be all well and good. But there is precious little kernel, to a lot
+of woolly stuffing and poisonous rind.
+
+The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
+war-neglected. But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air, the
+flowers showed their colour beside the walks. Many birds dashed
+about, rather bewildered, having crossed the Alps in their migration
+southwards. Aaron noted with gratification a certain big magnificence,
+a certain reckless powerfulness in the still-blossoming, harsh-coloured,
+autumn flowers. Distinct satisfaction he derived from it.
+
+He wandered upwards, up the succeeding flights of step; till he came
+to the upper rough hedge, and saw the wild copse on the hill-crest just
+above. Passing through a space in the hedge, he climbed the steep last
+bit of Sir William's lane. It was a little vineyard, with small vines
+and yellowing leaves. Everywhere the place looked neglected--but as if
+man had just begun to tackle it once more.
+
+At the very top, by the wild hedge where spindle-berries hung pink,
+seats were placed, and from here the view was very beautiful. The hill
+dropped steep beneath him. A river wound on the near side of the city,
+crossed by a white bridge. The city lay close clustered, ruddy on the
+plains, glittering in the clear air with its flat roofs and domes and
+square towers, strangely naked-seeming in the clear, clean air. And
+massive in the further nearness, snow-streaked mountains, the tiger-like
+Alps. Tigers prowling between the north and the south. And this
+beautiful city lying nearest exposed. The snow-wind brushed her this
+morning like the icy whiskers of a tiger. And clear in the light lay
+Novara, wide, fearless, violent Novara. Beautiful the perfect air, the
+perfect and unblemished Alp-sky. And like the first southern flower,
+Novara.
+
+Aaron sat watching in silence. Only the uneasy birds rustled. He watched
+the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent Alps. He
+was on the south side. On the other side of the time barrier. His old,
+sleepy English nature was startled in its sleep. He felt like a man who
+knows it is time to wake up, and who doesn't want to wake up, to face
+the responsibility of another sort of day.
+
+To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility. Wake
+up and enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself. Ach, the
+horror of responsibility! He had all his life slept and shelved the
+burden. And he wanted to go on sleeping. It was so hateful to have
+to get a new grip on his own bowels, a new hard recklessness into his
+heart, a new and responsible consciousness into his mind and soul. He
+felt some finger prodding, prodding, prodding him awake out of the sleep
+of pathos and tragedy and spasmodic passion, and he wriggled, unwilling,
+oh, most unwilling to undertake the new business.
+
+In fact he ran away again. He gave a last look at the town and its
+white-fanged mountains, and descended through the garden, round the way
+of the kitchen garden and garage and stables and pecking chickens, back
+to the house again. In the hall still no one. He went upstairs to the
+long lounge. There sat the rubicund, bald, boy-like Colonel reading the
+_Graphic_. Aaron sat down opposite him, and made a feeble attempt at
+conversation. But the Colonel wasn't having any. It was evident he
+didn't care for the fellow--Mr. Aaron, that is. Aaron therefore dried
+up, and began to sit him out, with the aid of _The Queen_. Came a
+servant, however, and said that the Signor Colonello was called up from
+the hospital, on the telephone. The Colonel once departed, Aaron fled
+again, this time out of the front doors, and down the steep little park
+to the gates.
+
+Huge dogs and little dogs came bounding forward. Out of the lodge came
+the woman with the keys, smiling very pleasantly this morning. So, he
+was in the street. The wide road led him inevitably to the big bridge,
+with the violent, physical stone statue-groups. Men and women were
+moving about, and he noticed for the first time the littleness and
+the momentaneousness of the Italians in the street. Perhaps it was the
+wideness of the bridge and the subsequent big, open boulevard. But there
+it was: the people seemed little, upright brisk figures moving in a
+certain isolation, like tiny figures on a big stage. And he felt himself
+moving in the space between. All the northern cosiness gone. He was set
+down with a space round him.
+
+Little trams flitted down the boulevard in the bright, sweet light. The
+barbers' shops were all busy, half the Novarese at that moment ambushed
+in lather, full in the public gaze. A shave is nothing if not a public
+act, in the south. At the little outdoor tables of the cafes a very few
+drinkers sat before empty coffee-cups. Most of the shops were shut. It
+was too soon after the war for life to be flowing very fast. The feeling
+of emptiness, of neglect, of lack of supplies was evident everywhere.
+
+Aaron strolled on, surprised himself at his gallant feeling of liberty:
+a feeling of bravado and almost swaggering carelessness which is Italy's
+best gift to an Englishman. He had crossed the dividing line, and
+the values of life, though ostensibly and verbally the same, were
+dynamically different. Alas, however, the verbal and the ostensible,
+the accursed mechanical ideal gains day by day over the spontaneous
+life-dynamic, so that Italy becomes as idea-bound and as automatic as
+England: just a business proposition.
+
+Coming to the station, he went inside. There he saw a money-changing
+window which was open, so he planked down a five-pound note and got
+two-hundred-and-ten lire. Here was a start. At a bookstall he saw a
+man buy a big timetable with a large railway map in it. He immediately
+bought the same. Then he retired to a corner to get his whereabouts.
+
+In the morning he must move: where? He looked on the map. The map seemed
+to offer two alternatives, Milan and Genoa. He chose Milan, because of
+its musical associations and its cathedral. Milano then. Strolling and
+still strolling, he found the boards announcing Arrivals and Departures.
+As far as he could make out, the train for Milan left at 9:00 in the
+morning.
+
+So much achieved, he left the big desolating caravanserai of the
+station. Soldiers were camped in every corner, lying in heaps asleep.
+In their grey-green uniform, he was surprised at their sturdy limbs and
+uniformly short stature. For the first time, he saw the cock-feathers
+of the Bersaglieri. There seemed a new life-quality everywhere. Many
+worlds, not one world. But alas, the one world triumphing more and
+more over the many worlds, the big oneness swallowing up the many
+small diversities in its insatiable gnawing appetite, leaving a dreary
+sameness throughout the world, that means at last complete sterility.
+
+Aaron, however, was too new to the strangeness, he had no eye for the
+horrible sameness that was spreading like a disease over Italy from
+England and the north. He plunged into the space in front of the
+station, and took a new, wide boulevard. To his surprise he ran towards
+a big and over-animated statue that stood resolutely with its back to
+the magnificent snow-domes of the wild Alps. Wolves in the street
+could not have startled him more than those magnificent fierce-gleaming
+mountains of snow at the street-end, beyond the statue. He stood and
+wondered, and never thought to look who the gentleman was. Then he
+turned right round, and began to walk home.
+
+Luncheon was at one o'clock. It was half-past twelve when he rang at
+the lodge gates. He climbed through the leaves of the little park, on a
+side-path, rather reluctantly towards the house. In the hall Lady Franks
+was discussing with Arthur a fat Pekinese who did not seem very well.
+She was sure the servants did not obey her orders concerning the
+Pekinese bitch. Arthur, who was more than indifferent, assured her they
+did. But she seemed to think that the whole of the male human race was
+in league against the miserable specimen of a she-dog. She almost cried,
+thinking her Queenie _might_ by some chance meet with, perhaps, a harsh
+word or look. Queenie apparently fattened on the secret detestation of
+the male human species.
+
+"I can't bear to think that a dumb creature might be ill-treated," she
+said to Aaron. "Thank goodness the Italians are better than they used to
+be."
+
+"Are they better than they used to be?"
+
+"Oh, much. They have learnt it from us."
+
+She then enquired if her guest had slept, and if he were rested from
+his journey. Aaron, into whose face the faint snow-wind and the sun had
+brought a glow, replied that he had slept well and enjoyed the morning,
+thank you. Whereupon Lady Franks knitted her brows and said Sir William
+had had such a bad night. He had not been able to sleep, and had got
+up and walked about the room. The least excitement, and she dreaded a
+break-down. He must have absolute calm and restfulness.
+
+"There's one for you and your jawing last night, Aaron, my boy!" said
+our hero to himself.
+
+"I thought Sir William seemed so full of life and energy," he said,
+aloud.
+
+"Ah, did you! No, he WANTS to be. But he can't do it. He's very much
+upset this morning. I have been very anxious about him."
+
+"I am sorry to hear that."
+
+Lady Franks departed to some duty. Aaron sat alone before the fire.
+It was a huge fireplace, like a dark chamber shut in by tall,
+finely-wrought iron gates. Behind these iron gates of curly iron the
+logs burned and flickered like leopards slumbering and lifting their
+heads within their cage. Aaron wondered who was the keeper of the savage
+element, who it was that would open the iron grille and throw on another
+log, like meat to the lions. To be sure the fire was only to be looked
+at: like wild beasts in the Zoo. For the house was warm from roof to
+floor. It was strange to see the blue air of sunlight outside, the
+yellow-edged leaves falling in the wind, the red flowers shaking.
+
+The gong sounded softly through the house. The Colonel came in heartily
+from the garden, but did not speak to Aaron. The Major and his wife
+came pallid down the stairs. Lady Franks appeared, talking
+domestic-secretarial business with the wife of Arthur. Arthur,
+well-nourished and half at home, called down the stairs. And then Sir
+William descended, old and frail now in the morning, shaken: still he
+approached Aaron heartily, and asked him how he did, and how he had
+spent his morning. The old man who had made a fortune: how he expected
+homage: and how he got it! Homage, like most things, is just a
+convention and a social trick. Aaron found himself paying homage, too,
+to the old man who had made a fortune. But also, exacting a certain
+deference in return, from the old man who had made a fortune. Getting
+it, too. On what grounds? Youth, maybe. But mostly, scorn for fortunes
+and fortune-making. Did he scorn fortunes and fortune-making? Not he,
+otherwise whence this homage for the old man with much money? Aaron,
+like everybody else, was rather paralysed by a million sterling,
+personified in one old man. Paralysed, fascinated, overcome. All those
+three. Only having no final control over his own make-up, he could not
+drive himself into the money-making or even into the money-having habit.
+And he had just wit enough to threaten Sir William's golden king with
+his own ivory queen and knights of wilful life. And Sir William quaked.
+
+"Well, and how have you spent your morning?" asked the host.
+
+"I went first to look at the garden."
+
+"Ah, not much to see now. They have been beautiful with flowers,
+once. But for two and a half years the house has been a hospital for
+officers--and even tents in the park and garden--as many as two hundred
+wounded and sick at a time. We are only just returning to civil life.
+And flowers need time. Yes--yes--British officers--for two and a half
+years. But did you go up, now, to the belvedere?"
+
+"To the top--where the vines are? I never expected the mountains."
+
+"You never expected the mountains? Pray, why not? They are always
+there!"
+
+"But I was never there before. I never knew they were there, round the
+town. I didn't expect it like that."
+
+"Ah! So you found our city impressive?"
+
+"Very! Ah, very! A new world to me. I feel I've come out of myself."
+
+"Yes, it is a wonderful sight--a wonderful sight-- But you have not been
+INTO the town?"
+
+"Yes. I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station:
+and a statue, and mountains behind it. Oh, I've had a full morning."
+
+"A full morning! That is good, that is good!" The old man looked again
+at the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live in him
+vicariously.
+
+"Come," said the hostess. "Luncheon."
+
+Aaron sat again on his hostess' left hand. The Colonel was more affable
+now it was meal-time. Sir William was again in a good humour, chaffing
+the young ladies with an old man's gallantry. But now he insisted on
+drawing Aaron into the play. And Aaron did not want to be drawn. He did
+not one bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young women. Between
+him and Sir William there was a curious rivalry--unconscious on both
+sides. The old knight had devoted an energetic, adventurous, almost an
+artistic nature to the making of his fortune and the developing of later
+philanthropies. He had no children. Aaron was devoting a similar nature
+to anything but fortune-making and philanthropy. The one held life to
+be a storing-up of produce and a conservation of energy: the other held
+life to be a sheer spending of energy and a storing-up of nothing but
+experience. There they were, in opposition, the old man and the young.
+Sir William kept calling Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of
+the table: and Aaron kept on refusing to join. He hated long distance
+answers, anyhow. And in his mood of the moment he hated the young women.
+He had a conversation with Arthur about statues: concerning which Aaron
+knew nothing, and Arthur less than nothing. Then Lady Franks turned the
+conversation to the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William
+had equipped rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station: but
+that such was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross--or
+some such body, locally--that Sir William's huts had been left
+empty--standing unused--while the men had slept on the stone floor of
+the station, night after night, in icy winter. There was evidently much
+bitter feeling as a result of Sir William's philanthropy. Apparently
+even the honey of lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian
+mouth: at least the official mouth. Which gall had been spat back at
+the charitable, much to his pain. It is in truth a difficult world,
+particularly when you have another race to deal with. After which came
+the beef-olives.
+
+"Oh," said Lady Franks, "I had such a dreadful dream last night, such a
+dreadful dream. It upset me so much. I have not been able to get over it
+all day."
+
+"What was it?" said Aaron. "Tell it, and break it."
+
+"Why," said his hostess, "I dreamed I was asleep in my room--just as I
+actually was--and that it was night, yet with a terrible sort of light,
+like the dead light before dawn, so that one could see. And my maid
+Giuseppina came running into my room, saying: 'Signora! Signora! Si
+alza! Subito! Signora! Vengono su!'--and I said, 'Chi? Chi sono chi
+vengono? Chi?'--'I Novaresi! I Novaresi vengono su. Vengono qui!'--I
+got out of bed and went to the window. And there they were, in the dead
+light, rushing up to the house, through the trees. It was so awful, I
+haven't been able to forget it all day."
+
+"Tell me what the words are in English," said Aaron.
+
+"Why," she said, "get up, get up--the Novaresi, the people of Novara
+are coming up--vengono su--they are coming up--the Novara
+people--work-people. I can't forget it. It was so real, I can't believe
+it didn't actually happen."
+
+"Ah," said Aaron. "It will never happen. I know, that whatever one
+foresees, and FEELS has happened, never happens in real life. It sort of
+works itself off through the imagining of it."
+
+"Well, it was almost more real to me than real life," said his hostess.
+
+"Then it will never happen in real life," he said.
+
+Luncheon passed, and coffee. The party began to disperse--Lady Franks to
+answer more letters, with the aid of Arthur's wife--some to sleep, some
+to walk. Aaron escaped once more through the big gates. This time he
+turned his back on the town and the mountains, and climbed up the hill
+into the country. So he went between the banks and the bushes, watching
+for unknown plants and shrubs, hearing the birds, feeling the influence
+of a new soil. At the top of the hill he saw over into vineyards, and a
+new strange valley with a winding river, and jumbled, entangled hills.
+Strange wild country so near the town. It seemed to keep an almost
+virgin wildness--yet he saw the white houses dotted here and there.
+
+Just below him was a peasant house: and on a little loggia in the sun
+two peasants in white shirtsleeves and black Sunday suits were sitting
+drinking wine, and talking, talking. Peasant youths in black hats, their
+sweethearts in dark stuff dresses, wearing no hat, but a black silk or
+a white silk scarf, passed slowly along the little road just below the
+ridge. None looked up to see Aaron sitting there alone. From some hidden
+place somebody was playing an accordion, a jerky sound in the still
+afternoon. And away beyond lay the unchanging, mysterious valley, and
+the infolding, mysterious hills of Italy.
+
+Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of the
+hill in new and deserted suburb streets--unfinished streets of seemingly
+unfinished houses. Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois families
+were taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout, pallid mamas
+in rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed, and long lads
+in short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering. Alien they
+felt, alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but particularly
+a foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd. Aaron wandered and wandered,
+finding the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished street after
+street. He had a great disinclination to ask his way.
+
+At last he recognised the bank and the little stream of water that ran
+along the street side. So he was back in time for tea. A hospital nurse
+was there, and two other strange women. Arthur played the part of host.
+Sir William came in from a walk with the dogs, but retired to his room
+without taking tea.
+
+And so the evening fell. Aaron sat in the hall at some distance from the
+fire, which burned behind its wrought iron gates. He was tired now with
+all his impressions, and dispirited. He thought of his wife and children
+at home: of the church-bells ringing so loudly across the field beyond
+his garden end: of the dark-clad people trailing unevenly across the two
+paths, one to the left, one to the right, forking their way towards the
+houses of the town, to church or to chapel: mostly to chapel. At this
+hour he himself would be dressed in his best clothes, tying his bow,
+ready to go out to the public house. And his wife would be resenting his
+holiday departure, whilst she was left fastened to the children.
+
+Rather tired and dispirited in this alien place, he wondered if he
+wished himself back. But the moment he actually _realised_ himself
+at home, and felt the tension of barrenness which it meant, felt the
+curious and deadly opposition of his wife's will against his own nature,
+the almost nauseating ache which it amounted to, he pulled himself
+together and rejoiced again in his new surroundings. Her will, her will,
+her terrible, implacable, cunning will! What was there in the female
+will so diabolical, he asked himself, that it could press like a flat
+sheet of iron against a man all the time? The female will! He realised
+now that he had a horror of it. It was flat and inflexible as a sheet
+of iron. But also it was cunning as a snake that could sing treacherous
+songs.
+
+Of two people at a deadlock, he always reminded himself, there is not
+one only wholly at fault. Both must be at fault. Having a detached and
+logical soul, he never let himself forget this truth. Take Lottie! He
+had loved her. He had never loved any other woman. If he had had his
+other affairs--it was out of spite or defiance or curiosity. They meant
+nothing. He and Lottie had loved one another. And the love had developed
+almost at once into a kind of combat. Lottie had been the only child of
+headstrong, well-to-do parents. He also had been the only child of his
+widowed mother. Well then, both he and Lottie had been brought up
+to consider themselves the first in whatsoever company they found
+themselves. During the early months of the marriage he had, of course,
+continued the spoiling of the young wife. But this never altered the
+fact that, by his very nature, he considered himself as first and almost
+as single in any relationship. First and single he felt, and as such he
+bore himself. It had taken him years to realise that Lottie also felt
+herself first and single: under all her whimsicalness and fretfulness
+was a conviction as firm as steel: that she, as woman, was the centre of
+creation, the man was but an adjunct. She, as woman, and particularly
+as mother, was the first great source of life and being, and also of
+culture. The man was but the instrument and the finisher. She was the
+source and the substance.
+
+Sure enough, Lottie had never formulated this belief inside herself. But
+it was formulated for her in the whole world. It is the substantial
+and professed belief of the whole white world. She did but inevitably
+represent what the whole world around her asserted: the life-centrality
+of woman. Woman, the life-bearer, the life-source.
+
+Nearly all men agree to the assertion. Practically all men, even while
+demanding their selfish rights as superior males, tacitly agree to the
+fact of the sacred life-bearing priority of woman. Tacitly, they yield
+the worship to that which is female. Tacitly, they conspire to agree
+that all that is productive, all that is fine and sensitive and most
+essentially noble, is woman. This, in their productive and religious
+souls, they believe. And however much they may react against the belief,
+loathing their women, running to prostitutes, or beer or _anything_,
+out of reaction against this great and ignominious dogma of the sacred
+priority of women, still they do but profane the god they worship.
+Profaning woman, they still inversely worship her.
+
+But in Aaron was planted another seed. He did not know it. He started
+off on the good old tack of worshipping his woman while his heart was
+honest, and profaning her in his fits of temper and revolt. But he made
+a bad show. Born in him was a spirit which could not worship woman:
+no, and would not. Could not and would not. It was not in him. In early
+days, he tried to pretend it was in him. But through his plaintive and
+homage-rendering love of a young husband was always, for the woman,
+discernible the arrogance of self-unyielding male. He never yielded
+himself: never. All his mad loving was only an effort. Afterwards, he
+was as devilishly unyielded as ever. And it was an instinct in her, that
+her man must yield to her, so that she should envelop him yielding,
+in her all-beneficent love. She was quite sure that her love was
+all-beneficent. Of this no shadow of doubt. She was quite sure that
+the highest her man could ever know or ever reach, was to be perfectly
+enveloped in her all-beneficent love. This was her idea of marriage.
+She held it not as an idea, but as a profound impulse and instinct: an
+instinct developed in her by the age in which she lived. All that was
+deepest and most sacred in he feeling centred in this belief.
+
+And he outraged her! Oh, from the first day and the first night, she
+felt he outraged her. True, for some time she had been taken in by his
+manifest love. But though you can deceive the conscious mind, you can
+never deceive the deep, unconscious instinct. She could never understand
+whence arose in her, almost from the first days of marriage with him,
+her terrible paroxysms of hatred for him. She was in love with him: ah,
+heaven, how maddeningly she was in love with him: a certain unseizable
+beauty that was his, and which fascinated her as a snake a bird. But in
+revulsion, how she hated him! How she abhorred him! How she despised and
+shuddered at him! He seemed a horrible thing to her.
+
+And then again, oh, God, the agony of her desire for him. The agony of
+her long, long desire for him. He was a passionate lover. He gave
+her, ostensibly, all she asked for. He withheld from her nothing, no
+experience, no degree of intimacy. She was his initiate, or he hers.
+
+And yet, oh, horror for a woman, he withheld everything from her.
+He withheld the very centre of himself. For a long time, she never
+realised. She was dazed and maddened only. But as months of married
+experience passed into years of married torment, she began to
+understand. It was that, after their most tremendous, and, it seemed to
+her, heaven-rending passion--yea, when for her every veil seemed
+rent and a terrible and sacred creative darkness covered the
+earth--then--after all this wonder and miracle--in crept a poisonous
+grey snake of disillusionment, a poisonous grey snake of disillusion
+that bit her to madness, so that she really was a mad woman, demented.
+
+Why? Why? He never gave himself. He never came to her, _really_. He
+withheld himself. Yes, in those supreme and sacred times which for her
+were the whole culmination of life and being, the ecstasy of unspeakable
+passional conjunction, he was not really hers. He was withheld. He
+withheld the central core of himself, like the devil and hell-fiend he
+was. He cheated and made play with her tremendous passional soul, her
+sacred sex passion, most sacred of all things for a woman. All the time,
+some central part of him stood apart from her, aside, looking on.
+
+Oh, agony and horror for a passionate, fierce-hearted woman! She who
+loved him. She who loved him to madness. She who would have died for
+him. She who did die with him, many terrible and magnificent connubial
+deaths, in his arms, her husband.
+
+Her husband! How bitter the word grew to her! Her husband! and him never
+once given, given wholly to her! Her husband--and in all the frenzied
+finality of desire, she never _fully_ possessed him, not once. No, not
+once. As time went on, she learned it for inevitable. Not once!
+
+And then, how she hated him! Cheated, foiled, betrayed, forced to love
+him or to hate him: never able to be at peace near him nor away from
+him: poor Lottie, no wonder she was as a mad woman. She was strictly
+as a woman demented, after the birth of her second child. For all
+her instinct, all her impulse, all her desire, and above all, all her
+_will_, was to possess her man in very fulness once: just once: and once
+and for all. Once, just once: and it would be once and for all.
+
+But never! Never! Not once! Never! Not for one single solitary second!
+Was it not enough to send a woman mad! Was it not enough to make her
+demented! Yes, and mad she was. She made his life a hell for him. She
+bit him to the bone with her frenzy of rage, chagrin, and agony. She
+drove him mad, too: mad, so that he beat her: mad so that he longed
+to kill her. But even in his greatest rages it was the same: he
+never finally lost himself: he remained, somewhere in the centre, in
+possession of himself. She sometimes wished he would kill her: or that
+she would kill him. Neither event happened.
+
+And neither of them understood what was happening. How should they? They
+were both dazed, horrified, and mortified. He took to leaving her alone
+as much as was possible. But when he _had_ to come home, there was
+her terrible will, like a flat, cold snake coiled round his soul and
+squeezing him to death. Yes, she did not relent. She was a good wife and
+mother. All her duties she fulfilled. But she was not one to yield. _He_
+must yield. That was written in eternal letters, on the iron tablet of
+her will. _He_ must yield. She the woman, the mother of his children,
+how should she ever even think to yield? It was unthinkable. He, the
+man, the weak, the false, the treacherous, the half-hearted, it was he
+who must yield. Was not hers the divine will and the divine right? Ha,
+she would be less than woman if she ever capitulated, abandoned her
+divine responsibility as woman! No, _he_ must yield.
+
+So, he was unfaithful to her. Piling reproach after reproach upon
+himself, he added adultery to his brutality. And this was the beginning
+of the end. She was more than maddened: but he began to grow silent,
+unresponsive, as if he did not hear her. He was unfaithful to her:
+and oh, in such a low way. Such shame, such shame! But he only smiled
+carelessly now, and asked her what she wanted. She had asked for all she
+got. That he reiterated. And that was all he would do.
+
+Terrible was, that she found even his smile of insolent indifference
+half-beautiful. Oh, bitter chain to bear! But she summoned up all
+her strange woman's will. She fought against his fascination, the
+fascination he exerted over her. With fearful efforts of will she fought
+against it, and mastered it. And then, suddenly, horror and agony of
+it, up it would rush in her again, her unbearable desire for him, the
+longing for his contact, his quality of beauty.
+
+That was a cross hard to bear. Yet even that she bore. And schooled
+herself into a fretful, petulant manner of indifference. Her odd,
+whimsical petulance hid a will which he, and he alone, knew to be
+stronger than steel, strong as a diabolical, cold, grey snake that
+presses and presses and cannot-relax: nay, cannot relax. She became the
+same as he. Even in her moments of most passionate desire for him, the
+cold and snake-like tension of her will never relaxed, and the cold,
+snake-like eye of her intention never closed.
+
+So, till it reached a deadlock. Each will was wound tense, and so fixed.
+Fixed! There was neither any relaxing or any increase of pressure.
+Fixed. Hard like a numbness, a grip that was solidifying and turning to
+stone.
+
+He realised, somehow, that at this terrible passive game of fixed
+tension she would beat him. Her fixed female soul, her wound-up female
+will would solidify into stone--whereas his must break. In him
+something must break. It was a cold and fatal deadlock, profitless. A
+life-automatism of fixed tension that suddenly, in him, did break. His
+will flew loose in a recoil: a recoil away from her. He left her, as
+inevitably as a broken spring flies out from its hold.
+
+Not that he was broken. He would not do her even that credit. He had
+only flown loose from the old centre-fixture. His will was still entire
+and unabated. Only he did not know: he did not understand. He swung
+wildly about from place to place, as if he were broken.
+
+Then suddenly, on this Sunday evening in the strange country, he
+realised something about himself. He realised that he had never intended
+to yield himself fully to her or to anything: that he did not intend
+ever to yield himself up entirely to her or to anything: that his very
+being pivoted on the fact of his isolate self-responsibility, aloneness.
+His intrinsic and central aloneness was the very centre of his being.
+Break it, and he broke his being. Break this central aloneness, and he
+broke everything. It was the great temptation, to yield himself: and
+it was the final sacrilege. Anyhow, it was something which, from his
+profoundest soul, he did not intend to do. By the innermost isolation
+and singleness of his own soul he would abide though the skies fell on
+top of one another, and seven heavens collapsed.
+
+Vaguely he realised this. And vaguely he realised that this had been the
+root cause of his strife with Lottie: Lottie, the only person who had
+mattered at all to him in all the world: save perhaps his mother. And
+his mother had not mattered, no, not one-half nor one-fifth what Lottie
+had mattered. So it was: there was, for him, only her significant in the
+universe. And between him and her matters were as they were.
+
+He coldly and terribly hated her, for a moment. Then no more. There was
+no solution. It was a situation without a solution. But at any rate, it
+was now a defined situation. He could rest in peace.
+
+Thoughts something in this manner ran through Aaron's subconscious mind
+as he sat still in the strange house. He could not have fired it all
+off at any listener, as these pages are fired off at any chance reader.
+Nevertheless there it was, risen to half consciousness in him. All
+his life he had _hated_ knowing what he felt. He had wilfully, if not
+consciously, kept a gulf between his passional soul and his open
+mind. In his mind was pinned up a nice description of himself, and a
+description of Lottie, sort of authentic passports to be used in the
+conscious world. These authentic passports, self-describing: nose short,
+mouth normal, etc.; he had insisted that they should do all the duty
+of the man himself. This ready-made and very banal idea of himself as a
+really quite nice individual: eyes blue, nose short, mouth normal, chin
+normal; this he had insisted was really himself. It was his conscious
+mask.
+
+Now at last, after years of struggle, he seemed suddenly to have dropped
+his mask on the floor, and broken it. His authentic self-describing
+passport, his complete and satisfactory idea of himself suddenly became
+a rag of paper, ridiculous. What on earth did it matter if he was nice
+or not, if his chin was normal or abnormal.
+
+His mask, his idea of himself dropped and was broken to bits. There he
+sat now maskless and invisible. That was how he strictly felt: invisible
+and undefined, rather like Wells' _Invisible Man_. He had no longer a
+mask to present to people: he was present and invisible: they _could_
+not really think anything about him, because they could not really
+see him. What did they see when they looked at him? Lady Franks, for
+example. He neither knew nor cared. He only knew he was invisible to
+himself and everybody, and that all thinking about what he was like was
+only a silly game of Mrs. Mackenzie's Dead.
+
+So there. The old Aaron Sisson was as if painfully transmuted, as the
+Invisible Man when he underwent his transmutations. Now he was gone, and
+no longer to be seen. His visibility lost for ever.
+
+And then what? Sitting there as an invisible presence, the preconceived
+world melted also and was gone. Lady Franks, Sir William, all the
+guests, they talked and maneuvered with their visible personalities,
+manipulating the masks of themselves. And underneath there was something
+invisible and dying--something fading, wilting: the essential plasm of
+themselves: their invisible being.
+
+Well now, and what next? Having in some curious manner tumbled from the
+tree of modern knowledge, and cracked and rolled out from the shell of
+the preconceived idea of himself like some dark, night-lustrous chestnut
+from the green ostensibility of the burr, he lay as it were exposed but
+invisible on the floor, knowing, but making no conceptions: knowing,
+but having no idea. Now that he was finally unmasked and exposed,
+the accepted idea of himself cracked and rolled aside like a broken
+chestnut-burr, the mask split and shattered, he was at last quiet and
+free. He had dreaded exposure: and behold, we cannot be exposed, for we
+are invisible. We cannot be exposed to the looks of others, for our very
+being is night-lustrous and unseeable. Like the Invisible Man, we are
+only revealed through our clothes and our masks.
+
+In his own powerful but subconscious fashion Aaron realized this. He was
+a musician. And hence even his deepest _ideas_: were not word-ideas, his
+very thoughts were not composed of words and ideal concepts. They
+too, his thoughts and his ideas, were dark and invisible, as electric
+vibrations are invisible no matter how many words they may purport. If
+I, as a word-user, must translate his deep conscious vibrations into
+finite words, that is my own business. I do but make a translation of
+the man. He would speak in music. I speak with words.
+
+The inaudible music of his conscious soul conveyed his meaning in him
+quite as clearly as I convey it in words: probably much more clearly.
+But in his own mode only: and it was in his own mode only he realised
+what I must put into words. These words are my own affair. His mind was
+music.
+
+Don't grumble at me then, gentle reader, and swear at me that this
+damned fellow wasn't half clever enough to think all these smart things,
+and realise all these fine-drawn-out subtleties. You are quite right, he
+wasn't, yet it all resolved itself in him as I say, and it is for you to
+prove that it didn't.
+
+In his now silent, maskless state of wordless comprehension, he knew
+that he had never wanted to surrender himself utterly to Lottie: nor to
+his mother: nor to anybody. The last extreme of self-abandon in love was
+for him an act of false behaviour. His own nature inside him fated
+him not to take this last false step, over the edge of the abyss of
+selflessness. Even if he wanted to, he could not. He might struggle on
+the edge of the precipice like an assassin struggling with his own soul,
+but he could not conquer. For, according to all the current prejudice
+and impulse in one direction, he too had believed that the final
+achievement, the consummation of human life, was this flinging oneself
+over the precipice, down the bottomless pit of love. Now he realised
+that love, even in its intensest, was only an attribute of the human
+soul: one of its incomprehensible gestures. And to fling down the whole
+soul in one gesture of finality in love was as much a criminal suicide
+as to jump off a church-tower or a mountain-peak. Let a man give himself
+as much as he liked in love, to seven thousand extremities, he must
+never give himself _away_. The more generous and the more passionate a
+soul, the more it _gives_ itself. But the more absolute remains the law,
+that it shall never give itself away. Give thyself, but give thyself not
+away. That is the lesson written at the end of the long strange lane of
+love.
+
+The _idee fixe_ of today is that every individual shall not only give
+himself, but shall achieve the last glory of giving himself away. And
+since this takes two--you can't even make a present of yourself unless
+you've got somebody to receive the present; since this last extra-divine
+act takes two people to perform it, you've got to take into count not
+only your giver but your receiver. Who is going to be the giver and who
+the receiver.
+
+Why, of course, in our long-drawn-out Christian day, man is given and
+woman is recipient. Man is the gift, woman the receiver. This is the
+sacrament we live by; the holy Communion we live for. That man gives
+himself to woman in an utter and sacred abandon, all, all, all himself
+given, and taken. Woman, eternal woman, she is the communicant. She
+receives the sacramental body and spirit of the man. And when she's got
+it, according to her passionate and all-too-sacred desire, completely,
+when she possesses her man at last finally and ultimately, without
+blemish or reservation in the perfection of the sacrament: then, also,
+poor woman, the blood and the body of which she has partaken become
+insipid or nauseous to her, she is driven mad by the endless meal of the
+marriage sacrament, poisoned by the sacred communion which was her goal
+and her soul's ambition.
+
+We have pushed a process into a goal. The aim of any process is not
+the perpetuation of that process, but the completion thereof. Love is a
+process of the incomprehensible human soul: love also incomprehensible,
+but still only a process. The process should work to a completion, not
+to some horror of intensification and extremity wherein the soul and
+body ultimately perish. The completion of the process of love is the
+arrival at a state of simple, pure self-possession, for man and woman.
+Only that. Which isn't exciting enough for us sensationalists. We prefer
+abysses and maudlin self-abandon and self-sacrifice, the degeneration
+into a sort of slime and merge.
+
+Perhaps, truly, the process of love is never accomplished. But it moves
+in great stages, and at the end of each stage a true goal, where the
+soul possesses itself in simple and generous singleness. Without this,
+love is a disease.
+
+So Aaron, crossing a certain border-line and finding himself alone
+completely, accepted his loneliness or singleness as a fulfilment, a
+state of fulfilment. The long fight with Lottie had driven him at last
+to himself, so that he was quiet as a thing which has its root deep in
+life, and has lost its anxiety. As for considering the lily, it is not
+a matter of consideration. The lily toils and spins hard enough, in her
+own way. But without that strain and that anxiety with which we try
+to weave ourselves a life. The lily is life-rooted, life-central. She
+_cannot_ worry. She is life itself, a little, delicate fountain playing
+creatively, for as long or as short a time as may be, and unable to
+be anxious. She may be sad or sorry, if the north wind blows. But even
+then, anxious she cannot be. Whether her fountain play or cease to play,
+from out the cold, damp earth, she cannot be anxious. She may only be
+glad or sorry, and continue her way. She is perfectly herself, whatever
+befall! even if frosts cut her off. Happy lily, never to be saddled with
+an _idee fixe_, never to be in the grip of a monomania for happiness or
+love or fulfilment. It is not _laisser aller_. It is life-rootedness. It
+is being by oneself, life-living, like the much-mooted lily. One toils,
+one spins, one strives: just as the lily does. But like her, taking
+one's own life-way amidst everything, and taking one's own life-way
+alone. Love too. But there also, taking one's way alone, happily alone
+in all the wonders of communion, swept up on the winds, but never swept
+away from one's very self. Two eagles in mid-air, maybe, like Whitman's
+Dalliance of Eagles. Two eagles in mid-air, grappling, whirling, coming
+to their intensification of love-oneness there in mid-air. In mid-air
+the love consummation. But all the time each lifted on its own wings:
+each bearing itself up on its own wings at every moment of the mid-air
+love consummation. That is the splendid love-way.
+
+
+        ...............
+
+
+The party was festive at dinner-time, the women in their finest dresses,
+new flowers on the table, the best wine going. It was Sunday evening.
+Aaron too was dressed--and Lady Franks, in black lace and pearls, was
+almost gay. There were quails for dinner. The Colonel was quite happy.
+An air of conviviality gathered round the table during the course of the
+meal.
+
+"I hope," said Aaron, "that we shall have some music tonight."
+
+"I want so much to hear your flute," said his hostess.
+
+"And I your piano," he said.
+
+"I am very weak--very out of practise. I tremble at the thought of
+playing before a musician. But you must not be too critical."
+
+"Oh," said Aaron, "I am not a man to be afraid of."
+
+"Well, we will see," said Lady Franks. "But I am afraid of music
+itself."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "I think it is risky."
+
+"Risky! I don't see that! Music risky? Bach? Beethoven! No, I don't
+agree. On the contrary, I think it is most elevating--most morally
+inspiring. No, I tremble before it because it is so wonderful and
+elevating."
+
+"I often find it makes me feel diabolical," said he.
+
+"That is your misfortune, I am sure," said Lady Franks. "Please do take
+another--but perhaps you don't like mushrooms?"
+
+Aaron quite liked mushrooms, and helped himself to the _entree_.
+
+"But perhaps," said she, "you are too modern. You don't care for Bach or
+Beethoven or Chopin--dear Chopin."
+
+"I find them all quite as modern as I am."
+
+"Is that so! Yes. For myself I am quite old-fashioned--though I can
+appreciate Strauss and Stravinsky as well, some things. But my old
+things--ah, I don't think the moderns are so fine. They are not so deep.
+They haven't fathomed life so deeply." Lady Franks sighed faintly.
+
+"They don't care for depths," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they haven't the capacity. But I like big, deep music. Oh, I love
+orchestra. But my instrument is the piano. I like the great
+masters, Bach, Beethoven. They have such faith. You were talking of
+faith--believing that things would work out well for you in the end.
+Beethoven inspires that in me, too."
+
+"He makes you feel that all will be well with you at last?"
+
+"Yes, he does. He makes me feel faith in my PERSONAL destiny. And I do
+feel that there is something in one's special fate. I feel that I myself
+have a special kind of fate, that will always look after me."
+
+"And you can trust to it?"
+
+"Yes, I can. It ALWAYS turns out right. I think something has gone
+wrong--and then, it always turns out right. Why when we were in
+London--when we were at lunch one morning it suddenly struck me, haven't
+I left my fur cloak somewhere? It was rather cold, so I had taken it
+with me, and then never put it on. And I hadn't brought it home. I had
+left it somewhere. But whether in a taxi, or in a shop, or in a little
+show of pictures I had been to, I couldn't remember. I COULD NOT
+remember. And I thought to myself: have I lost my cloak? I went round
+to everywhere I could think of: no-trace of it. But I didn't give it
+up. Something prompted me not to give it up: quite distinctly, I felt
+something telling me that I should get it back. So I called at Scotland
+Yard and gave the information. Well, two days later I had a notice from
+Scotland Yard, so I went. And there was my cloak. I had it back. And
+that has happened to me almost every time. I almost always get my things
+back. And I always feel that something looks after me, do you know:
+almost takes care of me."
+
+"But do you mean when you lose things--or in your life?"
+
+"I mean when I lose things--or when I want to get something I want--I am
+very nearly ALWAYS successful. And I always feel there is some sort of
+higher power which does it for me."
+
+"Finds your cloak for you."
+
+"Yes. Wasn't it extraordinary? I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland
+Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you. And I always feel, as I say,
+that there is some higher power which helps me. Do you feel the same?"
+
+"No, not that way, worse luck. I lost a batch of music a month ago which
+didn't belong to me--and which I couldn't replace. But I never could
+recover it: though I'm sure nobody wanted it."
+
+"How very unfortunate! Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that gets
+stolen most."
+
+"I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren't all
+gifted alike with guardian angels."
+
+"Apparently not. And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you
+know, that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle."
+
+"For always recovering your property?"
+
+"Yes--and succeeding in my undertakings."
+
+"I'm afraid I had no fairy godmother."
+
+"Well--I think I had. And very glad I am of it."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at his hostess.
+
+So the dinner sailed merrily on.
+
+"But does Beethoven make you feel," said Aaron as an afterthought, "in
+the same way--that you will always find the things you have lost?"
+
+"Yes--he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be
+returned to me. Just as I found my cloak. And that if I enter into an
+undertaking, it will be successful."
+
+"And your life has been always successful?"
+
+"Yes--almost always. We have succeeded with almost everything."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at her again.
+
+But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her
+satisfaction. She had had her suffering, sure enough. But none the
+less, she was in the main satisfied. She sat there, a good hostess, and
+expected the homage due to her success. And of course she got it. Aaron
+himself did his little share of shoe-licking, and swallowed the taste of
+boot-polish with a grimace, knowing what he was about.
+
+The dinner wound gaily to an end. The ladies retired. Sir William left
+his seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next to
+Aaron, summoning the other three men to cluster near.
+
+"Now, Colonel," said the host, "send round the bottle."
+
+With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the port,
+actually port, in those bleak, post-war days!
+
+"Well, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "we will drink to your kind
+Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by so
+doing."
+
+"No, sir; no, sir! The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly. Mr. Sisson put
+his money on kindly fortune, I believe," said Arthur, who rosy and fresh
+with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous _bonne bouchee_ for a
+finely-discriminating cannibal.
+
+"Ah, yes, indeed! A much more ingratiating lady to lift our glasses to.
+Mr. Sisson's kindly fortune. _Fortuna gentil-issima_! Well, Mr. Sisson,
+and may your Lady Fortune ever smile on you."
+
+Sir William lifted his glass with an odd little smirk, some touch of a
+strange, prim old satyr lurking in his oddly inclined head. Nay, more
+than satyr: that curious, rather terrible iron demon that has fought
+with the world and wrung wealth from it, and which knows all about it.
+The devilish spirit of iron itself, and iron machines. So, with his
+strange, old smile showing his teeth rather terribly, the old knight
+glowered sightlessly over his glass at Aaron. Then he drank: the
+strange, careful, old-man's gesture in drinking.
+
+"But," said Aaron, "if Fortune is a female---"
+
+"Fortune! Fortune! Why, Fortune is a lady. What do you say, Major?"
+
+"She has all the airs of one, Sir William," said the Major, with the
+wistful grimness of his age and culture. And the young fellow stared
+like a crucified cyclops from his one eye: the black shutter being over
+the other.
+
+"And all the graces," capped Sir William, delighted with himself.
+
+"Oh, quite!" said the Major. "For some, all the airs, and for others,
+all the graces."
+
+"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, my boy," said Sir William. "Not that
+your heart is faint. On the contrary--as we know, and your country
+knows. But with Lady Fortune you need another kind of stout heart--oh,
+quite another kind."
+
+"I believe it, sir: and the kind of stout heart which I am afraid I
+haven't got," said the Major.
+
+"What!" said the old man. "Show the white feather before you've tackled
+the lady! Fill the Major's glass, Colonel. I am quite sure we will none
+of us ever say die."
+
+"Not likely. Not if we know it," said the Colonel, stretching himself
+heartily inside his tunic. He was becoming ruddier than the cherry.
+All he cared about at the moment was his gay little port glass. But
+the Major's young cheek was hollow and sallow, his one eye terribly
+pathetic.
+
+"And you, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "mean to carry all before you
+by taking no thought for the morrow. Well, now, we can only wish you
+success."
+
+"I don't want to carry all before me," said Aaron. "I should be sorry. I
+want to walk past most of it."
+
+"Can you tell us where to? I am intrigued, as Sybil says, to know where
+you will walk to. Come now. Enlighten us."
+
+"Nowhere, I suppose."
+
+"But is that satisfactory? Can you find it satisfactory?"
+
+"Is it even true?" said the Major. "Isn't it quite as positive an act to
+walk away from a situation as to walk towards it?"
+
+"My dear boy, you can't merely walk away from a situation. Believe that.
+If you walk away from Rome, you walk into the Maremma, or into the Alban
+Hills, or into the sea--but you walk into something. Now if I am going
+to walk away from Rome, I prefer to choose my direction, and therefore
+my destination."
+
+"But you can't," said the Major.
+
+"What can't you?"
+
+"Choose. Either your direction or your destination." The Major was
+obstinate.
+
+"Really!" said Sir William. "I have not found it so. I have not found
+it so. I have had to keep myself hard at work, all my life, choosing
+between this or that."
+
+"And we," said the Major, "have no choice, except between this or
+nothing."
+
+"Really! I am afraid," said Sir William, "I am afraid I am too old--or
+too young--which shall I say?--to understand."
+
+"Too young, sir," said Arthur sweetly. "The child was always father to
+the man, I believe."
+
+"I confess the Major makes me feel childish," said the old man. "The
+choice between this or nothing is a puzzler to me. Can you help me out,
+Mr. Sisson? What do you make of this this-or-nothing business? I can
+understand neck-or-nothing---"
+
+"I prefer the NOTHING part of it to the THIS part of it," said Aaron,
+grinning.
+
+"Colonel," said the old man, "throw a little light on this nothingness."
+
+"No, Sir William," said the Colonel. "I am all right as I am."
+
+"As a matter of fact, so are we all, perfectly A-one," said Arthur.
+
+Aaron broke into a laugh.
+
+"That's the top and bottom of it," he laughed, flushed with wine, and
+handsome. We're all as right as ninepence. Only it's rather nice to
+talk."
+
+"There!" said Sir William. "We're all as right as ninepence! We're all
+as right ninepence. So there well leave it, before the Major has time to
+say he is twopence short." Laughing his strange old soundless laugh, Sir
+William rose and made a little bow. "Come up and join the ladies in a
+minute or two," he said. Arthur opened the door for him and he left the
+room.
+
+The four men were silent for a moment--then the Colonel whipped up the
+decanter and filled his glass. Then he stood up and clinked glasses with
+Aaron, like a real old sport.
+
+"Luck to you," he said.
+
+"Thanks," said Aaron.
+
+"You're going in the morning?" said Arthur.
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"What train?" said Arthur.
+
+"Eight-forty."
+
+"Oh--then we shan't see you again. Well--best of luck."
+
+"Best of luck--" echoed the Colonel.
+
+"Same to you," said Aaron, and they all peered over their glasses and
+quite loved one another for a rosy minute.
+
+"I should like to know, though," said the hollow-cheeked young Major
+with the black flap over his eye, "whether you do really mean you are
+all right--that it is all right with you--or whether you only say so to
+get away from the responsibility."
+
+"I mean I don't really care--I don't a damn--let the devil take it all."
+
+"The devil doesn't want it, either," said the Major.
+
+"Then let him leave it. I don't care one single little curse about it
+all."
+
+"Be damned. What is there to care about?" said the Colonel.
+
+"Ay, what?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's all the same, whether you care or don't care. So I say it's much
+easier not to care," said Arthur.
+
+"Of course it is," said the Colonel gaily.
+
+"And I think so, too," said Aaron.
+
+"Right you are! We're all as right as ninepence--what? Good old sport!
+Here's yours!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"We shall have to be going up," said Arthur, wise in his generation.
+
+As they went into the hall, Arthur suddenly put one arm round Aaron's
+waist, and one arm round the Colonel's, and the three did a sudden
+little barn-dance towards the stairs. Arthur was feeling himself quite
+let loose again, back in his old regimental mess.
+
+Approaching the foot of the stairs, he let go again. He was in that rosy
+condition when united-we-stand. But unfortunately it is a complicated
+job to climb the stairs in unison. The whole lot tends to fall
+backwards. Arthur, therefore, rosy, plump, looking so good to eat, stood
+still a moment in order to find his own neatly-slippered feet. Having
+found them, he proceeded to put them carefully one before the other, and
+to his enchantment found that this procedure was carrying him magically
+up the stairs. The Colonel, like a drowning man, clutched feebly for the
+straw of the great stair-rail--and missed it. He would have gone under,
+but that Aaron's hand gripped his arm. So, orientating once more like
+a fragile tendril, he reached again for the banister rail, and got it.
+After which, lifting his feet as if they were little packets of sand
+tied to his trouser buttons, he manipulated his way upwards. Aaron was
+in that pleasant state when he saw what everybody else was doing and was
+unconscious of what he did himself. Whilst tall, gaunt, erect, like a
+murdered Hamlet resurrected in khaki, with the terrible black shutter
+over his eye, the young Major came last.
+
+Arthur was making a stern fight for his composure. His whole future
+depended on it. But do what he would, he could not get the flushed,
+pleased, mess-happy look off his face. The Colonel, oh, awful man, did
+a sort of plump roly-poly-cake-walk, like a fat boy, right to the
+very door of that santum-sanctorum, the library. Aaron was inwardly
+convulsed. Even the Major laughed.
+
+But Arthur stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat. All four
+started to compose themselves, like actors going on the stage, outside
+that library door. And then Arthur softly, almost wistfully, opened and
+held the door for the others to pass. The Colonel slunk meekly in, and
+sat in a chair in the background. The Major stalked in expressionless,
+and hovered towards the sofa where his wife sat.
+
+There was a rather cold-water-down-your-back feeling in the library.
+The ladies had been waiting for coffee. Sir William was waiting, too.
+Therefore in a little tension, half silent, the coffee was handed round.
+Lady Franks was discussing something with Arthur's wife. Arthur's
+wife was in a cream lace dress, and looking what is called lovely.
+The Major's wife was in amethyst chiffon with dark-red roses, and
+was looking blindingly beautiful. The Colonel was looking into his
+coffee-cup as wistfully as if it contained the illusion of tawny port.
+The Major was looking into space, as if there and there alone, etc.
+Arthur was looking for something which Lady Franks had asked for, and
+which he was much too flushed to find. Sir William was looking at Aaron,
+and preparing for another _coeur a coeur_.
+
+"Well," he said, "I doubt if you will care for Milan. It is one of the
+least Italian of all the towns, in my opinion. Venice, of course, is a
+thing apart. I cannot stand, myself, that miserable specimen the modern
+Roman. He has most of the vices of the old Romans and none of the
+virtues. The most congenial town, perhaps, for a stranger, is Florence.
+But it has a very bad climate."
+
+Lady Franks rose significantly and left the room, accompanied by
+Arthur's wife. Aaron knew, silently, that he was summoned to follow.
+His hostess had her eye on him this evening. But always postponing his
+obedience to the cool commands of women, he remained talking with his
+host in the library, and sipping _creme de menthe_! Came the ripple
+of the pianoforte from the open doorway down at the further end of the
+room. Lady Franks was playing, in the large drawing-room. And the ripple
+of the music contained in it the hard insistence of the little woman's
+will. Coldly, and decidedly, she intended there should be no more
+unsettling conversations for the old Sir William. Aaron was to come
+forthwith into the drawing room. Which Aaron plainly understood--and
+so he didn't go. No, he didn't go, though the pianoforte rippled and
+swelled in volume. No, and he didn't go even when Lady Franks left off
+playing and came into the library again. There he sat, talking with Sir
+William. Let us do credit to Lady Franks' will-power, and admit that the
+talk was quite empty and distracted--none of the depths and skirmishes
+of the previous occasions. None the less, the talk continued. Lady
+Franks retired, discomfited, to her piano again. She would never break
+in upon her lord.
+
+So now Aaron relented. He became more and more distracted. Sir William
+wandered away like some restless, hunted soul. The Colonel still sat in
+his chair, nursing his last drop of _creme de menthe_ resentfully. He
+did not care for the green toffee-stuff. Arthur was busy. The Major
+lay sprawled in the last stages of everything on the sofa, holding
+his wife's hand. And the music came pathetically through the open
+folding-doors. Of course, she played with feeling--it went without
+saying. Aaron's soul felt rather tired. But she had a touch of
+discrimination also.
+
+He rose and went to the drawing-room. It was a large, vacant-seeming,
+Empire sort of drawing-room, with yellow silk chairs along the walls and
+yellow silk panels upon the walls, and a huge, vasty crystal chandelier
+hanging from a faraway-above ceiling. Lady Franks sat at a large black
+Bechstein piano at one end of this vacant yellow state-room. She sat,
+a little plump elderly lady in black lace, for all the world like Queen
+Victoria in Max Beerbohm's drawing of Alfred Tennyson reading to her
+Victorian Majesty, with space before her. Arthur's wife was bending over
+some music in a remote corner of the big room.
+
+Aaron seated himself on one of the chairs by the wall, to listen.
+Certainly it was a beautiful instrument. And certainly, in her way, she
+loved it. But Aaron remembered an anthem in which he had taken part as a
+boy.
+
+
+                    His eye is on the sparrow
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+For a long time he had failed to catch the word _sparrow_, and had
+heard:
+
+
+                    His eye is on the spy-hole
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+Which was just how it had all seemed to him, as a boy.
+
+Now, as ever, he felt the eye was on the spy-hole. There sat the woman
+playing music. But her inward eye was on the spy-hole of her vital
+affairs--her domestic arrangements, her control of her household, guests
+and husband included. The other eye was left for the music, don't you
+know.
+
+Sir William appeared hovering in the doorway, not at all liking the
+defection of Mr. Aaron. Then he retreated. He seemed not to care for
+music. The Major's wife hovered--felt it her duty to _aude_, or play
+audience--and entered, seating herself in a breath of lilac and amethyst
+again at the near distance. The Major, after a certain beating about the
+bush, followed and sat wrapt in dim contemplation near his wife. Arthur
+luckily was still busy with something.
+
+Aaron of course made proper musical remarks in the intervals--Arthur's
+wife sorted out more pieces. Arthur appeared--and then the Colonel. The
+Colonel tip-toed beautifully across the wide blank space of the Empire
+room, and seated himself on a chair, rather in the distance, with his
+back to the wall, facing Aaron. When Lady Franks finished her piece,
+to everybody's amazement the Colonel clapped gaily to himself and said
+Bravo! as if at a Cafe Chantant, looking round for his glass. But there
+was no glass. So he crossed his neatly-khakied legs, and looked rapt
+again.
+
+Lady Franks started with a _vivace_ Schumann piece. Everybody listened
+in sanctified silence, trying to seem to like it. When suddenly our
+Colonel began to spring and bounce in his chair, slinging his loose leg
+with a kind of rapture up and down in the air, and capering upon his
+posterior, doing a sitting-down jig to the Schumann _vivace_. Arthur,
+who had seated himself at the farthest extremity of the room, winked
+with wild bliss at Aaron. The Major tried to look as if he noticed
+nothing, and only succeeded in looking agonised. His wife studied the
+point of her silver shoe minutely, and peeped through her hair at the
+performance. Aaron grimly chuckled, and loved the Colonel with real
+tenderness.
+
+And the game went on while the _vivace_ lasted. Up and down bounced the
+plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent toe
+higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig. Rosy
+and unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to. The
+broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way. Let him enjoy
+himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled
+salon. Aaron felt quite cheered up.
+
+"Well, now," he thought to himself, "this man is in entire command of
+a very important branch of the British Service in Italy. We are a great
+race still."
+
+But Lady Franks must have twigged. Her playing went rather stiff. She
+came to the end of the _vivace_ movement, and abandoned her piece.
+
+"I always prefer Schumann in his _vivace_ moods," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you?" said Lady Franks. "Oh, I don't know."
+
+It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing. Arthur seemed to get
+further away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote end
+of the room, near the gallery doors. The Colonel became quiet, pensive.
+The Major's wife eyed the young woman in white lace, and seemed not
+to care for lace. Arthur seemed to be trying to push himself backwards
+through the wall. Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and
+voluminous crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the
+room's centre. And Arthur's wife sang sweet little French songs, and _Ye
+Banks and Braes_, and _Caro mio ben_, which goes without saying: and so
+on. She had quite a nice voice and was quite adequately trained. Which
+is enough said. Aaron had all his nerves on edge.
+
+Then he had to play the flute. Arthur strolled upstairs with him,
+arm-in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
+
+"I find music in the home rather a strain, you know," said Arthur.
+
+"Cruel strain. I quite agree," said Aaron.
+
+"I don't mind it so much in the theatre--or even a concert--where
+there are a lot of other people to take the edge off-- But after a good
+dinner--"
+
+"It's medicine," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, you know, it really is, to me. It affects my inside." Aaron
+laughed. And then, in the yellow drawing-room, blew into his pipe and
+played. He knew so well that Arthur, the Major, the Major's wife, the
+Colonel, and Sir William thought it merely an intolerable bore. However,
+he played. His hostess even accompanied him in a Mozart bit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV. XX SETTEMBRE
+
+
+Aaron was awakened in the morning by the soft entrance of the butler
+with the tray: it was just seven o'clock. Lady Franks' household was
+punctual as the sun itself.
+
+But our hero roused himself with a wrench. The very act of lifting
+himself from the pillow was like a fight this morning. Why? He
+recognized his own wrench, the pain with which he struggled under the
+necessity to move. Why shouldn't he want to move? Why not? Because he
+didn't want the day in front--the plunge into a strange country, towards
+nowhere, with no aim in view. True, he said that ultimately he wanted to
+join Lilly. But this was hardly more than a sop, an excuse for his own
+irrational behaviour. He was breaking loose from one connection after
+another; and what for? Why break every tie? Snap, snap, snap went the
+bonds and ligatures which bound him to the life that had formed him, the
+people he had loved or liked. He found all his affections snapping off,
+all the ties which united him with his own people coming asunder. And
+why? In God's name, why? What was there instead?
+
+There was nothingness. There was just himself, and blank nothingness.
+He had perhaps a faint sense of Lilly ahead of him; an impulse in that
+direction, or else merely an illusion. He could not persuade himself
+that he was seeking for love, for any kind of unison or communion. He
+knew well enough that the thought of any loving, any sort of real coming
+together between himself and anybody or anything, was just objectionable
+to him. No--he was not moving _towards_ anything: he was moving almost
+violently away from everything. And that was what he wanted. Only
+that. Only let him _not_ run into any sort of embrace with anything or
+anybody--this was what he asked. Let no new connection be made between
+himself and anything on earth. Let all old connections break. This was
+his craving.
+
+Yet he struggled under it this morning as under the lid of a tomb. The
+terrible sudden weight of inertia! He knew the tray stood ready by the
+bed: he knew the automobile would be at the door at eight o'clock, for
+Lady Franks had said so, and he half divined that the servant had also
+said so: yet there he lay, in a kind of paralysis in this bed. He
+seemed for the moment to have lost his will. Why go forward into more
+nothingness, away from all that he knew, all he was accustomed to and
+all he belonged to?
+
+However, with a click he sat up. And the very instant he had poured his
+coffee from the little silver coffee-pot into his delicate cup, he was
+ready for anything and everything. The sense of silent adventure took
+him, the exhilarated feeling that he was fulfilling his own
+inward destiny. Pleasant to taste was the coffee, the bread, the
+honey--delicious.
+
+The man brought his clothes, and again informed him that the automobile
+would be at the door at eight o'clock: or at least so he made out.
+
+"I can walk," said Aaron.
+
+"Milady ha comandato l'automobile," said the man softly.
+
+It was evident that if Milady had ordered it, so it must be.
+
+So Aaron left the still-sleeping house, and got into the soft and
+luxurious car. As he dropped through the park he wondered that Sir
+William and Lady Franks should be so kind to him: a complete stranger.
+But so it was. There he sat in their car. He wondered, also, as he ran
+over the bridge and into the city, whether this soft-running automobile
+would ever rouse the socialistic bile of the work-people. For the first
+time in his life, as he sat among the snug cushions, he realised what
+it might be to be rich and uneasy: uneasy, even if not afraid, lurking
+there inside an expensive car.--Well, it wasn't much of a sensation
+anyhow: and riches were stuffy, like wadded upholstery on everything. He
+was glad to get out into the fresh air of the common crowd. He was glad
+to be in the bleak, not-very-busy station. He was glad to be part of
+common life. For the very atmosphere of riches seems to be stuffed and
+wadded, never any real reaction. It was terrible, as if one's very body,
+shoulders and arms, were upholstered and made cushiony. Ugh, but he was
+glad to shake off himself the atmosphere of wealth and motor-cars, to
+get out of it all. It was like getting out of quilted clothes.
+
+"Well," thought Aaron, "if this is all it amounts to, to be rich, you
+can have riches. They talk about money being power. But the only sort of
+power it has over me is to bring on a kind of numbness, which I fairly
+hate. No wonder rich people don't seem to be really alive."
+
+The relief of escaping quite took away his self-conscious embarrassment
+at the station. He carried his own bags, bought a third-class ticket,
+and got into the train for Milan without caring one straw for the
+comments or the looks of the porters.
+
+It began to rain. The rain ran across the great plain of north Italy.
+Aaron sat in his wood-seated carriage and smoked his pipe in silence,
+looking at the thick, short Lombards opposite him without heeding
+them. He paid hardly any outward attention to his surroundings, but sat
+involved in himself.
+
+In Milan he had been advised to go to the Hotel Britannia, because it
+was not expensive, and English people went there. So he took a carriage,
+drove round the green space in front of Milan station, and away into the
+town. The streets were busy, but only half-heartedly so.
+
+It must be confessed that every new move he made was rather an effort.
+Even he himself wondered why he was struggling with foreign porters and
+foreign cabmen, being talked at and not understanding a word. But there
+he was. So he went on with it.
+
+The hotel was small and congenial. The hotel porter answered in English.
+Aaron was given a little room with a tiny balcony, looking on to a quiet
+street. So, he had a home of his own once more. He washed, and then
+counted his money. Thirty-seven pounds he had: and no more. He stood on
+the balcony and looked at the people going by below. Life seems to be
+moving so quick, when one looks down on it from above.
+
+Across the road was a large stone house with its green shutters all
+closed. But from the flagpole under the eaves, over the central window
+of the uppermost floor--the house was four storeys high--waved the
+Italian flag in the melancholy damp air. Aaron looked at it--the red,
+white and green tricolour, with the white cross of Savoy in the centre.
+It hung damp and still. And there seemed a curious vacancy in the
+city--something empty and depressing in the great human centre. Not that
+there was really a lack of people. But the spirit of the town seemed
+depressed and empty. It was a national holiday. The Italian flag was
+hanging from almost every housefront.
+
+It was about three o'clock in the afternoon. Aaron sat in the restaurant
+of the hotel drinking tea, for he was rather tired, and looking through
+the thin curtains at the little square outside, where people passed:
+little groups of dark, aimless-seeming men, a little bit poorer
+looking--perhaps rather shorter in stature--but very much like the
+people in any other town. Yet the feeling of the city was so different
+from that of London. There seemed a curious emptiness. The rain had
+ceased, but the pavements were still wet. There was a tension.
+
+Suddenly there was a noise of two shots, fired in rapid succession.
+Aaron turned startled to look into the quiet piazza. And to his
+amazement, the pavements were empty, not a soul was in sight. Two
+minutes before the place was busy with passers-by, and a newspaper man
+selling the Corriere, and little carriages rattling through. Now, as if
+by magic, nobody, nothing. It was as if they had all melted into thin
+air.
+
+The waiter, too, was peeping behind the curtain. A carriage came
+trotting into the square--an odd man took his way alone--the traffic
+began to stir once more, and people reappeared as suddenly as they had
+disappeared. Then the waiter ran hastily and furtively out and craned
+his neck, peering round the square. He spoke with two youths--rather
+loutish youths. Then he returned to his duty in the hotel restaurant.
+
+"What was it? What were the shots?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"Oh--somebody shooting at a dog," said the man negligently.
+
+"At a dog!" said Aaron, with round eyes.
+
+He finished his tea, and went out into the town. His hotel was not far
+from the cathedral square. Passing through the arcade, he came in sight
+of the famous cathedral with its numerous spines pricking into the
+afternoon air. He was not as impressed as he should have been. And yet
+there was something in the northern city--this big square with all the
+trams threading through, the little yellow Continental trams: and the
+spiny bulk of the great cathedral, like a grey-purple sea-urchin with
+many spines, on the one side, the ornamental grass-plots and flower beds
+on the other: the big shops going all along the further strands, all
+round: and the endless restless nervous drift of a north Italian crowd,
+so nervous, so twitchy; nervous and twitchy as the slipping past of
+the little yellow tram-cars; it all affected him with a sense of
+strangeness, nervousness, and approaching winter. It struck him the
+people were afraid of themselves: afraid of their own souls, and that
+which was in their own souls.
+
+Turning up the broad steps of the cathedral, he entered the famous
+building. The sky had cleared, and the freshened light shone coloured in
+living tablets round the wonderful, towering, rose-hearted dusk of the
+great church. At some altars lights flickered uneasily. At some unseen
+side altar mass was going on, and a strange ragged music fluttered
+out on the incense-dusk of the great and lofty interior, which was all
+shadow, all shadow, hung round with jewel tablets of light. Particularly
+beautiful the great east bay, above the great altar. And all the time,
+over the big-patterned marble floor, the faint click and rustle of feet
+coming and going, coming and going, like shallow uneasy water rustled
+back and forth in a trough. A white dog trotted pale through the
+under-dusk, over the pale, big-patterned floor. Aaron came to the side
+altar where mass was going on, candles ruddily wavering. There was a
+small cluster of kneeling women--a ragged handful of on-looking men--and
+people wandering up and wandering away, young women with neatly dressed
+black hair, and shawls, but without hats; fine young women in very high
+heels; young men with nothing to do; ragged men with nothing to do.
+All strayed faintly clicking over the slabbed floor, and glanced at the
+flickering altar where the white-surpliced boys were curtseying and
+the white-and-gold priest bowing, his hands over his breast, in the
+candle-light. All strayed, glanced, lingered, and strayed away again, as
+if the spectacle were not sufficiently holding. The bell chimed for the
+elevation of the Host. But the thin trickle of people trickled the
+same, uneasily, over the slabbed floor of the vastly-upreaching
+shadow-foliaged cathedral.
+
+The smell of incense in his nostrils, Aaron went out again by a side
+door, and began to walk along the pavements of the cathedral square,
+looking at the shops. Some were closed, and had little notices pinned on
+them. Some were open, and seemed half-stocked with half-elegant things.
+Men were carrying newspapers. In the cafes a few men were seated
+drinking vermouth. In the doorway of the restaurants waiters stood
+inert, looking out on the streets. The curious heart-eating _ennui_ of
+the big town on a holiday came over our hero. He felt he must get out,
+whatever happened. He could not bear it.
+
+So he went back to his hotel and up to his room. It was still only five
+o'clock. And he did not know what to do with himself. He lay down on
+the bed, and looked at the painting on his bedroom ceiling. It was a
+terrible business in reckitt's blue and browny gold, with awful heraldic
+beasts, rather worm-wriggly, displayed in a blue field.
+
+As he lay thinking of nothing and feeling nothing except a certain
+weariness, or dreariness, or tension, or God-knows-what, he heard a loud
+hoarse noise of humanity in the distance, something frightening. Rising,
+he went on to his little balcony. It was a sort of procession, or march
+of men, here and there a red flag fluttering from a man's fist. There
+had been a big meeting, and this was the issue. The procession was
+irregular, but powerful, men four abreast. They emerged irregularly from
+the small piazza to the street, calling and vociferating. They stopped
+before a shop and clotted into a crowd, shouting, becoming vicious. Over
+the shop-door hung a tricolour, a national flag. The shop was closed,
+but the men began to knock at the door. They were all workmen, some
+in railway men's caps, mostly in black felt hats. Some wore red cotton
+neck-ties. They lifted their faces to the national flag, and as they
+shouted and gesticulated Aaron could see their strong teeth in their
+jaws. There was something frightening in their lean, strong Italian
+jaws, something inhuman and possessed-looking in their foreign,
+southern-shaped faces, so much more formed and demon-looking than
+northern faces. They had a demon-like set purpose, and the noise of
+their voices was like a jarring of steel weapons. Aaron wondered what
+they wanted. There were no women--all men--a strange male, slashing
+sound. Vicious it was--the head of the procession swirling like a little
+pool, the thick wedge of the procession beyond, flecked with red flags.
+
+A window opened above the shop, and a frowsty-looking man, yellow-pale,
+was quickly and nervously hauling in the national flag. There were
+shouts of derision and mockery--a great overtone of acrid derision--the
+flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared. And the procession moved
+on. Almost every shop had a flag flying. And every one of these flags
+now disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later, in obedience to the
+command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that marched and clotted slowly
+down the street, having its own way.
+
+Only one flag remained flying--the big tricolour that floated from the
+top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel. The ground floor of this
+house consisted of shop-premises--now closed. There was no sign of any
+occupant. The flag floated inert aloft.
+
+The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and
+all were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which
+stirred damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves of
+the house opposite. Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped almost
+unmoved from the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl itself
+up of its own accord, in obedience to the will of the masses. Then he
+looked down at the packed black shoulders of the mob below, and at the
+curious clustering pattern of a sea of black hats. He could hardly see
+anything but hats and shoulders, uneasily moving like boiling pitch away
+beneath him. But the shouts began to come up hotter and hotter. There
+had been a great ringing of a door-bell and battering on the shop-door.
+The crowd--the swollen head of the procession--talked and shouted,
+occupying the centre of the street, but leaving the pavement clear.
+A woman in a white blouse appeared in the shop-door. She came out and
+looked up at the flag and shook her head and gesticulated with her
+hands. It was evidently not her flag--she had nothing to do with it. The
+leaders again turned to the large house-door, and began to ring all
+the bells and to knock with their knuckles. But no good--there was
+no answer. They looked up again at the flag. Voices rose ragged and
+ironical. The woman explained something again. Apparently there was
+nobody at home in the upper floors--all entrance was locked--there was
+no caretaker. Nobody owned the flag. There it hung under the broad eaves
+of the strong stone house, and didn't even know that it was guilty.
+The woman went back into her shop and drew down the iron shutter from
+inside.
+
+The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle. The
+voices rose in pitch and derision. Steam was getting up. There hung the
+flag. The procession crowded forward and filled the street in a mass
+below. All the rest of the street was empty and shut up. And still hung
+the showy rag, red and white and green, up aloft.
+
+Suddenly there was a lull--then shouts, half-encouraging, half-derisive.
+And Aaron saw a smallish-black figure of a youth, fair-haired, not more
+than seventeen years old, clinging like a monkey to the front of the
+house, and by the help of the heavy drain-pipe and the stone-work
+ornamentation climbing up to the stone ledge that ran under ground-floor
+windows, up like a sudden cat on to the projecting footing. He did not
+stop there, but continued his race like some frantic lizard running up
+the great wall-front, working away from the noise below, as if in sheer
+fright. It was one unending wriggling movement, sheer up the front of
+the impassive, heavy stone house.
+
+The flag hung from a pole under one of the windows of the top
+storey--the third floor. Up went the wriggling figure of the possessed
+youth. The cries of the crowd below were now wild, ragged ejaculations
+of excitement and encouragement. The youth seemed to be lifted up,
+almost magically on the intense upreaching excitement of the massed men
+below. He passed the ledge of the first floor, like a lizard he wriggled
+up and passed the ledge or coping of the second floor, and there he was,
+like an upward-climbing shadow, scrambling on to the coping of the third
+floor. The crowd was for a second electrically still as the boy rose
+there erect, cleaving to the wall with the tips of his fingers.
+
+But he did not hesitate for one breath. He was on his feet and running
+along the narrow coping that went across the house under the third floor
+windows, running there on that narrow footing away above the street,
+straight to the flag. He had got it--he had clutched it in his hand, a
+handful of it. Exactly like a great flame rose the simultaneous yell of
+the crowd as the boy jerked and got the flag loose. He had torn it
+down. A tremendous prolonged yell, touched with a snarl of triumph, and
+searing like a puff of flame, sounded as the boy remained for one moment
+with the flag in his hand looking down at the crowd below. His face was
+odd and elated and still. Then with the slightest gesture he threw the
+flag from him, and Aaron watched the gaudy remnant falling towards the
+many faces, whilst the noise of yelling rose up unheard.
+
+There was a great clutch and hiss in the crowd. The boy still stood
+unmoved, holding by one hand behind him, looking down from above, from
+his dangerous elevation, in a sort of abstraction.
+
+And the next thing Aaron was conscious of was the sound of trumpets. A
+sudden startling challenge of trumpets, and out of nowhere a sudden rush
+of grey-green carabinieri battering the crowd wildly with truncheons. It
+was so sudden that Aaron _heard_ nothing any more. He only saw.
+
+In utmost amazement he saw the greeny-grey uniformed carabinieri rushing
+thick and wild and indiscriminate on the crowd: a sudden new excited
+crowd in uniforms attacking the black crowd, beating them wildly with
+truncheons. There was a seething moment in the street below. And almost
+instantaneously the original crowd burst into a terror of frenzy. The
+mob broke as if something had exploded inside it. A few black-hatted men
+fought furiously to get themselves free of the hated soldiers; in the
+confusion bunches of men staggered, reeled, fell, and were struggling
+among the legs of their comrades and of the carabinieri. But the bulk of
+the crowd just burst and fled--in every direction. Like drops of water
+they seemed to fly up at the very walls themselves. They darted into
+any entry, any doorway. They sprang up the walls and clambered into the
+ground-floor windows. They sprang up the walls on to window-ledges, and
+then jumped down again, and ran--clambering, wriggling, darting, running
+in every direction; some cut, blood on their faces, terror or frenzy
+of flight in their hearts. Not so much terror as the frenzy of running
+away. In a breath the street was empty.
+
+And all the time, there above on the stone coping stood the long-faced,
+fair-haired boy, while four stout carabinieri in the street below stood
+with uplifted revolvers and covered him, shouting that if he moved they
+would shoot. So there he stood, still looking down, still holding with
+his left hand behind him, covered by the four revolvers. He was not so
+much afraid as twitchily self-conscious because of his false position.
+
+Meanwhile down below the crowd had dispersed--melted momentaneously. The
+carabinieri were busy arresting the men who had fallen and been trodden
+underfoot, or who had foolishly let themselves be taken; perhaps half a
+dozen men, half a dozen prisoners; less rather than more. The sergeant
+ordered these to be secured between soldiers. And last of all the youth
+up above, still covered by the revolvers, was ordered to come down. He
+turned quite quietly, and quite humbly, cautiously picked his way along
+the coping towards the drain-pipe. He reached this pipe and began, in
+humiliation, to climb down. It was a real climb down.
+
+Once in the street he was surrounded by the grey uniforms. The soldiers
+formed up. The sergeant gave the order. And away they marched, the
+dejected youth a prisoner between them.
+
+Then were heard a few scattered yells of derision and protest, a few
+shouts of anger and derision against the carabinieri. There were once
+more gangs of men and groups of youths along the street. They sent up an
+occasional shout. But always over their shoulders, and pretending it was
+not they who shouted. They were all cowed and hang-dog once more, and
+made not the slightest effort to save the youth. Nevertheless, they
+prowled and watched, ready for the next time.
+
+So, away went the prisoner and the grey-green soldiers, and the street
+was left to the little gangs and groups of hangdog, discontented men,
+all thoroughly out of countenance. The scene was ended.
+
+Aaron looked round, dazed. And then for the first time he noticed, on
+the next balcony to his own, two young men: young gentlemen, he would
+have said. The one was tall and handsome and well-coloured, might be
+Italian. But the other with his pale thin face and his rimless monocle
+in his eye, he was surely an Englishman. He was surely one of the
+young officers shattered by the war. A look of strange, arch, bird-like
+pleasure was on his face at this moment: if one could imagine the
+gleaming smile of a white owl over the events that had just passed, this
+was the impression produced on Aaron by the face of the young man with
+the monocle. The other youth, the ruddy, handsome one, had knitted his
+brows in mock distress, and was glancing with a look of shrewd curiosity
+at Aaron, and with a look of almost self-satisfied excitement first to
+one end of the street, then to the other.
+
+"But imagine, Angus, it's all over!" he said, laying his hand on the arm
+of the monocled young man, and making great eyes--not without a shrewd
+glance in Aaron's direction.
+
+"Did you see him fall!" replied Angus, with another strange gleam.
+
+"Yes. But was he HURT--?"
+
+"I don't know. I should think so. He fell right back out of that on to
+those stones!"
+
+"But how perfectly AWFUL! Did you ever see anything like it?"
+
+"No. It's one of the funniest things I ever did see. I saw nothing quite
+like it, even in the war--"
+
+Here Aaron withdrew into his room. His mind and soul were in a whirl. He
+sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while. When
+he did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what. But strange,
+strange his soul passed into his instrument. Or passed half into his
+instrument. There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or to ferment
+into gold old wine of wisdom.
+
+He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the
+chamber-maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the
+restaurant. The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young
+Englishmen seated at a table in a corner just behind him. Their hair was
+brushed straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head
+bright and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in
+cameo. Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking
+round the room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some
+bird-creature, and seeming to see nothing. He had evidently been very
+ill: was still very ill. His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken,
+almost withered. He forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it.
+Probably the latter.
+
+"What do you think, Francis," he said, "of making a plan to see Florence
+and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going straight
+to Rome?" He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated words, in a
+public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South Wales.
+
+"Why, Angus," came the graceful voice of Francis, "I thought we had
+settled to go straight through via Pisa." Francis was graceful in
+everything--in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
+head, in the modulation of his voice.
+
+"Yes, but I see we can go either way--either Pisa or Florence. And I
+thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto.
+I believe they're very lovely," came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
+ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words "very lovely," as if it
+were a new experience to him to be using them.
+
+"I'm SURE they're marvellous. I'm quite sure they're marvellously
+beautiful," said Francis, in his assured, elegant way. "Well, then,
+Angus--suppose we do that, then?--When shall we start?"
+
+Angus was the nervous insister. Francis was quite occupied with his own
+thoughts and calculations and curiosity. For he was very curious, not
+to say inquisitive. And at the present moment he had a new subject to
+ponder.
+
+This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple, and
+who, with his fine sharp ears, caught every word that they said. Aaron's
+back was broad enough, and his shoulders square, and his head rather
+small and fairish and well-shaped--and Francis was intrigued. He wanted
+to know, was the man English. He _looked_ so English--yet he might
+be--he might perhaps be Danish, Scandinavian, or Dutch. Therefore, the
+elegant young man watched and listened with all his ears.
+
+The waiter who had brought Aaron his soup now came very free and easy,
+to ask for further orders.
+
+"What would you like to drink? Wine? Chianti? Or white wine? Or
+beer?"--The old-fashioned "Sir" was dropped. It is too old-fashioned
+now, since the war.
+
+"What SHOULD I drink?" said Aaron, whose acquaintance with wines was not
+very large.
+
+"Half-litre of Chianti: that is very good," said the waiter, with the
+air of a man who knew only too well how to bring up his betters, and
+train them in the way they should go.
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the
+waiter most desired. "All right! Yes! All Right!" This is the pith, the
+marrow, the sum and essence of the English language to a southerner. Of
+course it is not _all right_. It is _Or-rye_--and one word at that. The
+blow that would be given to most foreign waiters, if they were forced
+to realize that the famous _orye_ was really composed of two words, and
+spelt _all right_, would be too cruel, perhaps.
+
+"Half litre Chianti. Orye," said the waiter. And we'll let him say it.
+
+"ENGLISH!" whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. "I
+THOUGHT so. The flautist."
+
+Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of
+Aaron, without apparently seeing anything. "Yes. Obviously English,"
+said Angus, pursing like a bird.
+
+"Oh, but I heard him," whispered Francis emphatically. "Quite," said
+Angus. "But quite inoffensive."
+
+"Oh, but Angus, my dear--he's the FLAUTIST. Don't you remember? The
+divine bit of Scriabin. At least I believe it was Scriabin.--But
+PERFECTLY DIVINE!!! I adore the flute above all things--" And Francis
+placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes--Lay this to the
+credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like.
+
+"Yes. So do I," said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle,
+and seeing nothing. "I wonder what he's doing here."
+
+"Don't you think we might ASK him?" said Francis, in a vehement whisper.
+"After all, we are the only three English people in the place."
+
+"For the moment, apparently we are," said Angus. "But the English are
+all over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in the
+street. Don't forget that, Francesco."
+
+"No, Angus, I don't. The point is, his flute is PERFECTLY DIVINE--and he
+seems quite attractive in himself. Don't you think so?"
+
+"Oh, quite," said Angus, whose observations had got no further than the
+black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket. That there was a man inside
+he had not yet paused to consider.
+
+"Quite a musician," said Francis.
+
+"The hired sort," said Angus, "most probably."
+
+"But he PLAYS--he plays most marvellously. THAT you can't get away from,
+Angus."
+
+"I quite agree," said Angus.
+
+"Well, then? Don't you think we might hear him again? Don't you think we
+might get him to play for us?--But I should love it more than anything."
+
+"Yes, I should, too," said Angus. "You might ask him to coffee and a
+liqueur."
+
+"I should like to--most awfully. But do you think I might?"
+
+"Oh, yes. He won't mind being offered a coffee and liqueur. We can give
+him something decent--Where's the waiter?" Angus lifted his pinched,
+ugly bare face and looked round with weird command for the waiter. The
+waiter, having not much to do, and feeling ready to draw these two weird
+young birds, allowed himself to be summoned.
+
+"Where's the wine list? What liqueurs have you got?" demanded Angus
+abruptly.
+
+The waiter rattled off a list, beginning with Strega and ending with
+cherry brandy.
+
+"Grand Marnier," said Angus. "And leave the bottle."
+
+Then he looked with arch triumph at Francis, like a wicked bird. Francis
+bit his finger moodily, and glowered with handsome, dark-blue uncertain
+eyes at Mr. Aaron, who was just surveying the _Frutte_, which consisted
+of two rather old pomegranates and various pale yellow apples, with a
+sprinkling of withered dried figs. At the moment, they all looked like a
+_Natura Morta_ arrangement.
+
+"But do you think I might--?" said Francis moodily. Angus pursed his
+lips with a reckless brightness.
+
+"Why not? I see no reason why you shouldn't," he said. Whereupon Francis
+cleared his throat, disposed of his serviette, and rose to his feet,
+slowly but gracefully. Then he composed himself, and took on the air he
+wished to assume at the moment. It was a nice degage air, half naive and
+half enthusiastic. Then he crossed to Aaron's table, and stood on one
+lounging hip, gracefully, and bent forward in a confidential manner, and
+said:
+
+"Do excuse me. But I MUST ask you if it was you we heard playing the
+flute so perfectly wonderfully, just before dinner."
+
+The voice was confidential and ingratiating. Aaron, relieved from the
+world's stress and seeing life anew in the rosy glow of half a litre of
+good old Chianti--the war was so near but gone by--looked up at the dark
+blue, ingenuous, well-adapted eyes of our friend Francis, and smiling,
+said:
+
+"Yes, I saw you on the balcony as well."
+
+"Oh, did you notice us?" plunged Francis. "But wasn't it an
+extraordinary affair?"
+
+"Very," said Aaron. "I couldn't make it out, could you?"
+
+"Oh," cried Francis. "I never try. It's all much too new and complicated
+for me.--But perhaps you know Italy?"
+
+"No, I don't," said Aaron.
+
+"Neither do we. And we feel rather stunned. We had only just
+arrived--and then--Oh!" Francis put up his hand to his comely brow and
+rolled his eyes. "I feel perfectly overwhelmed with it still."
+
+He here allowed himself to sink friendlily into the vacant chair
+opposite Aaron's.
+
+"Yes, I thought it was a bit exciting," said Aaron. "I wonder what will
+become of him--"
+
+"--Of the one who climbed for the flag, you mean? No!--But wasn't it
+perfectly marvellous! Oh, incredible, quite incredible!--And then your
+flute to finish it all! Oh! I felt it only wanted that.--I haven't got
+over it yet. But your playing was MARVELLOUS, really marvellous. Do you
+know, I can't forget it. You are a professional musician, of course."
+
+"If you mean I play for a living," said Aaron. "I have played in
+orchestras in London."
+
+"Of course! Of course! I knew you must be a professional. But don't you
+give private recitals, too?"
+
+"No, I never have."
+
+"Oh!" cried Francis, catching his breath. "I can't believe it. But you
+play MARVELLOUSLY! Oh, I just loved it, it simply swept me away, after
+that scene in the street. It seemed to sum it all up, you know."
+
+"Did it," said Aaron, rather grimly.
+
+"But won't you come and have coffee with us at our table?" said Francis.
+"We should like it most awfully if you would."
+
+"Yes, thank you," said Aaron, half-rising.
+
+"But you haven't had your dessert," said Francis, laying a fatherly
+detaining hand on the arm of the other man. Aaron looked at the
+detaining hand.
+
+"The dessert isn't much to stop for," he said. "I can take with me what
+I want." And he picked out a handful of dried figs.
+
+The two went across to Angus' table.
+
+"We're going to take coffee together," said Francis complacently,
+playing the host with a suave assurance that was rather amusing and
+charming in him.
+
+"Yes. I'm very glad," said Angus. Let us give the show away: he was
+being wilfully nice. But he _was_ quite glad; to be able to be so nice.
+Anything to have a bit of life going: especially a bit of pleased life.
+He looked at Aaron's comely, wine-warmed face with gratification.
+
+"Have a Grand Marnier," he said. "I don't know how bad it is. Everything
+is bad now. They lay it down to the war as well. It used to be quite
+a decent drink. What the war had got to do with bad liqueurs, I don't
+know."
+
+Aaron sat down in a chair at their table.
+
+"But let us introduce ourselves," said Francis. "I am Francis--or really
+Franz Dekker--And this is Angus Guest, my friend."
+
+"And my name is Aaron Sisson."
+
+"What! What did you say?" said Francis, leaning forward. He, too, had
+sharp ears.
+
+"Aaron Sisson."
+
+"Aaron Sisson! Oh, but how amusing! What a nice name!"
+
+"No better than yours, is it?"
+
+"Mine! Franz Dekker! Oh, much more amusing, _I_ think," said Francis
+archly.
+
+"Oh, well, it's a matter of opinion. You're the double decker, not me."
+
+"The double decker!" said Francis archly. "Why, what do you mean!--"
+He rolled his eyes significantly. "But may I introduce my friend Angus
+Guest."
+
+"You've introduced me already, Francesco," said Angus.
+
+"So sorry," said Francis.
+
+"Guest!" said Aaron.
+
+Francis suddenly began to laugh.
+
+"May he not be Guest?" he asked, fatherly.
+
+"Very likely," said Aaron. "Not that I was ever good at guessing."
+
+Francis tilted his eyebrows. Fortunately the waiter arrived with the
+coffee.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis, "will you have your coffee black, or with
+milk?" He was determined to restore a tone of sobriety.
+
+The coffee was sipped in sober solemnity.
+
+"Is music your line as well, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, we're painters. We're going to work in Rome."
+
+"To earn your living?"
+
+"Not yet."
+
+The amount of discretion, modesty, and reserve which Francis put into
+these two syllables gave Aaron to think that he had two real young
+swells to deal with.
+
+"No," continued Francis. "I was only JUST down from Oxford when the
+war came--and Angus had been about ten months at the Slade--But I have
+always painted.--So now we are going to work, really hard, in Rome, to
+make up for lost time.--Oh, one has lost so much time, in the war. And
+such PRECIOUS time! I don't know if ever one will even be able to make
+it up again." Francis tilted his handsome eyebrows and put his head on
+one side with a wise-distressed look.
+
+"No," said Angus. "One will never be able to make it up. What is
+more, one will never be able to start again where one left off. We're
+shattered old men, now, in one sense. And in another sense, we're just
+pre-war babies."
+
+The speech was uttered with an odd abruptness and didacticism which made
+Aaron open his eyes. Angus had that peculiar manner: he seemed to be
+haranguing himself in the circle of his own thoughts, not addressing
+himself to his listener.
+
+So his listener listened on the outside edge of the young fellow's
+crowded thoughts. Francis put on a distressed air, and let his attention
+wander. Angus pursed his lips and his eyes were stretched wide with a
+kind of pleasure, like a wicked owl which has just joyfully hooted an
+ill omen.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis to Aaron. "Where were YOU all the time during
+the war?"
+
+"I was doing my job," said Aaron. Which led to his explaining his
+origins.
+
+"Really! So your music is quite new! But how interesting!" cried
+Francis.
+
+Aaron explained further.
+
+"And so the war hardly affected you? But what did you FEEL about it,
+privately?"
+
+"I didn't feel much. I didn't know what to feel. Other folks did such a
+lot of feeling, I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut."
+
+"Yes, quite!" said Angus. "Everybody had such a lot of feelings on
+somebody else's behalf, that nobody ever had time to realise what they
+felt themselves. I know I was like that. The feelings all came on to me
+from the outside: like flies settling on meat. Before I knew where I
+was I was eaten up with a swarm of feelings, and I found myself in the
+trenches. God knows what for. And ever since then I've been trying to
+get out of my swarm of feelings, which buzz in and out of me and have
+nothing to do with me. I realised it in hospital. It's exactly like
+trying to get out of a swarm of nasty dirty flies. And every one you
+kill makes you sick, but doesn't make the swarm any less."
+
+Again Angus pursed and bridled and looked like a pleased, wicked white
+owl. Then he polished his monocle on a very choice silk handkerchief,
+and fixed it unseeing in his left eye.
+
+But Francis was not interested in his friend's experiences. For Francis
+had had a job in the War Office--whereas Angus was a war-hero with
+shattered nerves. And let him depreciate his own experiences as much as
+he liked, the young man with the monocle kept tight hold on his prestige
+as a war hero. Only for himself, though. He by no means insisted that
+anyone else should be war-bitten.
+
+Francis was one of those men who, like women, can set up the sympathetic
+flow and make a fellow give himself away without realising what he is
+doing. So there sat our friend Aaron, amusingly unbosoming himself
+of all his history and experiences, drawn out by the arch, subtle
+attentiveness of the handsome Francis. Angus listened, too, with pleased
+amusedness on his pale, emaciated face, pursing his shrunken jaw. And
+Aaron sipped various glasses of the liqueur, and told all his tale as if
+it was a comedy. A comedy it seemed, too, at that hour. And a comedy no
+doubt it was. But mixed, like most things in this life. Mixed.
+
+It was quite late before this seance broke up: and the waiter itching to
+get rid of the fellows.
+
+"Well, now," said Francis, as he rose from the table and settled his
+elegant waist, resting on one hip, as usual. "We shall see you in the
+morning, I hope. You say you are going to Venice. Why? Have you some
+engagement in Venice?"
+
+"No," said Aaron. "I only was going to look for a friend--Rawdon Lilly."
+
+"Rawdon Lilly! Why, is he in Venice? Oh, I've heard SUCH a lot about
+him. I should like so much to meet him. But I heard he was in Germany--"
+
+"I don't know where he is."
+
+"Angus! Didn't we hear that Lilly was in Germany?"
+
+"Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe it was."
+
+Aaron looked rather blank.
+
+"But have you anything to take you to Venice? It's such a bad climate in
+the winter. Why not come with us to Florence?" said Francis.
+
+Aaron wavered. He really did not know what to do.
+
+"Think about it," said Francis, laying his hand on Aaron's arm. "Think
+about it tonight. And we'll meet in the morning. At what time?"
+
+"Any time," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, say eleven. We'll meet in the lounge here at eleven. Will that
+suit you? All right, then. It's so awfully nice meeting you. That
+marvellous flute.--And think about Florence. But do come. Don't
+disappoint us."
+
+The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV. A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+
+
+The next day but one, the three set off for Florence. Aaron had made
+an excursion from Milan with the two young heroes, and dined with them
+subsequently at the most expensive restaurant in the town. Then they
+had all gone home--and had sat in the young men's bedroom drinking
+tea, whilst Aaron played the flute. Francis was really musical, and
+enchanted. Angus enjoyed the novelty, and the moderate patronage he
+was able to confer. And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he was
+paying for his treat.
+
+So behold them setting off for Florence in the early morning. Angus and
+Francis had first-class tickets: Aaron took a third-class.
+
+"Come and have lunch with us on the train," said Angus. "I'll order
+three places, and we can lunch together."
+
+"Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station," said Aaron.
+
+"No, come and lunch with us. It will be much nicer. And we shall enjoy
+it as well," said Angus.
+
+"Of course! Ever so much nicer! Of course!" cried Francis. "Yes, why
+not, indeed! Why should you hesitate?"
+
+"All right, then," said Aaron, not without some feeling of constraint.
+
+So they separated. The young men settled themselves amidst the red plush
+and crochet-work, looking, with their hair plastered smoothly back,
+quite as first class as you could wish, creating quite the right
+impression on the porters and the travelling Italians. Aaron went to his
+third-class, further up the train.
+
+"Well, then, _au revoir_, till luncheon," cried Francis.
+
+The train was fairly full in the third and second classes. However,
+Aaron got his seat, and the porter brought on his bags, after disposing
+of the young men's luggage. Aaron gave the tip uneasily. He always hated
+tipping--it seemed humiliating both ways. And the airy aplomb of the
+two young cavaliers, as they settled down among the red plush and the
+obsequiousness, and said "Well, then, _au revoir_ till luncheon," was
+peculiarly unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
+
+"The porter thinks I'm their servant--their valet," said Aaron to
+himself, and a curious half-amused, half-contemptuous look flickered on
+his face. It annoyed him. The falsity occasioned by the difference in
+the price of the tickets was really humiliating. Aaron had lived long
+enough to know that as far as manhood and intellect went--nay, even
+education--he was not the inferior of the two young "gentlemen." He knew
+quite well that, as far as intrinsic nature went, they did not imagine
+him an inferior: rather the contrary. They had rather an exaggerated
+respect for him and his life-power, and even his origin. And yet--they
+had the inestimable cash advantage--and they were going to keep it. They
+knew it was nothing more than an artificial cash superiority. But they
+gripped it all the more intensely. They were the upper middle classes.
+They were Eton and Oxford. And they were going to hang on to their
+privileges. In these days, it is a fool who abdicates before he's forced
+to. And therefore:
+
+"Well, then--_au revoir_ till luncheon."
+
+They were being so awfully nice. And inwardly they were not
+condescending. But socially, they just had to be. The world is made like
+that. It wasn't their own private fault. It was no fault at all. It was
+just the mode in which they were educated, the style of their living.
+And as we know, _le style, c'est l'homme_.
+
+Angus came of very wealthy iron people near Merthyr. Already he had a
+very fair income of his own. As soon as the law-business concerning his
+father's and his grandfather's will was settled, he would be well off.
+And he knew it, and valued himself accordingly. Francis was the son of a
+highly-esteemed barrister and politician of Sydney, and in his day would
+inherit his father's lately-won baronetcy. But Francis had not very much
+money: and was much more class-flexible than Angus. Angus had been born
+in a house with a park, and of awful, hard-willed, money-bound people.
+Francis came of a much more adventurous, loose, excitable family, he had
+the colonial newness and adaptability. He knew, for his own part, that
+class superiority was just a trick, nowadays. Still, it was a trick that
+paid. And a trick he was going to play as long as it did pay.
+
+While Aaron sat, a little pale at the gills, immobile, ruminating these
+matters, a not very pleasant look about his nose-end, he heard a voice:
+
+"Oh, there you ARE! I thought I'd better come and see, so that we can
+fetch you at lunch time.--You've got a seat? Are you quite comfortable?
+Is there anything I could get you? Why, you're in a non-smoker!--But
+that doesn't matter, everybody will smoke. Are you sure you have
+everything? Oh, but wait just one moment--"
+
+It was Francis, long and elegant, with his straight shoulders and his
+coat buttoned to show his waist, and his face so well-formed and so
+modern. So modern, altogether. His voice was pleasantly modulated, and
+never hurried. He now looked as if a thought had struck him. He put a
+finger to his brow, and hastened back to his own carriage. In a minute,
+he returned with a new London literary magazine.
+
+"Something to read--I shall have to FLY--See you at lunch," and he had
+turned and elegantly hastened, but not too fast, back to his carriage.
+The porter was holding the door for him. So Francis looked pleasantly
+hurried, but by no means rushed. Oh, dear, no. He took his time. It was
+not for him to bolt and scramble like a mere Italian.
+
+The people in Aaron's carriage had watched the apparition of the elegant
+youth intently. For them, he was a being from another sphere--no doubt
+a young milordo with power wealth, and glamorous life behind him. Which
+was just what Francis intended to convey. So handsome--so very, very
+impressive in all his elegant calm showiness. He made such a _bella
+figura_. It was just what the Italians loved. Those in the first class
+regions thought he might even be an Italian, he was so attractive.
+
+The train in motion, the many Italian eyes in the carriage studied
+Aaron. He, too, was good-looking. But by no means as fascinating as
+the young milordo. Not half as sympathetic. No good at all at playing a
+role. Probably a servant of the young signori.
+
+Aaron stared out of the window, and played the one single British role
+left to him, that of ignoring his neighbours, isolating himself in
+their midst, and minding his own business. Upon this insular trick our
+greatness and our predominance depends--such as it is. Yes, they might
+look at him. They might think him a servant or what they liked. But he
+was inaccessible to them. He isolated himself upon himself, and there
+remained.
+
+It was a lovely day, a lovely, lovely day of early autumn. Over the
+great plain of Lombardy a magnificent blue sky glowed like mid-summer,
+the sun shone strong. The great plain, with its great stripes of
+cultivation--without hedges or boundaries---how beautiful it was!
+Sometimes he saw oxen ploughing. Sometimes. Oh, so beautiful, teams
+of eight, or ten, even of twelve pale, great soft oxen in procession,
+ploughing the dark velvety earth, a driver with a great whip at their
+head, a man far behind holding the plough-shafts. Beautiful the soft,
+soft plunging motion of oxen moving forwards. Beautiful the strange,
+snaky lifting of the muzzles, the swaying of the sharp horns. And the
+soft, soft crawling motion of a team of oxen, so invisible, almost, yet
+so inevitable. Now and again straight canals of water flashed blue. Now
+and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars rose and made avenues
+or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain. Their top boughs were
+spangled with gold and green leaf. Sometimes the vine-leaves were gold
+and red, a patterning. And the great square farm-homesteads, white,
+red-roofed, with their out-buildings, stood naked amid the lands,
+without screen or softening. There was something big and exposed about
+it all. No more the cosy English ambushed life, no longer the cosy
+littleness of the landscape. A bigness--and nothing to shelter the
+unshrinking spirit. It was all exposed, exposed to the sweep of plain,
+to the high, strong sky, and to human gaze. A kind of boldness, an
+indifference. Aaron was impressed and fascinated. He looked with
+new interest at the Italians in the carriage with him--for this same
+boldness and indifference and exposed gesture. And he found it in them,
+too. And again it fascinated him. It seemed so much bigger, as if the
+walls of life had fallen. Nay, the walls of English life will have to
+fall.
+
+Sitting there in the third-class carriage, he became happy again. The
+_presence_ of his fellow-passengers was not so hampering as in England.
+In England, everybody seems held tight and gripped, nothing is left
+free. Every passenger seems like a parcel holding his string as fast as
+he can about him, lest one corner of the wrapper should come undone
+and reveal what is inside. And every other passenger is forced, by
+the public will, to hold himself as tight-bound also. Which in the end
+becomes a sort of self-conscious madness.
+
+But here, in the third class carriage, there was no tight string round
+every man. They were not all trussed with self-conscious string as tight
+as capons. They had a sufficient amount of callousness and indifference
+and natural equanimity. True, one of them spat continually on the floor,
+in large spits. And another sat with his boots all unlaced and his
+collar off, and various important buttons undone. They did not seem to
+care if bits of themselves did show, through the gaps in the wrapping.
+Aaron winced--but he preferred it to English tightness. He was pleased,
+he was happy with the Italians. He thought how generous and natural they
+were.
+
+So the towns passed by, and the hours, and he seemed at last to have got
+outside himself and his old conditions. It seemed like a great escape.
+There was magic again in life--real magic. Was it illusion, or was it
+genuine? He thought it was genuine, and opened his soul a if there was
+no danger.
+
+Lunch-time came. Francis summoned Aaron down the rocking tram. The
+three men had a table to themselves, and all felt they were enjoying
+themselves very much indeed. Of course Francis and Angus made a great
+impression again. But in the dining car were mostly middle-class,
+well-to-do Italians. And these did not look upon our two young heroes as
+two young wonders. No, rather with some criticism, and some class-envy.
+But they were impressed. Oh, they were impressed! How should they not
+be, when our young gentlemen had such an air! Aaron was conscious all
+the time that the fellow-diners were being properly impressed by
+the flower of civilisation and the salt of the earth, namely, young,
+well-to-do Englishmen. And he had a faint premonition, based on
+experience perhaps, that fellow-passengers in the end never forgive the
+man who has "impressed" them. Mankind loves being impressed. It asks to
+be impressed. It almost forces those whom it can force to play a role
+and to make an impression. And afterwards, never forgives.
+
+When the train ran into Bologna Station, they were still in the
+restaurant car. Nor did they go at once to their seats. Angus had paid
+the bill. There was three-quarters-of-an-hour's wait in Bologna.
+
+"You may as well come down and sit with us," said Francis. "We've got
+nobody in our carriage, so why shouldn't we all stay together during the
+wait. You kept your own seat, I suppose."
+
+No, he had forgotten. So when he went to look for it, it was occupied
+by a stout man who was just taking off his collar and wrapping a white
+kerchief round his neck. The third class carriages were packed. For
+those were early days after the war, while men still had pre-war
+notions and were poor. Ten months would steal imperceptibly by, and the
+mysterious revolution would be effected. Then, the second class and the
+first class would be packed, indescribably packed, crowded, on all
+great trains: and the third class carriages, lo and behold, would be
+comparatively empty. Oh, marvellous days of bankruptcy, when nobody will
+condescend to travel third!
+
+However, these were still modest, sombre months immediately after the
+peace. So a large man with a fat neck and a white kerchief, and his
+collar over his knee, sat in Aaron's seat. Aaron looked at the man,
+and at his own luggage overhead. The fat man saw him looking and stared
+back: then stared also at the luggage overhead: and with his almost
+invisible north-Italian gesture said much plainer than words would have
+said it: "Go to hell. I'm here and I'm going to stop here."
+
+There was something insolent and unbearable about the look--and about
+the rocky fixity of the large man. He sat as if he had insolently taken
+root in his seat. Aaron flushed slightly. Francis and Angus strolled
+along the train, outside, for the corridor was already blocked with the
+mad Bologna rush, and the baggage belonging. They joined Aaron as he
+stood on the platform.
+
+"But where is YOUR SEAT?" cried Francis, peering into the packed and
+jammed compartments of the third class.
+
+"That man's sitting in it."
+
+"Which?" cried Francis, indignant.
+
+"The fat one there--with the collar on his knee."
+
+"But it was your seat--!"
+
+Francis' gorge rose in indignation. He mounted into the corridor. And in
+the doorway of the compartment he bridled like an angry horse rearing,
+bridling his head. Poising himself on one hip, he stared fixedly at the
+man with the collar on his knee, then at the baggage aloft. He looked
+down at the fat man as a bird looks down from the eaves of a house. But
+the man looked back with a solid, rock-like impudence, before which an
+Englishman quails: a jeering, immovable insolence, with a sneer round
+the nose and a solid-seated posterior.
+
+"But," said Francis in English--none of them had any Italian yet. "But,"
+said Francis, turning round to Aaron, "that was YOUR SEAT?" and he flung
+his long fore-finger in the direction of the fat man's thighs.
+
+"Yes!" said Aaron.
+
+"And he's TAKEN it--!" cried Francis in indignation.
+
+"And knows it, too," said Aaron.
+
+"But--!" and Francis looked round imperiously, as if to summon his
+bodyguard. But bodyguards are no longer forthcoming, and train-guards
+are far from satisfactory. The fat man sat on, with a sneer-grin,
+very faint but very effective, round his nose, and a solidly-planted
+posterior. He quite enjoyed the pantomime of the young foreigners. The
+other passengers said something to him, and he answered laconic. Then
+they all had the faint sneer-grin round their noses. A woman in the
+corner grinned jeeringly straight in Francis' face. His charm failed
+entirely this time: and as for his commandingness, that was ineffectual
+indeed. Rage came up in him.
+
+"Oh well--something must be done," said he decisively. "But didn't you
+put something in the seat to RESERVE it?"
+
+"Only that _New Statesman_--but he's moved it."
+
+The man still sat with the invisible sneer-grin on his face, and that
+peculiar and immovable plant of his Italian posterior.
+
+"Mais--cette place etait RESERVEE--" said Francis, moving to the direct
+attack.
+
+The man turned aside and ignored him utterly--then said something to the
+men opposite, and they all began to show their teeth in a grin.
+
+Francis was not so easily foiled. He touched the man on the arm. The man
+looked round threateningly, as if he had been struck.
+
+"Cette place est reservee--par ce Monsieur--" said Francis with hauteur,
+though still in an explanatory tone, and pointing to Aaron.
+
+The Italian looked him, not in the eyes, but between the eyes, and
+sneered full in his face. Then he looked with contempt at Aaron. And
+then he said, in Italian, that there was room for such snobs in the
+first class, and that they had not any right to come occupying the place
+of honest men in the third.
+
+"Gia! Gia!" barked the other passengers in the carriage.
+
+"Loro possono andare prima classa--PRIMA CLASSA!" said the woman in the
+corner, in a very high voice, as if talking to deaf people, and pointing
+to Aaron's luggage, then along the train to the first class carriages.
+
+"C'e posto la," said one of the men, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+There was a jeering quality in the hard insolence which made Francis go
+very red and Augus very white. Angus stared like a death's-head behind
+his monocle, with death-blue eyes.
+
+"Oh, never mind. Come along to the first class. I'll pay the difference.
+We shall be much better all together. Get the luggage down, Francis.
+It wouldn't be possible to travel with this lot, even if he gave up the
+seat. There's plenty of room in our carriage--and I'll pay the extra,"
+said Angus.
+
+He knew there was one solution--and only one--Money.
+
+But Francis bit his finger. He felt almost beside himself--and quite
+powerless. For he knew the guard of the train would jeer too. It is
+not so easy to interfere with honest third-class Bolognesi in Bologna
+station, even if they _have_ taken another man's seat. Powerless,
+his brow knitted, and looking just like Mephistopheles with his high
+forehead and slightly arched nose, Mephistopheles in a rage, he hauled
+down Aaron's bag and handed it to Angus. So they transferred themselves
+to the first-class carriage, while the fat man and his party in the
+third-class watched in jeering, triumphant silence. Solid, planted,
+immovable, in static triumph.
+
+So Aaron sat with the others amid the red plush, whilst the train
+began its long slow climb of the Apennines, stinking sulphurous through
+tunnels innumerable. Wonderful the steep slopes, the great chestnut
+woods, and then the great distances glimpsed between the heights,
+Firenzuola away and beneath, Turneresque hills far off, built of
+heaven-bloom, not of earth. It was cold at the summit-station, ice and
+snow in the air, fierce. Our travellers shrank into the carriage again,
+and wrapped themselves round.
+
+Then the train began its long slither downhill, still through a whole
+necklace of tunnels, which fortunately no longer stank. So down and
+down, till the plain appears in sight once more, the Arno valley. But
+then began the inevitable hitch that always happens in Italian travel.
+The train began to hesitate--to falter to a halt, whistling shrilly
+as if in protest: whistling pip-pip-pip in expostulation as it stood
+forlorn among the fields: then stealing forward again and stealthily
+making pace, gathering speed, till it had got up a regular spurt: then
+suddenly the brakes came on with a jerk, more faltering to a halt,
+more whistling and pip-pip-pipping, as the engine stood jingling with
+impatience: after which another creak and splash, and another choking
+off. So on till they landed in Prato station: and there they sat. A
+fellow passenger told them, there was an hour to wait here: an hour.
+Something had happened up the line.
+
+"Then I propose we make tea," said Angus, beaming.
+
+"Why not! Of course. Let us make tea. And I will look for water."
+
+So Aaron and Francis went to the restaurant bar and filled the little
+pan at the tap. Angus got down the red picnic case, of which he was so
+fond, and spread out the various arrangements on the floor of the coupe.
+He soon had the spirit-lamp burning, the water heating. Francis proposed
+that he and Aaron should dash into Prato and see what could be bought,
+whilst the tea was in preparation. So off they went, leaving Angus like
+a busy old wizard manipulating his arrangements on the floor of the
+carriage, his monocle beaming with bliss. The one fat fellow--passenger
+with a lurid striped rug over his knees watched with acute interest.
+Everybody who passed the doorway stood to contemplate the scene with
+pleasure. Officials came and studied the situation with appreciation.
+Then Francis and Aaron returned with a large supply of roast chestnuts,
+piping hot, and hard dried plums, and good dried figs, and rather stale
+rusks. They found the water just boiling, Angus just throwing in the
+tea-egg, and the fellow-passenger just poking his nose right in, he was
+so thrilled.
+
+Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of
+civilisation. The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs
+and rusks were spread out: Francis flew for salt to the man at the
+bar, and came back with a little paper of rock-salt: the brown tea was
+dispensed in the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-case:
+and the picnic was in full swing. Angus, being in the height of his
+happiness, now sat on the seat cross-legged, with his feet under him, in
+the authentic Buddha fashion, and on his face the queer rapt alert look,
+half a smile, also somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass of brown
+tea in his hand. He was as rapt and immobile as if he really were in
+a mystic state. Yet it was only his delight in the tea-party. The
+fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and said in broken French, was it
+good. In equally fragmentary French Francis said very good, and offered
+the fat passenger some. He, however, held up his hand in protest, as if
+to say not for any money would he swallow the hot-watery stuff. And he
+pulled out a flask of wine. But a handful of chestnuts he accepted.
+
+The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who
+protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively. The fellow
+passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began to
+smile good-naturedly. Then the fellow-passenger--he was stout and fifty
+and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees--pointed out the
+Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled again.
+And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too. So he put aside his
+rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes in his hands,
+and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him. But his knees
+were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril, and he could no
+more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself. So he desisted
+suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and official heads in
+the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their teeth and teasing
+him. But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes with admiration. They
+loved the novelty and the fun. And on the thin, elegant Angus in his new
+London clothes, they looked really puzzled, as he sat there immobile,
+gleaming through his monocle like some Buddha going wicked, perched
+cross-legged and ecstatic on the red velvet seat. They marvelled that
+the lower half of him could so double up, like a foot-rule. So they
+stared till they had seen enough. When they suddenly said "Buon
+'appetito," withdrew their heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and
+departed.
+
+Then the train set off also--and shortly after six arrived in Florence.
+It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence. The young men had
+engaged a room at Bertolini's hotel, on the Lungarno. Bertolini's was
+not expensive--but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure
+hotel life. However, he went along with the other two, trusting to find
+a cheaper place on the morrow.
+
+It was growing quite dark as they drove to the hotel, but still was
+light enough to show the river rustling, the Ponte Vecchio spanning its
+little storeys across the flood, on its low, heavy piers: and some sort
+of magic of the darkening, varied houses facing, on the other side of
+the stream. Of course they were all enchanted.
+
+"I knew," said Francis, "we should love it."
+
+Aaron was told he could have a little back room and pension terms for
+fifteen lire a day, if he stayed at least fifteen days. The exchange
+was then at forty-five. So fifteen lire meant just six-shillings-and-six
+pence a day, without extras. Extras meant wine, tea, butter, and light.
+It was decided he should look for something cheaper next day.
+
+By the tone of the young men, he now gathered that they would prefer it
+if he took himself off to a cheaper place. They wished to be on their
+own.
+
+"Well, then," said Francis, "you will be in to lunch here, won't you?
+Then we'll see you at lunch."
+
+It was as if both the young men had drawn in their feelers now. They
+were afraid of finding the new man an incubus. They wanted to wash their
+hands of him. Aaron's brow darkened.
+
+
+             "Perhaps it was right your love to dissemble
+              But why did you kick me down stairs?..."
+
+
+Then morning found him out early, before his friends had arisen. It was
+sunny again. The magic of Florence at once overcame him, and he forgot
+the bore of limited means and hotel costs. He went straight out of the
+hotel door, across the road, and leaned on the river parapet. There ran
+the Arno: not such a flood after all, but a green stream with shoals of
+pebbles in its course. Across, and in the delicate shadow of the early
+sun, stood the opposite Lungarno, the old flat houses, pink, or white,
+or grey stone, with their green shutters, some closed, some opened. It
+had a flowery effect, the skyline irregular against the morning light.
+To the right the delicate Trinita bridge, to the left, the old bridge
+with its little shops over the river. Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses
+of green, sky-bloomed country: Tuscany.
+
+There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows over
+the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and shouldering
+one another affectionately, drawing a load of country produce, then
+horses in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid palls, slowly
+pulling the long narrow carts of the district: and men hu-huing!--and
+people calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise of Florence.
+
+"Oh, Angus! Do come and look! OH, so lovely!"
+
+Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-silk
+pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the river
+towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if to catch
+there his cry of delight. The whole pose was classic and effective: and
+very amusing. How the Italians would love it!
+
+Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
+towards the Ponte Vecchio. He passed the bridge--and passed the
+Uffizi--watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato. Then he
+noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana--male
+and physical and melodramatic--and then the corner house. It was a big
+old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves. There was
+a notice plate by the door--"Pension Nardini."
+
+He came to a full stop. He stared at the notice-plate, stared at the
+glass door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead soldier
+on the arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; _Mentana_--and
+the date! Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was. Then at last
+he summoned his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the first
+stairs.
+
+He waited some time before anybody appeared. Then a maid-servant.
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him into
+a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of frantic
+grandeur about it. There he sat and cooled his heels for half an hour.
+Arrived at length a stout young lady--handsome, with big dark-blue
+Italian eyes--but anaemic and too stout.
+
+"Oh!" she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Good-morning," said Aaron awkwardly.
+
+"Oh, good-morning! English! Yes! Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you
+know, to make you wait so long. I was upstairs, you know, with a lady.
+Will you sit?"
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+"A room! Yes, you can."
+
+"What terms?"
+
+"Terms! Oh! Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension--if you stay--How
+long will you stay?"
+
+"At least a month, I expect."
+
+"A month! Oh yes. Yes, ten francs a day."
+
+"For everything?"
+
+"Everything. Yes, everything. Coffee, bread, honey or jam in the
+morning: lunch at half-past twelve; tea in the drawing-room, half-past
+four: dinner at half-past seven: all very nice. And a warm room with the
+sun--Would you like to see?"
+
+So Aaron was led up the big, rambling old house to the top floor--then
+along a long old corridor--and at last into a big bedroom with two
+beds and a red tiled floor--a little dreary, as ever--but the sun just
+beginning to come in, and a lovely view on to the river, towards the
+Ponte Vecchio, and at the hills with their pines and villas and verdure
+opposite.
+
+Here he would settle. The signorina would send a man for his bags, at
+half past two in the afternoon.
+
+At luncheon Aaron found the two friends, and told them of his move.
+
+"How very nice for you! Ten francs a day--but that is nothing. I am so
+pleased you've found something. And when will you be moving in?" said
+Francis.
+
+"At half-past two."
+
+"Oh, so soon. Yes, just as well.--But we shall see you from time to
+time, of course. What did you say the address was? Oh, yes--just near
+the awful statue. Very well. We can look you up any time--and you will
+find us here. Leave a message if we should happen not to be in--we've
+got lots of engagements--"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI. FLORENCE
+
+
+The very afternoon after Aaron's arrival in Florence the sky became
+dark, the wind cold, and rain began steadily to fall. He sat in his big,
+bleak room above the river, and watched the pale green water fused with
+yellow, the many-threaded streams fuse into one, as swiftly the surface
+flood came down from the hills. Across, the dark green hills looked
+darker in the wet, the umbrella pines held up in vain above the villas.
+But away below, on the Lungarno, traffic rattled as ever.
+
+Aaron went down at five o'clock to tea, and found himself alone next a
+group of women, mostly Swedes or Danish or Dutch, drinking a peculiar
+brown herb-brew which tasted like nothing else on earth, and eating two
+thick bits of darkish bread smeared with a brown smear which hoped
+it was jam, but hoped in vain. Unhappily he sat in the gilt and red,
+massively ornate room, while the foreign women eyed him. Oh, bitter to
+be a male under such circumstances.
+
+He escaped as soon as possible back to his far-off regions, lonely and
+cheerless, away above. But he rather liked the far-off remoteness in
+the big old Florentine house: he did not mind the peculiar dark, uncosy
+dreariness. It was not really dreary: only indifferent. Indifferent
+to comfort, indifferent to all homeliness and cosiness. The over-big
+furniture trying to be impressive, but never to be pretty or bright
+or cheerful. There it stood, ugly and apart. And there let it
+stand.--Neither did he mind the lack of fire, the cold sombreness of his
+big bedroom. At home, in England, the bright grate and the ruddy fire,
+the thick hearth-rug and the man's arm-chair, these had been inevitable.
+And now he was glad to get away from it all. He was glad not to have a
+cosy hearth, and his own arm-chair. He was glad to feel the cold, and to
+breathe the unwarmed air. He preferred the Italian way of no fires, no
+heating. If the day was cold, he was willing to be cold too. If it was
+dark, he was willing to be dark. The cosy brightness of a real home--it
+had stifled him till he felt his lungs would burst. The horrors of real
+domesticity. No, the Italian brutal way was better.
+
+So he put his overcoat over his knee, and studied some music he had
+bought in Milan: some Pergolesi and the Scarlatti he liked, and some
+Corelli. He preferred frail, sensitive, abstract music, with not much
+feeling in it, but a certain limpidity and purity. Night fell as he sat
+reading the scores. He would have liked to try certain pieces on his
+flute. But his flute was too sensitive, it winced from the new strange
+surroundings, and would not blossom.
+
+Dinner sounded at last--at eight o'clock, or something after. He had to
+learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late. Down he went, down
+the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases. The dining room was
+right downstairs. But he had a little table to himself near the door,
+the elderly women were at some little distance. The only other men were
+Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife and child
+and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway down the
+room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
+
+However, the food was good enough, and sufficient, and the waiter and
+the maid-servant cheerful and bustling. Everything felt happy-go-lucky
+and informal, there was no particular atmosphere. Nobody put on any
+airs, because nobody in the Nardini took any notice if they did. The
+little ducal dog yapped, the ducal son shouted, the waiter dropped half
+a dozen spoons, the old women knitted during the waits, and all went
+off so badly that it was quite pleasant. Yes, Aaron preferred it to
+Bertolini's, which was trying to be efficient and correct: though not
+making any strenuous effort. Still, Bertolini's was much more up to
+the scratch, there was the tension of proper standards. Whereas here at
+Nardini's, nothing mattered very much.
+
+It was November. When he got up to his far-off room again, Aaron felt
+almost as if he were in a castle with the drawbridge drawn up. Through
+the open window came the sound of the swelling Arno, as it rushed and
+rustled along over its gravel-shoals. Lights spangled the opposite side.
+Traffic sounded deep below. The room was not really cold, for the summer
+sun so soaks into these thick old buildings, that it takes a month or
+two of winter to soak it out.--The rain still fell.
+
+In the morning it was still November, and the dawn came slowly. And
+through the open window was the sound of the river's rushing. But the
+traffic started before dawn, with a bang and a rattle of carts, and
+a bang and jingle of tram-cars over the not-distant bridge. Oh, noisy
+Florence! At half-past seven Aaron rang for his coffee: and got it at a
+few minutes past eight. The signorina had told him to take his coffee in
+bed.
+
+Rain was still falling. But towards nine o'clock it lifted, and he
+decided to go out. A wet, wet world. Carriages going by, with huge wet
+shiny umbrellas, black and with many points, erected to cover the driver
+and the tail of the horse and the box-seat. The hood of the carriage
+covered the fare. Clatter-clatter through the rain. Peasants with long
+wagons and slow oxen, and pale-green huge umbrellas erected for the
+driver to walk beneath. Men tripping along in cloaks, shawls, umbrellas,
+anything, quite unconcerned. A man loading gravel in the river-bed, in
+spite of the wet. And innumerable bells ringing: but innumerable bells.
+The great soft trembling of the cathedral bell felt in all the air.
+
+Anyhow it was a new world. Aaron went along close to the tall thick
+houses, following his nose. And suddenly he caught sight of the long
+slim neck of the Palazzo Vecchio up above, in the air. And in another
+minute he was passing between massive buildings, out into the Piazza
+della Signoria. There he stood still and looked round him in real
+surprise, and real joy. The flat empty square with its stone paving was
+all wet. The great buildings rose dark. The dark, sheer front of the
+Palazzo Vecchio went up like a cliff, to the battlements, and the slim
+tower soared dark and hawk-like, crested, high above. And at the foot
+of the cliff stood the great naked David, white and stripped in the wet,
+white against the dark, warm-dark cliff of the building--and near, the
+heavy naked men of Bandinelli.
+
+The first thing he had seen, as he turned into the square, was the back
+of one of these Bandinelli statues: a great naked man of marble, with a
+heavy back and strong naked flanks over which the water was trickling.
+And then to come immediately upon the David, so much whiter, glistening
+skin-white in the wet, standing a little forward, and shrinking.
+
+He may be ugly, too naturalistic, too big, and anything else you like.
+But the David in the Piazza della Signoria, there under the dark great
+palace, in the position Michelangelo chose for him, there, standing
+forward stripped and exposed and eternally half-shrinking, half--wishing
+to expose himself, he is the genius of Florence. The adolescent, the
+white, self-conscious, physical adolescent: enormous, in keeping with
+the stark, grim, enormous palace, which is dark and bare as he is white
+and bare. And behind, the big, lumpy Bandinelli men are in keeping too.
+They may be ugly--but they are there in their place, and they have their
+own lumpy reality. And this morning in the rain, standing unbroken, with
+the water trickling down their flanks and along the inner side of their
+great thighs, they were real enough, representing the undaunted physical
+nature of the heavier Florentines.
+
+Aaron looked and looked at the three great naked men. David so much
+white, and standing forward, self-conscious: then at the great splendid
+front of the Palazzo Vecchio: and at the fountain splashing water
+upon its wet, wet figures; and the distant equestrian statue; and the
+stone-flagged space of the grim square. And he felt that here he was in
+one of the world's living centres, here, in the Piazza della Signoria.
+The sense of having arrived--of having reached a perfect centre of the
+human world: this he had.
+
+And so, satisfied, he turned round to look at the bronze Perseus which
+rose just above him. Benvenuto Cellini's dark hero looked female, with
+his plump hips and his waist, female and rather insignificant: graceful,
+and rather vulgar. The clownish Bandinellis were somehow more to the
+point.--Then all the statuary in the Loggia! But that is a mistake. It
+looks too much like the yard of a monumental mason.
+
+The great, naked men in the rain, under the dark-grey November sky, in
+the dark, strong inviolable square! The wonderful hawk-head of the old
+palace. The physical, self-conscious adolescent, Michelangelo's David,
+shrinking and exposing himself, with his white, slack limbs! Florence,
+passionate, fearless Florence had spoken herself out.--Aaron was
+fascinated by the Piazza della Signoria. He never went into the town,
+nor returned from it to his lodging, without contriving to pass through
+the square. And he never passed through it without satisfaction. Here
+men had been at their intensest, most naked pitch, here, at the end of
+the old world and the beginning of the new. Since then, always rather
+puling and apologetic.
+
+Aaron felt a new self, a new life-urge rising inside himself. Florence
+seemed to start a new man in him. It was a town of men. On Friday
+morning, so early, he heard the traffic. Early, he watched the rather
+low, two-wheeled traps of the peasants spanking recklessly over the
+bridge, coming in to town. And then, when he went out, he found the
+Piazza della Signoria packed with men: but all, all men. And all
+farmers, land-owners and land-workers. The curious, fine-nosed Tuscan
+farmers, with their half-sardonic, amber-coloured eyes. Their curious
+individuality, their clothes worn so easy and reckless, their hats with
+the personal twist. Their curious full oval cheeks, their tendency to be
+too fat, to have a belly and heavy limbs. Their close-sitting dark hair.
+And above all, their sharp, almost acrid, mocking expression, the silent
+curl of the nose, the eternal challenge, the rock-bottom unbelief,
+and the subtle fearlessness. The dangerous, subtle, never-dying
+fearlessness, and the acrid unbelief. But men! Men! A town of men, in
+spite of everything. The one manly quality, undying, acrid fearlessness.
+The eternal challenge of the un-quenched human soul. Perhaps too acrid
+and challenging today, when there is nothing left to challenge. But
+men--who existed without apology and without justification. Men who
+would neither justify themselves nor apologize for themselves. Just men.
+The rarest thing left in our sweet Christendom.
+
+Altogether Aaron was pleased with himself, for being in Florence. Those
+were early days after the war, when as yet very few foreigners had
+returned, and the place had the native sombreness and intensity. So that
+our friend did not mind being alone.
+
+The third day, however, Francis called on him. There was a tap at the
+bedroom door, and the young man entered, all eyes of curiosity.
+
+"Oh, there you ARE!" he cried, flinging his hand and twisting his waist
+and then laying his hand on his breast. "Such a LONG way up to you! But
+miles--! Well, how are you? Are you quite all right here? You are?
+I'm so glad--we've been so rushed, seeing people that we haven't had a
+MINUTE. But not a MINUTE! People! People! People! Isn't it amazing how
+many there are, and how many one knows, and gets to know! But amazing!
+Endless acquaintances!--Oh, and such quaint people here! so ODD! So MORE
+than odd! Oh, extraordinary--!" Francis chuckled to himself over the
+extraordinariness. Then he seated himself gracefully at Aaron's table.
+"Oh, MUSIC! What? Corelli! So interesting! So very CLEVER, these people,
+weren't they!--Corelli and the younger Scarlatti and all that crowd."
+Here he closed the score again. "But now--LOOK! Do you want to know
+anybody here, or don't you? I've told them about you, and of course
+they're dying to meet you and hear you play. But I thought it best not
+to mention anything about--about your being hard-up, and all that. I
+said you were just here on a visit. You see with this kind of people I'm
+sure it's much the best not to let them start off by thinking you will
+need them at all--or that you MIGHT need them. Why give yourself away,
+anyhow? Just meet them and take them for what they're worth--and then
+you can see. If they like to give you an engagement to play at some
+show or other--well, you can decide when the time comes whether you
+will accept. Much better that these kind of people shouldn't get it into
+their heads at once that they can hire your services. It doesn't do.
+They haven't enough discrimination for that. Much best make rather
+a favour of it, than sort of ask them to hire you.--Don't you agree?
+Perhaps I'm wrong."
+
+Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine
+kindness of the young _beau_. And more still, he wondered at the
+profound social disillusionment. This handsome collie dog was something
+of a social wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment. But with genuine
+kindheartedness for another wolf. Aaron was touched.
+
+"Yes, I think that's the best way," he said.
+
+"You do! Yes, so do I. Oh, they are such queer people! Why is it, do
+you think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER--so
+ultra-English--INCREDIBLE!--and at the same time so perfectly
+impossible? But impossible! Pathological, I assure you.--And as for
+their sexual behaviour--oh, dear, don't mention it. I assure you it
+doesn't bear mention.--And all quite flagrant, quite unabashed--under
+the cover of this fanatical Englishness. But I couldn't begin to TELL
+you all the things. It's just incredible."
+
+Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and bear
+witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days. But a little
+gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry you anywhere.
+
+"Well now," said Francis. "What are you doing today?"
+
+Aaron was not doing anything in particular.
+
+"Then will you come and have dinner with us--?"
+
+Francis fixed up the time and the place--a small restaurant at the other
+end of the town. Then he leaned out of the window.
+
+"Fascinating place! Oh, fascinating place!" he said, soliloquy. "And
+you've got a superb view. Almost better than ours, I think.--Well then,
+half-past seven. We're meeting a few other people, mostly residents or
+people staying some time. We're not inviting them. Just dropping in,
+you know--a little restaurant. We shall see you then! Well then, _a
+rivederci_ till this evening.--So glad you like Florence! I'm simply
+loving it--revelling. And the pictures!--Oh--"
+
+The party that evening consisted all of men: Francis and Angus, and a
+writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee, and
+deaf Walter Rosen. They all snapped and rattled at one another, and
+were rather spiteful but rather amusing. Francis and Angus had to leave
+early. They had another appointment. And James Argyle got quite tipsy,
+and said to Aaron:
+
+"But, my boy, don't let yourself be led astray by the talk of such
+people as Algy. Beware of them, my boy, if you've a soul to save. If
+you've a soul to save!" And he swallowed the remains of his litre.
+
+Algy's nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked. "And if you've
+a soul to LOSE," he said, "I would warn you very earnestly against
+Argyle." Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide, that
+Aaron was almost scared. "Quite right, my boy. Ha! Ha! Never a truer
+thing said! Ha-ha-ha." Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy laugh.
+"They'll teach you to save. Never was such a lot of ripe old savers!
+Save their old trouser-buttons! Go to them if you want to learn to
+save. Oh, yes, I advise it seriously. You'll lose nothing--not even a
+reputation.--You may lose a SOUL, of course. But that's a detail, among
+such a hoard of banknotes and trouser-buttons. Ha-ha! What's a soul, to
+them--?"
+
+"What is it to you, is perhaps the more pertinent question," said Algy,
+flapping his eyelids like some crazy owl. "It is you who specialise in
+the matter of soul, and we who are in need of enlightenment--"
+
+"Yes, very true, you ARE! You ARE in need of enlightenment. A set of
+benighted wise virgins. Ha-ha-ha! That's good, that--benighted wise
+virgins! What--" Argyle put his red face near to Aaron's, and made a
+_moue_, narrowing his eyes quizzically as he peered up from under his
+level grey eyebrows. "Sit in the dark to save the lamp-oil--And all no
+good to them.--When the bridegroom cometh--! Ha-ha! Good that! Good,
+my boy!--The bridegroom--" he giggled to himself. "What about the
+bridegroom, Algy, my boy? Eh? What about him? Better trim your wick, old
+man, if it's not too late--"
+
+"We were talking of souls, not wicks, Argyle," said Algy.
+
+"Same thing. Upon my soul it all amounts to the same thing. Where's the
+soul in a man that hasn't got a bedfellow--eh?--answer me that! Can't be
+done you know. Might as well ask a virgin chicken to lay you an egg."
+
+"Then there ought to be a good deal of it about," said Algy.
+
+"Of what? Of soul? There ought to be a good deal of soul about?--Ah,
+because there's a good deal of--, you mean.--Ah, I wish it were so. I
+wish it were so. But, believe me, there's far more damned chastity in
+the world, than anything else. Even in this town.--Call it chastity, if
+you like. I see nothing in it but sterility. It takes a rat to praise
+long tails. Impotence set up the praise of chastity--believe me
+or not--but that's the bottom of it. The virtue is made out of the
+necessity.--Ha-ha-ha!--Like them! Like them! Ha-ha! Saving their souls!
+Why they'd save the waste matter of their bodies if they could. Grieves
+them to part with it.--Ha! ha!--ha!"
+
+There was a pause. Argyle was in his cups, which left no more to be
+said. Algy, quivering and angry, looked disconcertingly round the
+room as if he were quite calm and collected. The deaf Jewish Rosen was
+smiling down his nose and saying: "What was that last? I didn't catch
+that last," cupping his ear with his hand in the frantic hope that
+someone would answer. No one paid any heed.
+
+"I shall be going," said Algy, looking round. Then to Aaron he said,
+"You play the flute, I hear. May we hear you some time?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, non-committal.
+
+"Well, look here--come to tea tomorrow. I shall have some friends, and
+Del Torre will play the piano. Come to tea tomorrow, will you?"
+
+"Thank you, I will."
+
+"And perhaps you'll bring your flute along."
+
+"Don't you do any such thing, my boy. Make them entertain YOU, for
+once.--They're always squeezing an entertainment out of somebody--"
+and Argyle desperately emptied the remains of Algy's wine into his
+own glass: whilst Algy stood as if listening to something far off, and
+blinking terribly.
+
+"Anyhow," he said at length, "you'll come, won't you? And bring the
+flute if you feel like it."
+
+"Don't you take that flute, my boy," persisted Argyle. "Don't think of
+such a thing. If they want a concert, let them buy their tickets and go
+to the Teatro Diana. Or to Marchesa del Torre's Saturday morning. She
+can afford to treat them." Algy looked at Argyle, and blinked. "Well,"
+he said. "I hope you'll get home all right, Argyle."
+
+"Thank you for your courtesy, Algy. Won't you lend me your arm?"
+
+As Algy was small and frail, somewhat shaky, and as Argyle was a finely
+built, heavy man of fifty or more, the slap was unkind.
+
+"Afraid I can't tonight. Good-night--"
+
+Algy departed, so did little Mee, who had sat with a little delighted
+disapproval on his tiny, bird-like face, without saying anything. And
+even the Jew Rosen put away his deaf-machine and began awkwardly to take
+his leave. His long nose was smiling to itself complacently at all the
+things Argyle had been saying.
+
+When he, too, had gone, Argyle arched his brows at Aaron, saying:
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, what a lot they are!--Little Mee--looking like an
+innocent little boy. He's over seventy if he's a day. Well over seventy.
+Well, you don't believe me. Ask his mother--ask his mother. She's
+ninety-five. Old lady of ninety-five--" Argyle even laughed himself at
+his own preposterousness.
+
+"And then Algy--Algy's not a fool, you know. Oh, he can be most
+entertaining, most witty, and amusing. But he's out of place here. He
+should be in Kensington, dandling round the ladies' drawing rooms and
+making his _mots_. They're rich, you know, the pair of them. Little Mee
+used to boast that he lived on eleven-and-three-pence a week. Had to,
+poor chap. But then what does a white mouse like that need? Makes a
+heavy meal on a cheese-paring. Luck, you know--but of course he's
+come into money as well. Rich as Croesus, and still lives on
+nineteen-and-two-pence a week. Though it's nearly double, of course,
+what it used to be. No wonder he looks anxious. They disapprove of
+me--oh, quite right, quite right from their own point of view. Where
+would their money be otherwise? It wouldn't last long if I laid hands
+on it--" he made a devilish quizzing face. "But you know, they get on
+my nerves. Little old maids, you know, little old maids. I'm sure I'm
+surprised at their patience with me.--But when people are patient
+with you, you want to spit gall at them. Don't you? Ha-ha-ha! Poor old
+Algy.--Did I lay it on him tonight, or did I miss him?"
+
+"I think you got him," said Aaron.
+
+"He'll never forgive me. Depend on it, he'll never forgive me. Ha-ha! I
+like to be unforgiven. It adds ZEST to one's intercourse with people, to
+know that they'll never forgive one. Ha-ha-ha! Little old maids, who do
+their knitting with their tongues. Poor old Algy--he drops his stitches
+now. Ha-ha-ha!--Must be eighty, I should say."
+
+Aaron laughed. He had never met a man like Argyle before--and he could
+not help being charmed. The other man had a certain wicked whimsicality
+that was very attractive, when levelled against someone else, and not
+against oneself. He must have been very handsome in his day, with his
+natural dignity, and his clean-shaven strong square face. But now his
+face was all red and softened and inflamed, his eyes had gone small and
+wicked under his bushy grey brows. Still he had a presence. And his grey
+hair, almost gone white, was still handsome.
+
+"And what are you going to do in Florence?" asked Argyle.
+
+Aaron explained.
+
+"Well," said Argyle. "Make what you can out of them, and then go. Go
+before they have time to do the dirty on you. If they think you want
+anything from them, they'll treat you like a dog, like a dog. Oh,
+they're very frightened of anybody who wants anything of them:
+frightened to death. I see nothing of them.--Live by myself--see nobody.
+Can't stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties--simply can't
+stand it. No, I live alone--and shall die alone.--At least, I sincerely
+hope so. I should be sorry to have any of them hanging round."
+
+The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter--he had of course
+contracted malaria during the war--was looking purple round the eyes.
+But Argyle callously sat on. Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
+
+"Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming," said Argyle.
+
+He got unsteadily to his feet. The waiter helped him on with his coat:
+and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head. Then he
+took his stick.
+
+"Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow," said Argyle. "I am frayed
+at the wrists--look here!" He showed the cuffs of his overcoat, just
+frayed through. "I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if only
+somebody would bring it out to me.--Ready then! _Avanti!_"
+
+And so they passed out into the still rainy street. Argyle lived in the
+very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square. Aaron left him at his
+hotel door.
+
+"But come and see me," said Argyle. "Call for me at twelve o'clock--or
+just before twelve--and let us have luncheon together. What! Is that
+all right?--Yes, come just before twelve.--When?--Tomorrow? Tomorrow
+morning? Will you come tomorrow?"
+
+Aaron said he would on Monday.
+
+"Monday, eh! You say Monday! Very well then. Don't you forget now. Don't
+you forget. For I've a memory like a vice. _I_ shan't forget.--Just
+before twelve then. And come right up. I'm right under the roof. In
+Paradise, as the porter always says. _Siamo nel paradiso_. But he's
+a _cretin_. As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
+summer, and damned cold in winter. Don't you forget now--Monday, twelve
+o'clock."
+
+And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps
+to his hotel door.
+
+The next day at Algy's there was a crowd Algy had a very pleasant flat
+indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any woman's
+flat was kept. So today, with its bowls of flowers and its pictures and
+books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed, fluttering and
+blinking and making really a charming host, it was all very delightful
+to the little mob of visitors. They were a curious lot, it is true:
+everybody rather exceptional. Which though it may be startling, is so
+very much better fun than everybody all alike. Aaron talked to an old,
+old Italian elegant in side-curls, who peeled off his grey gloves and
+studied his formalities with a delightful Mid-Victorian dash, and told
+stories about a _plaint_ which Lady Surry had against Lord Marsh, and
+was quite incomprehensible. Out rolled the English words, like plums out
+of a burst bag, and all completely unintelligible. But the old _beau_
+was supremely satisfied. He loved talking English, and holding his
+listeners spell-bound.
+
+Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre, an American woman
+from the Southern States, who had lived most of her life in Europe. She
+was about forty years of age, handsome, well-dressed, and quiet in the
+buzz of the tea-party. It was evident she was one of Algy's lionesses.
+Now she sat by Aaron, eating nothing, but taking a cup of tea and
+keeping still. She seemed sad--or not well perhaps. Her eyes were
+heavy. But she was very carefully made up, and very well dressed, though
+simply: and sitting there, full-bosomed, rather sad, remote-seeming, she
+suggested to Aaron a modern Cleopatra brooding, Anthony-less.
+
+Her husband, the Marchese, was a little intense Italian in a colonel's
+grey uniform, cavalry, leather gaiters. He had blue eyes, his hair was
+cut very short, his head looked hard and rather military: he would have
+been taken for an Austrian officer, or even a German, had it not been
+for the peculiar Italian sprightliness and touch of grimace in his
+mobile countenance. He was rather like a gnome--not ugly, but odd.
+
+Now he came and stood opposite to Signor di Lanti, and quizzed him
+in Italian. But it was evident, in quizzing the old buck, the little
+Marchese was hovering near his wife, in ear-shot. Algy came up with
+cigarettes, and she at once began to smoke, with that peculiar heavy
+intensity of a nervous woman.
+
+Aaron did not say anything--did not know what to say. He was peculiarly
+conscious of the woman sitting next to him, her arm near his. She smoked
+heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of cloud on her level,
+dark brows. Her hair was dark, but a softish brown, not black, and her
+skin was fair. Her bosom would be white.--Why Aaron should have had this
+thought, he could not for the life of him say.
+
+Manfredi, her husband, rolled his blue eyes and grimaced as he laughed
+at old Lanti. But it was obvious that his attention was diverted
+sideways, towards his wife. Aaron, who was tired of nursing a tea-cup,
+placed in on a table and resumed his seat in silence. But suddenly the
+little Marchese whipped out his cigarette-case, and making a little bow,
+presented it to Aaron, saying:
+
+"Won't you smoke?"
+
+"Thank you," said Aaron.
+
+"Turkish that side--Virginia there--you see."
+
+"Thank you, Turkish," said Aaron.
+
+The little officer in his dove-grey and yellow uniform snapped his box
+shut again, and presented a light.
+
+"You are new in Florence?" he said, as he presented the match.
+
+"Four days," said Aaron.
+
+"And I hear you are musical."
+
+"I play the flute--no more."
+
+"Ah, yes--but then you play it as an artist, not as an accomplishment."
+
+"But how do you know?" laughed Aaron.
+
+"I was told so--and I believe it."
+
+"That's nice of you, anyhow--But you are a musician too."
+
+"Yes--we are both musicians--my wife and I."
+
+Manfredi looked at his wife. She flicked the ash off her cigarette.
+
+"What sort?" said Aaron.
+
+"Why, how do you mean, what sort? We are dilettanti, I suppose."
+
+"No--what is your instrument? The piano?"
+
+"Yes--the pianoforte. And my wife sings. But we are very much out of
+practice. I have been at the war four years, and we have had our home
+in Paris. My wife was in Paris, she did not wish to stay in Italy alone.
+And so--you see--everything goes--"
+
+"But you will begin again?"
+
+"Yes. We have begun already. We have music on Saturday mornings. Next
+Saturday a string quartette, and violin solos by a young Florentine
+woman--a friend--very good indeed, daughter of our Professor Tortoli,
+who composes--as you may know--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you care to come and hear--?"
+
+"Awfully nice if you would--" suddenly said the wife, quite simply, as
+if she had merely been tired, and not talking before.
+
+"I should like to very much--"
+
+"Do come then."
+
+While they were making the arrangements, Algy came up in his blandest
+manner.
+
+"Now Marchesa--might we hope for a song?"
+
+"No--I don't sing any more," came the slow, contralto reply.
+
+"Oh, but you can't mean you say that deliberately--"
+
+"Yes, quite deliberately--" She threw away her cigarette and opened her
+little gold case to take another.
+
+"But what can have brought you to such a disastrous decision?"
+
+"I can't say," she replied, with a little laugh. "The war, probably."
+
+"Oh, but don't let the war deprive us of this, as of everything else."
+
+"Can't be helped," she said. "I have no choice in the matter. The bird
+has flown--" She spoke with a certain heavy languor.
+
+"You mean the bird of your voice? Oh, but that is quite impossible. One
+can hear it calling out of the leaves every time you speak."
+
+"I'm afraid you can't get him to do any more than call out of the
+leaves."
+
+"But--but--pardon me--is it because you don't intend there should be any
+more song? Is that your intention?"
+
+"That I couldn't say," said the Marchesa, smoking, smoking.
+
+"Yes," said Manfredi. "At the present time it is because she WILL
+not--not because she cannot. It is her will, as you say."
+
+"Dear me! Dear me!" said Algy. "But this is really another disaster
+added to the war list.--But--but--will none of us ever be able to
+persuade you?" He smiled half cajoling, half pathetic, with a prodigious
+flapping of his eyes.
+
+"I don't know," said she. "That will be as it must be."
+
+"Then can't we say it must be SONG once more?"
+
+To this sally she merely laughed, and pressed out her half-smoked
+cigarette.
+
+"How very disappointing! How very cruel of--of fate--and the
+war--and--and all the sum total of evils," said Algy.
+
+"Perhaps--" here the little and piquant host turned to Aaron.
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Sisson, your flute might call out the bird of song. As
+thrushes call each other into challenge, you know. Don't you think that
+is very probable?"
+
+"I have no idea," said Aaron.
+
+"But you, Marchesa. Won't you give us hope that it might be so?"
+
+"I've no idea, either," said she. "But I should very much like to hear
+Mr. Sisson's flute. It's an instrument I like extremely."
+
+"There now. You see you may work the miracle, Mr. Sisson. Won't you play
+to us?"
+
+"I'm afraid I didn't bring my flute along," said Aaron "I didn't want to
+arrive with a little bag."
+
+"Quite!" said Algy. "What a pity it wouldn't go in your pocket."
+
+"Not music and all," said Aaron.
+
+"Dear me! What a _comble_ of disappointment. I never felt so strongly,
+Marchesa, that the old life and the old world had collapsed.--Really--I
+shall soon have to try to give up being cheerful at all."
+
+"Don't do that," said the Marchesa. "It isn't worth the effort."
+
+"Ah! I'm glad you find it so. Then I have hope."
+
+She merely smiled, indifferent.
+
+The teaparty began to break up--Aaron found himself going down the
+stairs with the Marchesa and her husband. They descended all three in
+silence, husband and wife in front. Once outside the door, the husband
+asked:
+
+"How shall we go home, dear? Tram or carriage--?" It was evident he was
+economical.
+
+"Walk," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Aaron. "We are all going
+the same way, I believe."
+
+Aaron said where he lived. They were just across the river. And so all
+three proceeded to walk through the town.
+
+"You are sure it won't be too much for you--too far?" said the little
+officer, taking his wife's arm solicitously. She was taller than he. But
+he was a spirited fellow.
+
+"No, I feel like walking."
+
+"So long as you don't have to pay for it afterwards."
+
+Aaron gathered that she was not well. Yet she did not look ill--unless
+it were nerves. She had that peculiar heavy remote quality of
+pre-occupation and neurosis.
+
+The streets of Florence were very full this Sunday evening, almost
+impassable, crowded particularly with gangs of grey-green soldiers. The
+three made their way brokenly, and with difficulty. The Italian was in a
+constant state of returning salutes. The grey-green, sturdy, unsoldierly
+soldiers looked at the woman as she passed.
+
+"I am sure you had better take a carriage," said Manfredi.
+
+"No--I don't mind it."
+
+"Do you feel at home in Florence?" Aaron asked her.
+
+"Yes--as much as anywhere. Oh, yes--quite at home."
+
+"Do you like it as well as anywhere?" he asked.
+
+"Yes--for a time. Paris for the most part."
+
+"Never America?"
+
+"No, never America. I came when I was quite a little girl to
+Europe--Madrid--Constantinople--Paris. I hardly knew America at all."
+
+Aaron remembered that Francis had told him, the Marchesa's father had
+been ambassador to Paris.
+
+"So you feel you have no country of your own?"
+
+"I have Italy. I am Italian now, you know."
+
+Aaron wondered why she spoke so muted, so numbed. Manfredi seemed really
+attached to her--and she to him. They were so simple with one another.
+
+They came towards the bridge where they should part.
+
+"Won't you come and have a cocktail?" she said.
+
+"Now?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes. This is the right time for a cocktail. What time is it, Manfredi?"
+
+"Half past six. Do come and have one with us," said the Italian. "We
+always take one about this time."
+
+Aaron continued with them over the bridge. They had the first floor of
+an old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill. A man-servant opened
+the door.
+
+"If only it will be warm," she said. "The apartment is almost impossible
+to keep warm. We will sit in the little room."
+
+Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a
+mixture of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort. The
+Marchesa went away to take off her wraps, and the Marchese chatted with
+Aaron. The little officer was amiable and kind, and it was evident he
+liked his guest.
+
+"Would you like to see the room where we have music?" he said. "It is
+a fine room for the purpose--we used before the war to have music
+every Saturday morning, from ten to twelve: and all friends might come.
+Usually we had fifteen or twenty people. Now we are starting again. I
+myself enjoy it so much. I am afraid my wife isn't so enthusiastic as
+she used to be. I wish something would rouse her up, you know. The war
+seemed to take her life away. Here in Florence are so many amateurs.
+Very good indeed. We can have very good chamber-music indeed. I hope it
+will cheer her up and make her quite herself again. I was away for such
+long periods, at the front.--And it was not good for her to be alone.--I
+am hoping now all will be better."
+
+So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the
+long salon. It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire
+period--beautiful old faded tapestry panels--reddish--and some ormolu
+furniture--and other things mixed in--rather conglomerate, but pleasing,
+all the more pleasing. It was big, not too empty, and seemed to belong
+to human life, not to show and shut-upedness. The host was happy showing
+it.
+
+"Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this," he said. "But
+I prefer this. I prefer it here." There was a certain wistfulness as he
+looked round, then began to switch off the lights.
+
+They returned to the little salotta. The Marchesa was seated in a low
+chair. She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her
+throat. She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout.
+
+"Make the cocktails then, Manfredi," she said. "Do you find this room
+very cold?" she asked of Aaron.
+
+"Not a bit cold," he said.
+
+"The stove goes all the time," she said, "but without much effect."
+
+"You wear such thin clothes," he said.
+
+"Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough. Do sit down. Will you smoke?
+There are cigarettes--and cigars, if you prefer them."
+
+"No, I've got my own, thanks."
+
+She took her own cigarette from her gold case.
+
+"It is a fine room, for music, the big room," said he.
+
+"Yes, quite. Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?"
+
+"Do you want me to? I mean does it interest you?"
+
+"What--the flute?"
+
+"No--music altogether--"
+
+"Music altogether--! Well! I used to love it. Now--I'm not sure.
+Manfredi lives for it, almost."
+
+"For that and nothing else?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, no! No, no! Other things as well."
+
+"But you don't like it much any more?"
+
+"I don't know. Perhaps I don't. I'm not sure."
+
+"You don't look forward to the Saturday mornings?" he asked.
+
+"Perhaps I don't--but for Manfredi's sake, of course, I do. But for his
+sake more than my own, I admit. And I think he knows it."
+
+"A crowd of people in one's house--" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, the people. But it's not only that. It's the music itself--I think
+I can't stand it any more. I don't know."
+
+"Too emotional? Too much feeling for you?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps. But no. What I can't stand is chords, you know:
+harmonies. A number of sounds all sounding together. It just makes me
+ill. It makes me feel so sick."
+
+"What--do you want discords?--dissonances?"
+
+"No--they are nearly as bad. No, it's just when any number of musical
+notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords. Even a
+single chord struck on the piano. It makes me feel sick. I just feel as
+if I should retch. Isn't it strange? Of course, I don't tell Manfredi.
+It would be too cruel to him. It would cut his life in two."
+
+"But then why do you have the music--the Saturdays--then?"
+
+"Oh, I just keep out of the way as much as possible. I'm sure you feel
+there is something wrong with me, that I take it as I do," she added, as
+if anxious: but half ironical.
+
+"No--I was just wondering--I believe I feel something the same myself. I
+know orchestra makes me blind with hate or I don't know what. But I want
+to throw bombs."
+
+"There now. It does that to me, too. Only now it has fairly got me down,
+and I feel nothing but helpless nausea. You know, like when you are
+seasick."
+
+Her dark-blue, heavy, haunted-looking eyes were resting on him as if
+she hoped for something. He watched her face steadily, a curious
+intelligence flickering on his own.
+
+"Yes," he said. "I understand it. And I know, at the bottom, I'm like
+that. But I keep myself from realising, don't you know? Else perhaps,
+where should I be? Because I make my life and my living at it, as well."
+
+"At music! Do you! But how bad for you. But perhaps the flute is
+different. I have a feeling that it is. I can think of one single
+pipe-note--yes, I can think of it quite, quite calmly. And I can't even
+think of the piano, or of the violin with its tremolo, or of orchestra,
+or of a string quartette--or even a military band--I can't think of
+it without a shudder. I can only bear drum-and-fife. Isn't it crazy of
+me--but from the other, from what we call music proper, I've endured too
+much. But bring your flute one day. Bring it, will you? And let me hear
+it quite alone. Quite, quite alone. I think it might do me an awful lot
+of good. I do, really. I can imagine it." She closed her eyes and her
+strange, sing-song lapsing voice came to an end. She spoke almost like
+one in a trance--or a sleep-walker.
+
+"I've got it now in my overcoat pocket," he said, "if you like."
+
+"Have you? Yes!" She was never hurried: always slow and resonant, so
+that the echoes of her voice seemed to linger. "Yes--do get it. Do get
+it. And play in the other room--quite--quite without accompaniment.
+Do--and try me."
+
+"And you will tell me what you feel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron went out to his overcoat. When he returned with his flute, which
+he was screwing together, Manfredi had come with the tray and the three
+cocktails. The Marchesa took her glass.
+
+"Listen, Manfredi," she said. "Mr. Sisson is going to play, quite alone
+in the sala. And I am going to sit here and listen."
+
+"Very well," said Manfredi. "Drink your cocktail first. Are you going to
+play without music?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll just put on the lights for you."
+
+"No--leave it dark. Enough light will come in from here."
+
+"Sure?" said Manfredi.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The little soldier was an intruder at the moment. Both the others felt
+it so. But they bore him no grudge. They knew it was they who were
+exceptional, not he. Aaron swallowed his drink, and looked towards the
+door.
+
+"Sit down, Manfredi. Sit still," said the Marchesa.
+
+"Won't you let me try some accompaniment?" said the soldier.
+
+"No. I shall just play a little thing from memory," said Aaron.
+
+"Sit down, dear. Sit down," said the Marchesa to her husband.
+
+He seated himself obediently. The flash of bright yellow on the grey of
+his uniform seemed to make him like a chaffinch or a gnome.
+
+Aaron retired to the other room, and waited awhile, to get back the
+spell which connected him with the woman, and gave the two of them this
+strange isolation, beyond the bounds of life, as it seemed.
+
+He caught it again. And there, in the darkness of the big room, he put
+his flute to his lips, and began to play. It was a clear, sharp, lilted
+run-and-fall of notes, not a tune in any sense of the word, and yet
+a melody, a bright, quick sound of pure animation, a bright, quick,
+animate noise, running and pausing. It was like a bird's singing, in
+that it had no human emotion or passion or intention or meaning--a
+ripple and poise of animate sound. But it was unlike a bird's singing,
+in that the notes followed clear and single one after the other, in
+their subtle gallop. A nightingale is rather like that--a wild sound.
+To read all the human pathos into nightingales' singing is nonsense.
+A wild, savage, non-human lurch and squander of sound, beautiful, but
+entirely unaesthetic.
+
+What Aaron was playing was not of his own invention. It was a bit of
+mediaeval phrasing written for the pipe and the viol. It made the piano
+seem a ponderous, nerve-wracking steam-roller of noise, and the violin,
+as we know it, a hateful wire-drawn nerve-torturer.
+
+After a little while, when he entered the smaller room again, the
+Marchesa looked full into his face.
+
+"Good!" she said. "Good!"
+
+And a gleam almost of happiness seemed to light her up. She seemed like
+one who had been kept in a horrible enchanted castle--for years and
+years. Oh, a horrible enchanted castle, with wet walls of emotions and
+ponderous chains of feelings and a ghastly atmosphere of must-be. She
+felt she had seen through the opening door a crack of sunshine, and
+thin, pure, light outside air, outside, beyond this dank and
+beastly dungeon of feelings and moral necessity. Ugh!--she shuddered
+convulsively at what had been. She looked at her little husband. Chains
+of necessity all round him: a little jailor. Yet she was fond of him.
+If only he would throw away the castle keys. He was a little gnome. What
+did he clutch the castle-keys so tight for?
+
+Aaron looked at her. He knew that they understood one another, he and
+she. Without any moral necessity or any other necessity. Outside--they
+had got outside the castle of so-called human life. Outside the
+horrible, stinking human castle Of life. A bit of true, limpid freedom.
+Just a glimpse.
+
+"Charming!" said the Marchese. "Truly charming! But what was it you
+played?"
+
+Aaron told him.
+
+"But truly delightful. I say, won't you play for us one of these
+Saturdays? And won't you let me take the accompaniment? I should be
+charmed, charmed if you would."
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+"Do drink another cocktail," said his hostess.
+
+He did so. And then he rose to leave.
+
+"Will you stay to dinner?" said the Marchesa. "We have two people
+coming--two Italian relatives of my husband. But--"
+
+No, Aaron declined to stay to dinner.
+
+"Then won't you come on--let me see--on Wednesday? Do come on Wednesday.
+We are alone. And do bring the flute. Come at half-past six, as today,
+will you? Yes?"
+
+Aaron promised--and then he found himself in the street. It was
+half-past seven. Instead of returning straight home, he crossed the
+Ponte Vecchio and walked straight into the crowd. The night was fine
+now. He had his overcoat over his arm, and in a sort of trance or
+frenzy, whirled away by his evening's experience, and by the woman, he
+strode swiftly forward, hardly heeding anything, but rushing blindly on
+through all the crowd, carried away by his own feelings, as much as if
+he had been alone, and all these many people merely trees.
+
+Leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele a gang of soldiers suddenly rushed
+round him, buffeting him in one direction, whilst another gang, swinging
+round the corner, threw him back helpless again into the midst of the
+first gang. For some moments he struggled among the rude, brutal little
+mob of grey-green coarse uniforms that smelt so strong of soldiers.
+Then, irritated, he found himself free again, shaking himself and
+passing on towards the cathedral. Irritated, he now put on his overcoat
+and buttoned it to the throat, closing himself in, as it were, from the
+brutal insolence of the Sunday night mob of men. Before, he had been
+walking through them in a rush of naked feeling, all exposed to their
+tender mercies. He now gathered himself together.
+
+As he was going home, suddenly, just as he was passing the Bargello,
+he stopped. He stopped, and put his hand to his breast pocket. His
+letter-case was gone. He had been robbed. It was as if lightning ran
+through him at that moment, as if a fluid electricity rushed down his
+limbs, through the sluice of his knees, and out at his feet, leaving
+him standing there almost unconscious. For a moment unconscious and
+superconscious he stood there. He had been robbed. They had put their
+hand in his breast and robbed him. If they had stabbed him, it could
+hardly have had a greater effect on him.
+
+And he had known it. He had known it. When the soldiers jostled him so
+evilly they robbed him. And he knew it. He had known it as if it were
+fate. Even as if it were fated beforehand.
+
+Feeling quite weak and faint, as if he had really been struck by some
+evil electric fluid, he walked on. And as soon as he began to walk, he
+began to reason. Perhaps his letter-case was in his other coat. Perhaps
+he had not had it with him at all. Perhaps he was feeling all this, just
+for nothing. Perhaps it was all folly.
+
+He hurried forward. He wanted to make sure. He wanted relief. It was
+as if the power of evil had suddenly seized him and thrown him, and he
+wanted to say it was not so, that he had imagined it all, conjured it
+up. He did not want to admit the power of evil--particularly at that
+moment. For surely a very ugly evil spirit had struck him, in the midst
+of that gang of Italian soldiers. He knew it--it had pierced him. It had
+_got_ him.
+
+But he wanted to say it was not so. Reaching the house, he hastened
+upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors. Once
+in his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a
+sensation like fear at his heart. Then he searched his other pockets. He
+looked everywhere. In vain.
+
+In vain, truly enough. For he _knew_ the thing was stolen. He had known
+it all along. The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had deliberately
+rushed him and taken his purse. They must have watched him previously.
+They must have grinned, and jeered at him.
+
+He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock. The pocket-book
+contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various
+letters and private effects. Well, these were lost. But it was not so
+much the loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel
+so stricken. He felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they
+jostled him.
+
+And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: "Yes--and if I
+hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if
+I hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
+through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened. I
+gave myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave. I
+gave myself away. It is my own fault. I should have been on my guard.
+I should be always on my guard: always, always. With God and the devil
+both, I should be on my guard. Godly or devilish, I should hold fast to
+my reserve and keep on the watch. And if I don't, I deserve what I get."
+
+But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed. One part of his
+soul was saying emphatically: It serves you right. It is nothing but
+right. It serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the
+street, and trusts implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as if
+mankind and the life-spirit were a playground for enkindled individuals.
+It serves you right. You have paid about twelve pounds sterling for your
+lesson. Fool, you might have known beforehand, and then you needn't have
+paid at all. You can ill afford twelve pounds sterling, you fool. But
+since paid you have, then mind, mind the lesson is learned. Never
+again. Never expose yourself again. Never again absolute trust. It is
+a blasphemy against life, is absolute trust. Has a wild creature ever
+absolute trust? It minds itself. Sleeping or waking it is on its guard.
+And so must you be, or you'll go under. Sleeping or waking, man or
+woman, God or the devil, keep your guard over yourself. Keep your guard
+over yourself, lest worse befall you. No man is robbed unless he incites
+a robber. No man is murdered unless he attracts a murderer. Then be not
+robbed: it lies within your own power. And be not murdered. Or if you
+are, you deserve it. Keep your guard over yourself, now, always and
+forever. Yes, against God quite as hard as against the devil. He's fully
+as dangerous to you....
+
+Thus thinking, not in his mind but in his soul, his active, living soul,
+he gathered his equanimity once more, and accepted the fact. So he rose
+and tidied himself for dinner. His face was now set, and still. His
+heart also was still--and fearless. Because its sentinel was stationed.
+Stationed, stationed for ever.
+
+And Aaron never forgot. After this, it became essential to him to feel
+that the sentinel stood guard in his own heart. He felt a strange unease
+the moment he was off his guard. Asleep or awake, in the midst of the
+deepest passion or the suddenest love, or in the throes of greatest
+excitement or bewilderment, somewhere, some corner of himself was awake
+to the fact that the sentinel of the soul must not sleep, no, never, not
+for one instant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII. HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+
+
+Aaron and Lilly sat in Argyle's little loggia, high up under the eaves
+of the small hotel, a sort of long attic-terrace just under the roof,
+where no one would have suspected it. It was level with the grey conical
+roof of the Baptistery. Here sat Aaron and Lilly in the afternoon, in
+the last of the lovely autumn sunshine. Below, the square was
+already cold in shadow, the pink and white and green Baptistery rose
+lantern-shaped as from some sea-shore, cool, cold and wan now the sun
+was gone. Black figures, innumerable black figures, curious because they
+were all on end, up on end--Aaron could not say why he expected them to
+be horizontal--little black figures upon end, like fishes that swim on
+their tails, wiggled endlessly across the piazza, little carriages on
+natural all-fours rattled tinily across, the yellow little tram-cars,
+like dogs slipped round the corner. The balcony was so high up, that
+the sound was ineffectual. The upper space, above the houses, was
+nearer than the under-currents of the noisy town. Sunlight, lovely full
+sunlight, lingered warm and still on the balcony. It caught the facade
+of the cathedral sideways, like the tips of a flower, and sideways lit
+up the stem of Giotto's tower, like a lily stem, or a long, lovely pale
+pink and white and green pistil of the lily of the cathedral. Florence,
+the flowery town. Firenze--Fiorenze--the flowery town: the red lilies.
+The Fiorentini, the flower-souled. Flowers with good roots in the mud
+and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms in air, like the cathedral
+and the tower and the David.
+
+"I love it," said Lilly. "I love this place, I love the cathedral and
+the tower. I love its pinkness and its paleness. The Gothic souls find
+fault with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap. But I love
+it, it is delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they should be,
+like the tiger marks on a pink lily. It's a lily, not a rose; a pinky
+white lily with dark tigery marks. And heavy, too, in its own substance:
+earth-substance, risen from earth into the air: and never forgetting
+the dark, black-fierce earth--I reckon here men for a moment were
+themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment completely itself.
+Then it goes off. As Florence has gone off. No flowers now. But it HAS
+flowered. And I don't see why a race should be like an aloe tree, flower
+once and die. Why should it? Why not flower again? Why not?"
+
+"If it's going to, it will," said Aaron. "Our deciding about it won't
+alter it."
+
+"The decision is part of the business."
+
+Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of
+the windows. He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.
+
+"Do you think you're wise now," he said, "to sit in that sun?"
+
+"In November?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month," said Argyle.
+"Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' _I_ say. I'm frightened of it. I've been
+in the South, I know what it is. I tell you I'm frightened of it. But if
+you think you can stand it--well--"
+
+"It won't last much longer, anyhow," said Lilly.
+
+"Too long for me, my boy. I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the word,
+in all senses of the word.--Now are you comfortable? What? Have another
+cushion? A rug for your knees? You're quite sure now? Well, wait just
+one moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and you shall have a
+whiskey and soda. Precious--oh, yes, very precious these days--like
+drinking gold. Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!" Argyle pulled a long
+face, and made a noise with his lips. "But I had this bottle given me,
+and luckily you've come while there's a drop left. Very glad you have!
+Very glad you have."
+
+Here he poked a little table through the window, and put a bottle and
+two glasses, one a tooth-glass, upon it. Then he withdrew again to
+finish shaving. The waiter presently hobbled up with the syphon and
+third glass. Argyle pushed his head through the window, that was only
+a little higher than the balcony. He was soon neatly shaved, and was
+brushing his hair.
+
+"Go ahead, my boys, go ahead with that whiskey!" he said.
+
+"We'll wait for you," said Lilly.
+
+"No, no, don't think of it. However, if you will, I shall be one minute
+only--one minute only. I'll put on the water for the tea now. Oh, damned
+bad methylated spirit they sell now! And six francs a litre! Six francs
+a litre! I don't know what I'm going to do, the air I breathe costs
+money nowadays--Just one moment and I'll be with you! Just one moment--"
+
+In a very little while he came from the tiny attic bedroom, through
+the tiniest cupboard of a sitting-room under the eaves, where his
+books were, and where he had hung his old red India tapestries--or silk
+embroideries--and he emerged there up above the world on the loggia.
+
+"Now then--_siamo nel paradiso_, eh? Paradisal enough for you, is it?"
+
+"The devil looking over Lincoln," said Lilly laughing, glancing up into
+Argyle's face.
+
+"The devil looking over Florence would feel sad," said Argyle. "The
+place is fast growing respectable--Oh, piety makes the devil chuckle.
+But respectability, my boy, argues a serious diminution of spunk. And
+when the spunk diminishes we-ell--it's enough to make the most sturdy
+devil look sick. What? No doubt about it, no doubt whatever--There--!"
+he had just finished settling his tie and buttoning his waistcoat. "How
+do I look, eh? Presentable?--I've just had this suit turned. Clever
+little tailor across the way there. But he charged me a hundred and
+twenty francs." Argyle pulled a face, and made the little trumping noise
+with his lips. "However--not bad, is it?--He had to let in a bit at the
+back of the waistcoat, and a gusset, my boy, a gusset--in the trousers
+back. Seems I've grown in the arsal region. Well, well, might do
+worse.--Is it all right?"
+
+Lilly eyed the suit.
+
+"Very nice. Very nice indeed. Such a good cloth! That makes all the
+difference."
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference! This suit is eleven years
+old--eleven years old. But beautiful English cloth--before the war,
+before the war!"
+
+"It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now," said Lilly.
+
+"Expensive and smart, eh! Ha-ha-ha! Well, it cost me a hundred and
+twenty francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough.
+Well, now, come--" here Argyle's voice took on a new gay cheer. "A
+whiskey and soda, Lilly? Say when! Oh, nonsense, nonsense! You're going
+to have double that. You're no lily of the valley here, remember. Not
+with me. Not likely. _Siamo nel paradiso_, remember."
+
+"But why should we drink your whiskey? Tea would do for us just as
+well."
+
+"Not likely! Not likely! When I have the pleasure of your company, my
+boy, we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped. Say
+when, Aaron."
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair. The sun had left
+the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto's tower and the top of the
+cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red-tiled dome.
+
+"Look at my little red monthly rose," said Argyle. "Wonderful little
+fellow! I wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world. Oh, a
+bacchic little chap. I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his hair.
+Very becoming they were, very.--Oh, I've had a charming show of flowers.
+Wonderful creatures sunflowers are." They got up and put their heads
+over the balcony, looking down on the square below. "Oh, great fun,
+great fun.--Yes, I had a charming show of flowers, charming.--Zinnias,
+petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks--oh, charming. Look at
+that bit of honeysuckle. You see the berries where his flowers were!
+Delicious scent, I assure you."
+
+Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red-tiled pots, all
+round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst in a
+corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood-drops. Argyle was
+as tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he were a
+first-rate sea-man on a yacht. Lilly remarked on this.
+
+"Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me? Oh, I don't doubt
+it. I don't doubt it. We all end that way. Age makes old maids of us
+all. And Tanny is all right, you say? Bring her to see me. Why didn't
+she come today?"
+
+"You know you don't like people unless you expect them."
+
+"Oh, but my dear fellow!--You and Tanny; you'd be welcome if you came
+at my busiest moment. Of course you would. I'd be glad to see you if you
+interrupted me at any crucial moment.--I am alone now till August. Then
+we shall go away together somewhere. But you and Tanny; why, there's the
+world, and there's Lilly: that's how I put it, my boy."
+
+"All right, Argyle.--Hoflichkeiten."
+
+"What? Gar keine Hoflichkeiten. Wahrhaftiger Kerl bin ich.--When am I
+going to see Tanny? When are you coming to dine with me?"
+
+"After you've dined with us--say the day after tomorrow."
+
+"Right you are. Delighted--. Let me look if that water's boiling."
+He got up and poked half himself inside the bedroom. "Not yet. Damned
+filthy methylated spirit they sell."
+
+"Look," said Lilly. "There's Del Torre!"
+
+"Like some sort of midge, in that damned grey-and-yellow uniform. I
+can't stand it, I tell you. I can't stand the sight of any more of these
+uniforms. Like a blight on the human landscape. Like a blight. Like
+green-flies on rose-trees, smother-flies. Europe's got the smother-fly
+in these infernal shoddy militarists."
+
+"Del Torre's coming out of it as soon as he can," said Lilly.
+
+"I should think so, too."
+
+"I like him myself--very much. Look, he's seen us! He wants to come up,
+Argyle."
+
+"What, in that uniform! I'll see him in his grandmother's crinoline
+first."
+
+"Don't be fanatical, it's bad taste. Let him come up a minute."
+
+"Not for my sake. But for yours, he shall," Argyle stood at the parapet
+of the balcony and waved his arm. "Yes, come up," he said, "come up, you
+little mistkafer--what the Americans call a bug. Come up and be damned."
+
+Of course Del Torre was too far off to hear this exhortation. Lilly also
+waved to him--and watched him pass into the doorway far below.
+
+"I'll rinse one of these glasses for him," said Argyle.
+
+The Marchese's step was heard on the stone stairs: then his knock.
+
+"Come in! Come in!" cried Argyle from the bedroom, where he was rinsing
+the glass. The Marchese entered, grinning with his curious, half
+courteous greeting. "Go through--go through," cried Argyle. "Go on to
+the loggia--and mind your head. Good heavens, mind your head in that
+doorway."
+
+The Marchese just missed the top of the doorway as he climbed the abrupt
+steps on to the loggia.--There he greeted Lilly and Aaron with hearty
+handshakes.
+
+"Very glad to see you--very glad, indeed!" he cried, grinning with
+excited courtesy and pleasure, and covering Lilly's hand with both his
+own gloved hands. "When did you come to Florence?"
+
+There was a little explanation. Argyle shoved the last chair--it was a
+luggage stool--through the window.
+
+"All I can do for you in the way of a chair," he said.
+
+"Ah, that is all right," said the Marchese. "Well, it is very nice
+up here--and very nice company. Of the very best, the very best in
+Florence."
+
+"The highest, anyhow," said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the glass.
+"Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre. It's the bottom of the bottle, as
+you see."
+
+"The bottom of the bottle! Then I start with the tail-end, yes!" He
+stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and grinned
+a wide, gnome-like grin.
+
+"You made that start long ago, my dear fellow. Don't play the _ingenue_
+with me, you know it won't work. Say when, my man, say when!"
+
+"Yes, when," said Del Torre. "When did I make that start, then?"
+
+"At some unmentionably young age. Chickens such as you soon learn to
+cheep."
+
+"Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap," repeated Del Torre, pleased
+with the verbal play. "What is cheap, please? What is TO CHEAP?"
+
+"Cheep! Cheep!" squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian,
+who was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool. "It's what chickens
+say when they're poking their little noses into new adventures--naughty
+ones."
+
+"Are chickens naughty? Oh! I thought they could only be good!"
+
+"Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy."
+
+"Oh, as for featherless--then there is no saying what they will do.--"
+And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable
+question to Lilly:
+
+"Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?"
+
+Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.
+
+"Good! Then you will come and see us at once...."
+
+Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea. He shoved a lump of
+cake--or rather panetone, good currant loaf--through the window, with a
+knife to cut it.
+
+"Help yourselves to the panetone," he said. "Eat it up. The tea is
+coming at once. You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only
+one old cup."
+
+The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces. The two men took and ate.
+
+"So you have already found Mr. Sisson!" said Del Torre to Lilly.
+
+"Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence. We are all already
+acquainted: also with the flute. That is a great pleasure."
+
+"So I think.--Does your wife like it, too?"
+
+"Very much, indeed! She is quite _eprise_. I, too, shall have to learn
+to play it."
+
+"And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth--like Alcibiades."
+
+"Is there a risk? Yes! Then I shan't play it. My mouth is too
+beautiful.--But Mr. Sisson has not spoilt his mouth."
+
+"Not yet," said Lilly. "Give him time."
+
+"Is he also afraid--like Alcibiades?"
+
+"Are you, Aaron?" said Lilly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Afraid of spoiling your beauty by screwing your mouth to the flute?"
+
+"I look a fool, do I, when I'm playing?" said Aaron.
+
+"Only the least little bit in the world," said Lilly. "The way you
+prance your head, you know, like a horse."
+
+"Ah, well," said Aaron. "I've nothing to lose."
+
+"And were you surprised, Lilly, to find your friend here?" asked Del
+Torre.
+
+"I ought to have been. But I wasn't really."
+
+"Then you expected him?"
+
+"No. It came naturally, though.--But why did you come, Aaron? What
+exactly brought you?"
+
+"Accident," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah, no! No! There is no such thing as accident," said the Italian. "A
+man is drawn by his fate, where he goes."
+
+"You are right," said Argyle, who came now with the teapot. "A man is
+drawn--or driven. Driven, I've found it. Ah, my dear fellow, what is
+life but a search for a friend? A search for a friend--that sums it up."
+
+"Or a lover," said the Marchese, grinning.
+
+"Same thing. Same thing. My hair is white--but that is the sum of my
+whole experience. The search for a friend." There was something at once
+real and sentimental in Argyle's tone.
+
+"And never finding?" said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Oh, what would you? Often finding. Often finding. And losing, of
+course.--A life's history. Give me your glass. Miserable tea, but nobody
+has sent me any from England--"
+
+"And you will go on till you die, Argyle?" said Lilly. "Always seeking a
+friend--and always a new one?"
+
+"If I lose the friend I've got. Ah, my dear fellow, in that case I shall
+go on seeking. I hope so, I assure you. Something will be very wrong
+with me, if ever I sit friendless and make no search."
+
+"But, Argyle, there is a time to leave off."
+
+"To leave off what, to leave off what?"
+
+"Having friends: or a friend, rather: or seeking to have one."
+
+"Oh, no! Not at all, my friend. Not at all! Only death can make an end
+of that, my friend. Only death. And I should say, not even death. Not
+even death ends a man's search for a friend. That is my belief. You may
+hang me for it, but I shall never alter."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly. "There is a time to love, and a time to leave off
+loving."
+
+"All I can say to that is that my time to leave off hasn't come yet,"
+said Argyle, with obstinate feeling.
+
+"Ah, yes, it has. It is only a habit and an idea you stick to."
+
+"Indeed, it is no such thing. Indeed, it is no such thing. It is a
+profound desire and necessity: and what is more, a belief."
+
+"An obstinate persistency, you mean," said Lilly.
+
+"Well, call it so if it pleases you. It is by no means so to me." There
+was a brief pause. The sun had left the cathedral dome and the tower,
+the sky was full of light, the square swimming in shadow.
+
+"But can a man live," said the Marchese, "without having something he
+lives for: something he wishes for, or longs for, and tries that he may
+get?"
+
+"Impossible! Completely impossible!" said Argyle. "Man is a seeker, and
+except as such, he has no significance, no importance."
+
+"He bores me with his seeking," said Lilly. "He should learn to possess
+himself--to be himself--and keep still."
+
+"Ay, perhaps so," said Aaron. "Only--"
+
+"But my dear boy, believe me, a man is never himself save in the supreme
+state of love: or perhaps hate, too, which amounts to the same thing.
+Never really himself.--Apart from this he is a tram-driver or a
+money-shoveller or an idea-machine. Only in the state of love is he
+really a man, and really himself. I say so, because I know," said
+Argyle.
+
+"Ah, yes. That is one side of the truth. It is quite true, also. But it
+is just as true to say, that a man is never less himself, than in the
+supreme state of love. Never less himself, than then."
+
+"Maybe! Maybe! But what could be better? What could be better than to
+lose oneself with someone you love, entirely, and so find yourself. Ah,
+my dear fellow, that is my creed, that is my creed, and you can't shake
+me in it. Never in that. Never in that."
+
+"Yes, Argyle," said Lilly. "I know you're an obstinate love-apostle."
+
+"I am! I am! And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals
+which I never transgress. Never transgress. And never abandon."
+
+"All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker."
+
+"Pray God I am," said Argyle.
+
+"Yes," said the Marchese. "Perhaps we are all so. What else do you give?
+Would you have us make money? Or do you give the centre of your spirit
+to your work? How is it to be?"
+
+"I don't vitally care either about money or my work or--" Lilly
+faltered.
+
+"Or what, then?"
+
+"Or anything. I don't really care about anything. Except that--"
+
+"You don't care about anything? But what is that for a life?" cried the
+Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
+
+"What do YOU care for?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Me? I care for several things. I care for my wife. I care for love. And
+I care to be loved. And I care for some pleasures. And I care for music.
+And I care for Italy."
+
+"You are well off for cares," said Lilly.
+
+"And you seem to me so very poor," said Del Torre.
+
+"I should say so--if he cares for nothing," interjaculated Argyle. Then
+he clapped Lilly on the shoulder with a laugh. "Ha! Ha! Ha!--But he only
+says it to tease us," he cried, shaking Lilly's shoulder. "He cares more
+than we do for his own way of loving. Come along, don't try and take
+us in. We are old birds, old birds," said Argyle. But at that moment he
+seemed a bit doddering.
+
+"A man can't live," said the Italian, "without an object."
+
+"Well--and that object?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--it may be many things. Mostly it is two things.--love, and money.
+But it may be many things: ambition, patriotism, science, art--many
+things. But it is some objective. Something outside the self. Perhaps
+many things outside the self."
+
+"I have had only one objective all my life," said Argyle. "And that was
+love. For that I have spent my life."
+
+"And the lives of a number of other people, too," said Lilly.
+
+"Admitted. Oh, admitted. It takes two to make love: unless you're a
+miserable--"
+
+"Don't you think," said Aaron, turning to Lilly, "that however you try
+to get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself
+into a job--you've got to, you've got to try and find something
+else--somebody else--somebody. You can't really be alone."
+
+"No matter how many mistakes you've made--you can't really be alone--?"
+asked Lilly.
+
+"You can be alone for a minute. You can be alone just in that minute
+when you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone,
+because the other thing wasn't to be borne. But you can't keep on being
+alone. No matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel, thank God
+to be alone (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh air and be
+alone), no matter how many times you've felt this--it wears off every
+time, and you begin to look again--and you begin to roam round. And
+even if you won't admit it to yourself, still you are seeking--seeking.
+Aren't you? Aren't you yourself seeking?"
+
+"Oh, that's another matter," put in Argyle. "Lilly is happily married
+and on the shelf. With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think
+so--RATHER! But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case.
+As for me, I made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent me
+to hell. But I didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and woman.
+Not by ANY means."
+
+"Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?" asked the Marchese. "Do you seek
+nothing?"
+
+"We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek
+anything?" said Lilly. "Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss with
+the wonderful women who honour us as wives?"
+
+"Ah, yes, yes!" said the Marchese. "But now we are not speaking to the
+world. Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre of our
+hearts."
+
+"And what have we there?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--shall I say? We have unrest. We have another need. We have
+something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside. Do I speak the
+truth?"
+
+"Yes. But what is the something?"
+
+"I don't know. I don't know. But it is something in love, I think. It is
+love itself which gnaws us inside, like a cancer," said the Italian.
+
+"But why should it? Is that the nature of love?" said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know. Truly. I don't know.--But perhaps it is in the nature of
+love--I don't know.--But I tell you, I love my wife--she is very dear
+to me. I admire her, I trust her, I believe her. She is to me much more
+than any woman, more even than my mother.--And so, I am very happy. I am
+very happy, she is very happy, in our love and our marriage.--But wait.
+Nothing has changed--the love has not changed: it is the same.--And yet
+we are NOT happy. No, we are not happy. I know she is not happy, I know
+I am not--"
+
+"Why should you be?" said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--and it is not even happiness," said the Marchese, screwing up his
+face in a painful effort of confession. "It is not even happiness. No,
+I do not ask to be happy. Why should I? It is childish--but there is for
+both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which eats us within,
+and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know where. But it drives
+us, and eats away the life--and yet we love each other, and we must not
+separate--Do you know what I mean? Do you understand me at all in what I
+say? I speak what is true."
+
+"Yes, I understand. I'm in the same dilemma myself.--But what I want to
+hear, is WHY you think it is so. Why is it?"
+
+"Shall I say what I think? Yes? And you can tell me if it is foolish to
+you.--Shall I tell you? Well. Because a woman, she now first wants the
+man, and he must go to her because he is wanted. Do you understand?--You
+know--supposing I go to a woman--supposing she is my wife--and I go to
+her, yes, with my blood all ready, because it is I who want. Then she
+puts me off. Then she says, not now, not now, I am tired, I am not well.
+I do not feel like it. She puts me off--till I am angry or sorry or
+whatever I am--but till my blood has gone down again, you understand,
+and I don't want her any more. And then she puts her arms round me, and
+caresses me, and makes love to me--till she rouses me once more. So, and
+so she rouses me--and so I come to her. And I love her, it is very good,
+very good. But it was she who began, it was her initiative, you know.--I
+do not think, in all my life, my wife has loved me from my initiative,
+you know. She will yield to me--because I insist, or because she wants
+to be a good submissive wife who loves me. So she will yield to me. But
+ah, what is it, you know? What is it a woman who allows me, and who has
+no answer? It is something worse than nothing--worse than nothing. And
+so it makes me very discontented and unbelieving.--If I say to her, she
+says it is not true--not at all true. Then she says, all she wants is
+that I should desire her, that I should love her and desire her. But
+even that is putting her will first. And if I come to her so, if I come
+to her of my own desire, then she puts me off. She puts me off, or she
+only allows me to come to her. Even now it is the same after ten years,
+as it was at first. But now I know, and for many years I did not know--"
+
+The little man was intense. His face was strained, his blue eyes so
+stretched that they showed the whites all round. He gazed into Lilly's
+face.
+
+"But does it matter?" said Lilly slowly, "in which of you the desire
+initiates? Isn't the result the same?"
+
+"It matters. It matters--" cried the Marchese.
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, how MUCH it matters--" interrupted Argyle sagely.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron.
+
+The Marchese looked from one to the other of them.
+
+"It matters!" he cried. "It matters life or death. It used to be, that
+desire started in the man, and the woman answered. It used to be so for
+a long time in Italy. For this reason the women were kept away from the
+men. For this reason our Catholic religion tried to keep the young girls
+in convents, and innocent, before marriage. So that with their minds
+they should not know, and should not start this terrible thing, this
+woman's desire over a man, beforehand. This desire which starts in a
+woman's head, when she knows, and which takes a man for her use, for her
+service. This is Eve. Ah, I hate Eve. I hate her, when she knows, and
+when she WILLS. I hate her when she will make of me that which serves
+her desire.--She may love me, she may be soft and kind to me, she may
+give her life for me. But why? Only because I am HERS. I am that thing
+which does her most intimate service. She can see no other in me. And I
+may be no other to her--"
+
+"Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?" said Lilly.
+
+"Because I cannot. I cannot. I would. But I cannot. The Borghesia--the
+citizens--the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can. Oh, yes. The
+bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and their
+wives love them. They are the marital maquereaux--the husband-maquereau,
+you know. Their wives are so stout and happy, and they dote on their
+husbands and always betray them. So it is with the bourgeoise. She loves
+her husband so much, and is always seeking to betray him. Or she is a
+Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal. But the bourgeois husband, he goes
+on being the same. He is the horse, and she the driver. And when she
+says gee-up, you know--then he comes ready, like a hired maquereau. Only
+he feels so good, like a good little boy at her breast. And then there
+are the nice little children. And so they keep the world going.--But for
+me--" he spat suddenly and with frenzy on the floor.
+
+"You are quite right, my boy," said Argyle. "You are quite right.
+They've got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when
+they say gee-up. I--oh, I went through it all. But I broke the shafts
+and smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't care
+whether I smashed her up along with it or not. I didn't care one single
+bit, I assure you.--And here I am. And she is dead and buried these
+dozen years. Well--well! Life, you know, life. And women oh, they are
+the very hottest hell once they get the start of you. There's NOTHING
+they won't do to you, once they've got you. Nothing they won't do to
+you. Especially if they love you. Then you may as well give up the
+ghost: or smash the cart behind you, and her in it. Otherwise she will
+just harry you into submission, and make a dog of you, and cuckold you
+under your nose. And you'll submit. Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling
+her my darling. Or else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you. Your
+only chance is to smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart. Or
+she'll do for you. For a woman has an uncanny, hellish strength--she's
+a she-bear and a wolf, is a woman when she's got the start of you. Oh,
+it's a terrible experience, if you're not a bourgeois, and not one of
+the knuckling-under money-making sort."
+
+"Knuckling-under sort. Yes. That is it," said the Marchese.
+
+"But can't there be a balancing of wills?" said Lilly.
+
+"My dear boy, the balance lies in that, that when one goes up, the other
+goes down. One acts, the other takes. It is the only way in love--And
+the women are nowadays the active party. Oh, yes, not a shadow of doubt
+about it. They take the initiative, and the man plays up. That's how it
+is. The man just plays up.--Nice manly proceeding, what!" cried Argyle.
+
+"But why can't man accept it as the natural order of things?" said
+Lilly. "Science makes it the natural order."
+
+"All my ---- to science," said Argyle. "No man with one drop of real
+spunk in him can stand it long."
+
+"Yes! Yes! Yes!" cried the Italian. "Most men want it so. Most men want
+only, that a woman shall want them, and they shall then play up to her
+when she has roused them. Most men want only this: that a woman shall
+choose one man out, to be her man, and he shall worship her and come
+up when she shall provoke him. Otherwise he is to keep still. And the
+woman, she is quite sure of her part. She must be loved and adored, and
+above all, obeyed, particularly in her sex desire. There she must not
+be thwarted, or she becomes a devil. And if she is obeyed, she becomes a
+misunderstood woman with nerves, looking round for the next man whom she
+can bring under. So it is."
+
+"Well," said Lilly. "And then what?"
+
+"Nay," interrupted Aaron. "But do you think it's true what he says?
+Have you found it like that? You're married. Has your experience been
+different, or the same?"
+
+"What was yours?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Mine was the same. Mine was the same, if ever it was," said Aaron.
+
+"And mine was EXTREMELY similar," said Argyle with a grimace.
+
+"And yours, Lilly?" asked the Marchese anxiously.
+
+"Not very different," said Lilly.
+
+"Ah!" cried Del Torre, jerking up erect as if he had found something.
+
+"And what's your way out?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"I'm not out--so I won't holloa," said Lilly. "But Del Torre puts it
+best.--What do you say is the way out, Del Torre?"
+
+"The way out is that it should change: that the man should be the asker
+and the woman the answerer. It must change."
+
+"But it doesn't. Prrr!" Argyle made his trumpeting noise.
+
+"Does it?" asked Lilly of the Marchese.
+
+"No. I think it does not."
+
+"And will it ever again?"
+
+"Perhaps never."
+
+"And then what?"
+
+"Then? Why then man seeks a _pis-aller_. Then he seeks something which
+will give him answer, and which will not only draw him, draw him, with a
+terrible sexual will.--So he seeks young girls, who know nothing, and so
+cannot force him. He thinks he will possess them while they are young,
+and they will be soft and responding to his wishes.--But in this, too,
+he is mistaken. Because now a baby of one year, if it be a female, is
+like a woman of forty, so is its will made up, so it will force a man."
+
+"And so young girls are no good, even as a _pis-aller_."
+
+"No good--because they are all modern women. Every one, a modern woman.
+Not one who isn't."
+
+"Terrible thing, the modern woman," put in Argyle.
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"Then man seeks other forms of loves, always seeking the loving
+response, you know, of one gentler and tenderer than himself, who will
+wait till the man desires, and then will answer with full love.--But it
+is all _pis-aller_, you know."
+
+"Not by any means, my boy," cried Argyle.
+
+"And then a man naturally loves his own wife, too, even if it is not
+bearable to love her."
+
+"Or one leaves her, like Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+"And seeks another woman, so," said the Marchese.
+
+"Does he seek another woman?" said Lilly. "Do you, Aaron?"
+
+"I don't WANT to," said Aaron. "But--I can't stand by myself in the
+middle of the world and in the middle of people, and know I am quite by
+myself, and nowhere to go, and nothing to hold on to. I can for a day
+or two--But then, it becomes unbearable as well. You get frightened. You
+feel you might go funny--as you would if you stood on this balcony wall
+with all the space beneath you."
+
+"Can't one be alone--quite alone?" said Lilly.
+
+"But no--it is absurd. Like Saint Simeon Stylites on a pillar. But it is
+absurd!" cried the Italian.
+
+"I don't mean like Simeon Stylites. I mean can't one live with one's
+wife, and be fond of her: and with one's friends, and enjoy their
+company: and with the world and everything, pleasantly: and yet KNOW
+that one is alone? Essentially, at the very core of me, alone. Eternally
+alone. And choosing to be alone. Not sentimental or LONELY. Alone,
+choosing to be alone, because by one's own nature one is alone. The
+being with another person is secondary," said Lilly.
+
+"One is alone," said Argyle, "in all but love. In all but love, my dear
+fellow. And then I agree with you."
+
+"No," said Lilly, "in love most intensely of all, alone."
+
+"Completely incomprehensible," said Argyle. "Amounts to nothing."
+
+"One man is but a part. How can he be so alone?" said the Marchese.
+
+"In so far as he is a single individual soul, he IS alone--ipso facto.
+In so far as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, in so far, I am
+inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to
+know it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my
+self-knowledge."
+
+"My dear boy, you are becoming metaphysical, and that is as bad as
+softening of the brain," said Argyle.
+
+"All right," said Lilly.
+
+"And," said the Marchese, "it may be so by REASON. But in the heart--?
+Can the heart ever beat quite alone? Plop! Plop!--Can the heart beat
+quite alone, alone in all the atmosphere, all the space of the universe?
+Plop! Plop! Plop!--Quite alone in all the space?" A slow smile came over
+the Italian's face. "It is impossible. It may eat against the heart of
+other men, in anger, all in pressure against the others. It may beat
+hard, like iron, saying it is independent. But this is only beating
+against the heart of mankind, not alone.--But either with or against
+the heart of mankind, or the heart of someone, mother, wife, friend,
+children--so must the heart of every man beat. It is so."
+
+"It beats alone in its own silence," said Lilly.
+
+The Italian shook his head.
+
+"We'd better be going inside, anyhow," said Argyle. "Some of you will be
+taking cold."
+
+"Aaron," said Lilly. "Is it true for you?"
+
+"Nearly," said Aaron, looking into the quiet, half-amused, yet
+frightening eyes of the other man. "Or it has been."
+
+"A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Lilly, rising and picking up his
+chair to take it indoors. And the laughter of his voice was so like a
+simple, deliberate amiability, that Aaron's heart really stood still
+for a second. He knew that Lilly was alone--as far as he, Aaron, was
+concerned. Lilly was alone--and out of his isolation came his words,
+indifferent as to whether they came or not. And he left his friends
+utterly to their own choice. Utterly to their own choice. Aaron felt
+that Lilly was _there_, existing in life, yet neither asking for
+connection nor preventing any connection. He was present, he was the
+real centre of the group. And yet he asked nothing of them, and he
+imposed nothing. He left each to himself, and he himself remained just
+himself: neither more nor less. And there was a finality about it, which
+was at once maddening and fascinating. Aaron felt angry, as if he were
+half insulted by the other man's placing the gift of friendship or
+connection so quietly back in the giver's hands. Lilly would receive no
+gift of friendship in equality. Neither would he violently refuse it. He
+let it lie unmarked. And yet at the same time Aaron knew that he could
+depend on the other man for help, nay, almost for life itself--so long
+as it entailed no breaking of the intrinsic isolation of Lilly's
+soul. But this condition was also hateful. And there was also a great
+fascination in it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII. THE MARCHESA
+
+
+So Aaron dined with the Marchesa and Manfredi. He was quite startled
+when his hostess came in: she seemed like somebody else. She seemed like
+a demon, her hair on her brows, her terrible modern elegance. She wore
+a wonderful gown of thin blue velvet, of a lovely colour, with some kind
+of gauzy gold-threaded filament down the sides. It was terribly modern,
+short, and showed her legs and her shoulders and breast and all her
+beautiful white arms. Round her throat was a collar of dark-blue
+sapphires. Her hair was done low, almost to the brows, and heavy, like
+an Aubrey Beardsley drawing. She was most carefully made up--yet with
+that touch of exaggeration, lips slightly too red, which was quite
+intentional, and which frightened Aaron. He thought her wonderful, and
+sinister. She affected him with a touch of horror. She sat down opposite
+him, and her beautifully shapen legs, in frail, goldish stockings,
+seemed to glisten metallic naked, thrust from out of the wonderful,
+wonderful skin, like periwinkle-blue velvet. She had tapestry shoes,
+blue and gold: and almost one could see her toes: metallic naked. The
+gold-threaded gauze slipped at her side. Aaron could not help watching
+the naked-seeming arch of her foot. It was as if she were dusted with
+dark gold-dust upon her marvellous nudity.
+
+She must have seen his face, seen that he was _ebloui_.
+
+"You brought the flute?" she said, in that toneless, melancholy,
+unstriving voice of hers. Her voice alone was the same: direct and bare
+and quiet.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps I shall sing later on, if you'll accompany me. Will you?"
+
+"I thought you hated accompaniments."
+
+"Oh, no--not just unison. I don't mean accompaniment. I mean unison. I
+don't know how it will be. But will you try?"
+
+"Yes, I'll try."
+
+"Manfredi is just bringing the cocktails. Do you think you'd prefer
+orange in yours?"
+
+"Ill have mine as you have yours."
+
+"I don't take orange in mine. Won't you smoke?"
+
+The strange, naked, remote-seeming voice! And then the beautiful firm
+limbs thrust out in that dress, and nakedly dusky as with gold-dust. Her
+beautiful woman's legs, slightly glistening, duskily. His one abiding
+instinct was to touch them, to kiss them. He had never known a woman to
+exercise such power over him. It was a bare, occult force, something he
+could not cope with.
+
+Manfredi came in with the little tray. He was still in uniform.
+
+"Hello!" cried the little Italian. "Glad to see you--well, everything
+all right? Glad to hear it. How is the cocktail, Nan?"
+
+"Yes," she said. "All right."
+
+"One drop too much peach, eh?"
+
+"No, all right."
+
+"Ah," and the little officer seated himself, stretching his gaitered
+legs as if gaily. He had a curious smiling look on his face, that
+Aaron thought also diabolical--and almost handsome. Suddenly the odd,
+laughing, satanic beauty of the little man was visible.
+
+"Well, and what have you been doing with yourself?" said he. "What did
+you do yesterday?"
+
+"Yesterday?" said Aaron. "I went to the Uffizi."
+
+"To the Uffizi? Well! And what did you think of it?"
+
+"Very fine."
+
+"I think it is. I think it is. What pictures did you look at?"
+
+"I was with Dekker. We looked at most, I believe."
+
+"And what do you remember best?"
+
+"I remember Botticelli's Venus on the Shell."
+
+"Yes! Yes!--" said Manfredi. "I like her. But I like others better. You
+thought her a pretty woman, yes?"
+
+"No--not particularly pretty. But I like her body. And I like the fresh
+air. I like the fresh air, the summer sea-air all through it--through
+her as well."
+
+"And her face?" asked the Marchesa, with a slow, ironic smile.
+
+"Yes--she's a bit baby-faced," said Aaron.
+
+"Trying to be more innocent than her own common-sense will let her,"
+said the Marchesa.
+
+"I don't agree with you, Nan," said her husband. "I think it is just
+that wistfulness and innocence which makes her the true Venus: the
+true modern Venus. She chooses NOT to know too much. And that is her
+attraction. Don't you agree, Aaron? Excuse me, but everybody speaks of
+you as Aaron. It seems to come naturally. Most people speak of me as
+Manfredi, too, because it is easier, perhaps, than Del Torre. So if you
+find it easier, use it. Do you mind that I call you Aaron?"
+
+"Not at all. I hate Misters, always."
+
+"Yes, so do I. I like one name only."
+
+The little officer seemed very winning and delightful to Aaron this
+evening--and Aaron began to like him extremely. But the dominating
+consciousness in the room was the woman's.
+
+"DO you agree, Mr. Sisson?" said the Marchesa. "Do you agree that the
+mock-innocence and the sham-wistfulness of Botticelli's Venus are her
+great charms?"
+
+"I don't think she is at all charming, as a person," said Aaron. "As
+a particular woman, she makes no impression on me at all. But as a
+picture--and the fresh air, particularly the fresh air. She doesn't seem
+so much a woman, you know, as the kind of out-of-doors morning-feelings
+at the seaside."
+
+"Quite! A sort of sea-scape of a woman. With a perfectly sham innocence.
+Are you as keen on innocence as Manfredi is?"
+
+"Innocence?" said Aaron. "It's the sort of thing I don't have much
+feeling about."
+
+"Ah, I know you," laughed the soldier wickedly. "You are the sort of man
+who wants to be Anthony to Cleopatra. Ha-ha!"
+
+Aaron winced as if struck. Then he too smiled, flattered. Yet he felt
+he had been struck! Did he want to be Anthony to Cleopatra? Without
+knowing, he was watching the Marchesa. And she was looking away, but
+knew he was watching her. And at last she turned her eyes to his, with a
+slow, dark smile, full of pain and fuller still of knowledge. A strange,
+dark, silent look of knowledge she gave him: from so far away, it
+seemed. And he felt all the bonds that held him melting away. His eyes
+remained fixed and gloomy, but with his mouth he smiled back at her. And
+he was terrified. He knew he was sulking towards her--sulking towards
+her. And he was terrified. But at the back of his mind, also, he knew
+there was Lilly, whom he might depend on. And also he wanted to sink
+towards her. The flesh and blood of him simply melted out, in desire
+towards her. Cost what may, he must come to her. And yet he knew at the
+same time that, cost what may, he must keep the power to recover himself
+from her. He must have his cake and eat it.
+
+And she became Cleopatra to him. "Age cannot wither, nor custom stale--"
+To his instinctive, unwilled fancy, she was Cleopatra.
+
+They went in to dinner, and he sat on her right hand. It was a smallish
+table, with a very few daisy-flowers: everything rather frail, and
+sparse. The food the same--nothing very heavy, all rather exquisite.
+They drank hock. And he was aware of her beautiful arms, and her bosom;
+her low-crowded, thick hair, parted in the centre: the sapphires on her
+throat, the heavy rings on her fingers: and the paint on her lips,
+the fard. Something deep, deep at the bottom of him hovered upon her,
+cleaved to her. Yet he was as if sightless, in a stupor. Who was she,
+what was she? He had lost all his grasp. Only he sat there, with his
+face turned to hers, or to her, all the time. And she talked to him. But
+she never looked at him.
+
+Indeed she said little. It was the husband who talked. His manner
+towards Aaron was almost caressive. And Aaron liked it. The woman was
+silent mostly, and seemed remote. And Aaron felt his life ebb towards
+her. He felt the marvellousness, the rich beauty of her arms and breast.
+And the thought of her gold-dusted smooth limbs beneath the table made
+him feel almost an idiot.
+
+The second wine was a gold-coloured Moselle, very soft and rich and
+beautiful. She drank this with pleasure, as one who understands. And for
+dessert there was a dish of cacchi--that orange-coloured, pulpy Japanese
+fruit--persimmons. Aaron had never eaten these before. Soft, almost
+slimy, of a wonderful colour, and of a flavour that had sunk from harsh
+astringency down to that first decay-sweetness which is all autumn-rich.
+The Marchese loved them, and scooped them out with his spoon. But she
+ate none.
+
+Aaron did not know what they talked about, what was said. If someone had
+taken his mind away altogether, and left him with nothing but a body and
+a spinal consciousness, it would have been the same.
+
+But at coffee the talk turned to Manfredi's duties. He would not be free
+from the army for some time yet. On the morrow, for example, he had to
+be out and away before it was day. He said he hated it, and wanted to
+be a free man once more. But it seemed to Aaron he would be a very bored
+man, once he was free. And then they drifted on to talk of the palazzo
+in which was their apartment.
+
+"We've got such a fine terrace--you can see it from your house where you
+are," said Manfredi. "Have you noticed it?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Near that tuft of palm-trees. Don't you know?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Let us go out and show it him," said the Marchesa.
+
+Manfredi fetched her a cloak, and they went through various doors, then
+up some steps. The terrace was broad and open. It looked straight across
+the river at the opposite Lungarno: and there was the thin-necked tower
+of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the great dome of the cathedral in the
+distance, in shadow-bulk in the cold-aired night of stars. Little trams
+were running brilliant over the flat new bridge on the right. And from a
+garden just below rose a tuft of palm-trees.
+
+"You see," said the Marchesa, coming and standing close to Aaron, so
+that she just touched him, "you can know the terrace, just by these palm
+trees. And you are in the Nardini just across there, are you? On the top
+floor, you said?"
+
+"Yes, the top floor--one of the middle windows, I think."
+
+"One that is always open now--and the others are shut. I have noticed
+it, not connecting it with you."
+
+"Yes, my window is always open."
+
+She was leaning very slightly against him, as he stood. And he knew,
+with the same kind of inevitability with which he knew he would one
+day die, that he would be the lover of this woman. Nay, that he was her
+lover already.
+
+"Don't take cold," said Manfredi.
+
+She turned at once indoors. Aaron caught a faint whiff of perfume from
+the little orange trees in tubs round the wall.
+
+"Will you get the flute?" she said as they entered.
+
+"And will you sing?" he answered.
+
+"Play first," she said.
+
+He did as she wished. As the other night, he went into the big
+music-room to play. And the stream of sound came out with the quick wild
+imperiousness of the pipe. It had an immediate effect on her. She seemed
+to relax the peculiar, drug-like tension which was upon her at all
+ordinary times. She seemed to go still, and yielding. Her red mouth
+looked as if it might moan with relief. She sat with her chin dropped
+on her breast, listening. And she did not move. But she sat softly,
+breathing rather quick, like one who has been hurt, and is soothed. A
+certain womanly naturalness seemed to soften her.
+
+And the music of the flute came quick, rather brilliant like a
+call-note, or like a long quick message, half command. To her it was
+like a pure male voice--as a blackbird's when he calls: a pure male
+voice, not only calling, but telling her something, telling her
+something, and soothing her soul to sleep. It was like the fire-music
+putting Brunnhilde to sleep. But the pipe did not flicker and sink. It
+seemed to cause a natural relaxation in her soul, a peace. Perhaps it
+was more like waking to a sweet, morning awakening, after a night of
+tormented, painful tense sleep. Perhaps more like that.
+
+When Aaron came in, she looked at him with a gentle, fresh smile that
+seemed to make the fard on her face look like a curious tiredness, which
+now she might recover from. And as the last time, it was difficult for
+her to identify this man with the voice of the flute. It was rather
+difficult. Except that, perhaps, between his brows was something of a
+doubt, and in his bearing an aloofness that made her dread he might go
+away and not come back. She could see it in him, that he might go away
+and not come back.
+
+She said nothing to him, only just smiled. And the look of knowledge in
+her eyes seemed, for the moment, to be contained in another look: a look
+of faith, and at last happiness. Aaron's heart stood still. No, in her
+moment's mood of faith and at last peace, life-trust, he was perhaps
+more terrified of her than in her previous sinister elegance. His spirit
+started and shrank. What was she going to ask of him?
+
+"I am so anxious that you should come to play one Saturday morning,"
+said Manfredi. "With an accompaniment, you know. I should like so much
+to hear you with piano accompaniment."
+
+"Very well," said Aaron.
+
+"Will you really come? And will you practise with me, so that I can
+accompany you?" said Manfredi eagerly.
+
+"Yes. I will," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, good! Oh, good! Look here, come in on Friday morning and let us
+both look through the music."
+
+"If Mr. Sisson plays for the public," said the Marchesa, "he must not do
+it for charity. He must have the proper fee."
+
+"No, I don't want it," said Aaron.
+
+"But you must earn money, mustn't you?" said she.
+
+"I must," said Aaron. "But I can do it somewhere else."
+
+"No. If you play for the public, you must have your earnings. When you
+play for me, it is different."
+
+"Of course," said Manfredi. "Every man must have his wage. I have mine
+from the Italian government---"
+
+After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing.
+
+"Shall I?" she said.
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+"Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it--I
+shall be like Trilby--I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I
+daren't. So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song. Though
+not Malbrouck, and without a Svengali to keep me in tune."
+
+She went near the door, and stood with heir hands by her side. There was
+something wistful, almost pathetic now, in her elegance.
+
+
+                    "Derriere chez mon pere
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Derriere chez mon pere
+                     Il y a un pommier doux.
+                       _Tout doux, et iou
+                        Et iou, tout doux.
+                        Il y a unpommier doux_.
+
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                     Sont assis dessous.
+                      _Tout doux, et iou
+                       Et iou, tout doux.
+                       Sont asses dessous._"
+
+
+She had a beautiful, strong, sweet voice. But it was faltering,
+stumbling and sometimes it seemed to drop almost to speech. After three
+verses she faltered to an end, bitterly chagrined.
+
+"No," she said. "It's no good. I can't sing." And she dropped in her
+chair.
+
+"A lovely little tune," said Aaron. "Haven't you got the music?"
+
+She rose, not answering, and found him a little book.
+
+"What do the words mean?" he asked her.
+
+She told him. And then he took his flute.
+
+"You don't mind if I play it, do you?" he said.
+
+So he played the tune. It was so simple. And he seemed to catch the lilt
+and the timbre of her voice.
+
+"Come and sing it while I play--" he said.
+
+"I can't sing," she said, shaking her head rather bitterly.
+
+"But let us try," said he, disappointed.
+
+"I know I can't," she said. But she rose.
+
+He remained sitting at the little table, the book propped up under the
+reading lamp. She stood at a little distance, unhappy.
+
+"I've always been like that," she said. "I could never sing music,
+unless I had a thing drilled into me, and then it wasn't singing any
+more."
+
+But Aaron wasn't heeding. His flute was at his mouth, he was watching
+her. He sounded the note, but she did not begin. She was twisting her
+handkerchief. So he played the melody alone. At the end of the verse,
+he looked up at her again, and a half mocking smile played in his
+eyes. Again he sounded the note, a challenge. And this time, as at his
+bidding, she began to sing. The flute instantly swung with a lovely soft
+firmness into the song, and she wavered only for a minute or two. Then
+her soul and her voice got free, and she sang--she sang as she wanted to
+sing, as she had always wanted to sing, without that awful scotch, that
+impediment inside her own soul, which prevented her.
+
+She sang free, with the flute gliding along with her. And oh, how
+beautiful it was for her! How beautiful it was to sing the little song
+in the sweetness of her own spirit. How sweet it was to move pure and
+unhampered at last in the music! The lovely ease and lilt of her own
+soul in its motion through the music! She wasn't aware of the flute. She
+didn't know there was anything except her own pure lovely song-drift.
+Her soul seemed to breathe as a butterfly breathes, as it rests on a
+leaf and slowly breathes its wings. For the first time! For the first
+time her soul drew its own deep breath. All her life, the breath had
+caught half-way. And now she breathed full, deep, to the deepest extent
+of her being.
+
+And oh, it was so wonderful, she was dazed. The song ended, she stood
+with a dazed, happy face, like one just coming awake. And the fard
+on her face seemed like the old night-crust, the bad sleep. New and
+luminous she looked out. And she looked at Aaron with a proud smile.
+
+"Bravo, Nan! That was what you wanted," said her husband.
+
+"It was, wasn't it?" she said, turning a wondering, glowing face to him.
+
+His face looked strange and withered and gnome-like, at the moment.
+
+She went and sat in her chair, quite silent, as if in a trance. The
+two men also sat quite still. And in the silence a little drama played
+itself between the three, of which they knew definitely nothing. But
+Manfredi knew that Aaron had done what he himself never could do, for
+this woman. And yet the woman was his own woman, not Aaron's. And so, he
+was displaced. Aaron, sitting there, glowed with a sort of triumph. He
+had performed a little miracle, and felt himself a little wonder-worker,
+to whom reverence was due. And as in a dream the woman sat, feeling what
+a joy it was to float and move like a swan in the high air, flying upon
+the wings of her own spirit. She was as a swan which never before could
+get its wings quite open, and so which never could get up into the open,
+where alone it can sing. For swans, and storks make their music only
+when they are high, high up in the air. Then they can give sound to
+their strange spirits. And so, she.
+
+Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and hardly
+spoke to one another. It was as if two invisible hands pushed their
+faces apart, away, averted. And Aaron's face glimmered with a little
+triumph, and a little grimace of obstinacy. And the Italian's face
+looked old, rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare
+bitterness. The woman looked wondering from one man to the
+other--wondering. The glimmer of the open flower, the wonder-look, still
+lasted. And Aaron said in his heart, what a goodly woman, what a woman
+to taste and enjoy. Ah, what a woman to enjoy! And was it not his
+privilege? Had he not gained it?
+
+His manhood, or rather his maleness, rose powerfully in him, in a sort
+of mastery. He felt his own power, he felt suddenly his own virile title
+to strength and reward. Suddenly, and newly flushed with his own male
+super-power, he was going to have his reward. The woman was his reward.
+So it was, in him. And he cast it over in his mind. He wanted her--ha,
+didn't he! But the husband sat there, like a soap-stone Chinese monkey,
+greyish-green. So, it would have to be another time.
+
+He rose, therefore, and took his leave.
+
+"But you'll let us do that again, won't you?" said she.
+
+"When you tell me, I'll come," said he.
+
+"Then I'll tell you soon," said she.
+
+So he left, and went home to his own place, and there to his own remote
+room. As he laid his flute on the table he looked at it and smiled. He
+remembered that Lilly had called it Aaron's Rod.
+
+"So you blossom, do you?--and thorn as well," said he.
+
+For such a long time he had been gripped inside himself, and withheld.
+For such a long time it had been hard and unyielding, so hard and
+unyielding. He had wanted nothing, his desire had kept itself back, fast
+back. For such a long time his desire for woman had withheld itself,
+hard and resistant. All his deep, desirous blood had been locked, he had
+wanted nobody, and nothing. And it had been hard to live, so. Without
+desire, without any movement of passionate love, only gripped back in
+recoil! That was an experience to endure.
+
+And now came his desire back. But strong, fierce as iron. Like the
+strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons. Something to
+glory in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant,
+royal, Jove's thunderbolt. Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming again
+with red Florentine lilies and fierce thorns. He moved about in the
+splendour of his own male lightning, invested in the thunder of the male
+passion-power. He had got it back, the male godliness, the male godhead.
+
+So he slept, and dreamed violent dreams of strange, black strife,
+something like the street-riot in Milan, but more terrible. In the
+morning, however, he cared nothing about his dreams. As soon as it was
+really light, he rose, and opened his window wide. It was a grey, slow
+morning. But he saw neither the morning nor the river nor the woman
+walking on the gravel river-bed with her goose nor the green hill up to
+San Miniato. He watched the tuft of palm-trees, and the terrace beside
+it. He could just distinguish the terrace clearly, among the green of
+foliage. So he stood at his window for a full hour, and did not move.
+Motionless, planted, he stood and watched that terrace across above the
+Arno. But like a statue.
+
+After an hour or so, he looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. So he
+rang for his coffee, and meanwhile still stood watching the terrace
+on the hill. He felt his turn had come. The phoenix had risen in fire
+again, out of the ashes.
+
+Therefore at ten o'clock he went over the bridge. He wrote on the back
+of his card a request, would she please let him have the little book of
+songs, that he might practise them over. The manservant went, and came
+back with the request that Aaron should wait. So Aaron entered, while
+the man took his hat.
+
+The manservant spoke only French and Spanish, no English. He was
+a Spaniard, with greyish hair and stooping shoulders, and dark,
+mute-seeming eyes. He spoke as little as possible. The Marchesa had
+inherited him from her father.
+
+Aaron sat in the little sitting-room and waited. After a rather long
+time the Marchesa came in--wearing a white, thin blouse and a blue
+skirt. She was hardly made up at all. She had an odd pleased, yet
+brooding look on her face as she gave Aaron her hand. Something brooded
+between her brows. And her voice was strange, with a strange, secret
+undertone, that he could not understand. He looked up at her. And his
+face was bright, and his knees, as he sat, were like the knees of the
+gods.
+
+"You wanted the book of _chansons_?" she said.
+
+"I wanted to learn your tunes," he replied.
+
+"Yes. Look--here it is!" And she brought him the little yellow book. It
+was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment. So
+she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something else,
+and standing as if with another meaning.
+
+He opened the leaves at random.
+
+"But I ought to know which ones you sing," said he, rising and standing
+by her side with the open book.
+
+"Yes," she said, looking over his arm. He turned the pages one by one.
+"_Trois jeunes tambours_," said she. "Yes, that.... Yes, _En passant
+par la Lorraine_.... _Aupres de ma blonde_.... Oh, I like that one so
+much--" He stood and went over the tune in his mind.
+
+"Would you like me to play it?" he said.
+
+"Very much," said she.
+
+So he got his flute, propped up the book against a vase, and played the
+tune, whilst she hummed it fragmentarily. But as he played, he felt that
+he did not cast the spell over her. There was no connection. She was in
+some mysterious way withstanding him. She was withstanding him, and
+his male super-power, and his thunderbolt desire. She was, in some
+indescribable way, throwing cold water over his phoenix newly risen from
+the ashes of its nest in flames.
+
+He realised that she did not want him to play. She did not want him to
+look at the songs. So he put the book away, and turned round, rather
+baffled, not quite sure what was happening, yet feeling she was
+withstanding him. He glanced at her face: it was inscrutable: it was
+her Cleopatra face once more, yet with something new and warm in it.
+He could not understand it. What was it in her face that puzzled him?
+Almost angered him? But she could not rob him of his male power, she
+could not divest him of his concentrated force.
+
+"Won't you take off your coat?" she said, looking at him with strange,
+large dark eyes. A strange woman, he could not understand her. Yet, as
+he sat down again, having removed his overcoat, he felt her looking at
+his limbs, his physical body. And this went against him, he did not want
+it. Yet quite fixed in him too was the desire for her, her beautiful
+white arms, her whole soft white body. And such desire he would not
+contradict nor allow to be contradicted. It was his will also. Her whole
+soft white body--to possess it in its entirety, its fulness.
+
+"What have you to do this morning?" she asked him.
+
+"Nothing," he said. "Have you?" He lifted his head and looked at her.
+
+"Nothing at all," said she.
+
+And then they sat in silence, he with his head dropped. Then again he
+looked at her.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" he said.
+
+She sat with her face averted, and did not answer. His heart struck
+heavily, but he did not relax.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" came his voice once more, with the faintest touch
+of irony.
+
+Her face gradually grew dusky. And he wondered very much to see it.
+
+"Yes," said she, still not looking at him. "If you wish."
+
+"I do wish," he said. And all the time he sat with his eyes fixed on her
+face, and she sat with her face averted.
+
+"Now?" he said. "And where?"
+
+Again she was silent for some moments, as if struggling with herself.
+Then she looked at him--a long, strange, dark look, incomprehensible,
+and which he did not like.
+
+"You don't want emotions? You don't want me to say things, do you?" he
+said.
+
+A faint ironic smile came on her face.
+
+"I know what all that is worth," she said, with curious calm equanimity.
+"No, I want none of that."
+
+"Then--?"
+
+But now she sat gazing on him with wide, heavy, incomprehensible eyes.
+It annoyed him.
+
+"What do you want to see in me?" he asked, with a smile, looking
+steadily back again.
+
+And now she turned aside her face once more, and once more the dusky
+colour came in her cheek. He waited.
+
+"Shall I go away?" he said at length.
+
+"Would you rather?" she said, keeping her face averted.
+
+"No," he said.
+
+Then again she was silent.
+
+"Where shall I come to you?" he said.
+
+She paused a moment still, then answered:
+
+"I'll go to my room."
+
+"I don't know which it is," he said.
+
+"I'll show it you," she said.
+
+"And then I shall come to you in ten minutes. In ten minutes," he
+reiterated.
+
+So she rose, and led the way out of the little salon. He walked with her
+to the door of her room, bowed his head as she looked at him, holding
+the door handle; and then he turned and went back to the drawing-room,
+glancing at his watch.
+
+In the drawing-room he stood quite still, with his feet apart, and
+waited. He stood with his hands behind him, and his feet apart, quite
+motionless, planted and firm. So the minutes went by unheeded. He looked
+at his watch. The ten minutes were just up. He had heard footsteps and
+doors. So he decided to give her another five minutes. He wished to be
+quite sure that she had had her own time for her own movements.
+
+Then at the end of the five minutes he went straight to her room,
+entered, and locked the door behind him. She was lying in bed, with her
+back to him.
+
+He found her strange, not as he had imagined her. Not powerful, as
+he had imagined her. Strange, in his arms she seemed almost small
+and childish, whilst in daily life she looked a full, womanly woman.
+Strange, the naked way she clung to him! Almost like a sister, a younger
+sister! Or like a child! It filled him with a curious wonder, almost a
+bewilderment. In the dark sightlessness of passion, she seemed almost
+like a clinging child in his arms. And yet like a child who in some deep
+and essential way mocked him. In some strange and incomprehensible way,
+as a girl-child blindly obstinate in her deepest nature, she was against
+him. He felt she was not his woman. Through him went the feeling, "This
+is not my woman."
+
+When, after a long sleep, he awoke and came fully to himself, with that
+click of awakeness which is the end, the first shades were closing on
+the afternoon. He got up and reached for his watch.
+
+"Quarter past four," he said.
+
+Her eyes stretched wide with surprise as she looked at him. But she
+said nothing. The same strange and wide, perhaps insatiable child-like
+curiosity was in her eyes as she watched him. He dressed very quickly.
+And her eyes were wide, and she said no single word.
+
+But when he was dressed, and bent over her to say goodbye, she put her
+arms round him, that seemed such frail and childish arms now, yet withal
+so deadly in power. Her soft arms round his neck, her tangle of hair
+over his face. And yet, even as he kissed her, he felt her deadly. He
+wanted to be gone. He wanted to get out of her arms and her clinging and
+her tangle of hair and her curiosity and her strange and hateful power.
+
+"You'll come again. We'll be like this again?" she whispered.
+
+And it was hard for him to realise that this was that other woman, who
+had sat so silently on the sofa, so darkly and reservedly, at the tea at
+Algy's.
+
+"Yes! I will! Goodbye now!" And he kissed her, and walked straight out
+of the room. Quickly he took his coat and his hat, quickly, and left the
+house. In his nostrils was still the scent with which the bed linen was
+faintly scented--he did not know what it was. But now he wiped his face
+and his mouth, to wipe it away.
+
+He had eaten nothing since coffee that morning, and was hungry,
+faint-feeling. And his face, and his mind, felt withered. Curiously he
+felt blasted as if blighted by some electricity. And he knew, he
+knew quite well he was only in possession of a tithe of his natural
+faculties. And in his male spirit he felt himself hating her: hating her
+deeply, damnably. But he said to himself: "No, I won't hate her. I won't
+hate her."
+
+So he went on, over the Ponte Vecchio, where the jeweller's windows on
+the bridge were already blazing with light, on into the town. He wanted
+to eat something, so he decided to go to a shop he knew, where one could
+stand and eat good tiny rolls split into truffle or salami sandwiches,
+and drink Marsala. So one after the other he ate little truffle rolls,
+and drank a few glasses of Marsala. And then he did not know what to do.
+He did not want to eat any more, he had had what he wanted. His hunger
+had been more nervous than sensual.
+
+So he went into the street. It was just growing dark and the town was
+lighting up. He felt curiously blazed, as if some flame or electric
+power had gone through him and withered his vital tissue. Blazed, as if
+some kind of electric flame had run over him and withered him. His brain
+felt withered, his mind had only one of its many-sighted eyes left open
+and unscorched. So many of the eyes of his mind were scorched now and
+sightless.
+
+Yet a restlessness was in his nerves. What should he do? He remembered
+he had a letter in his pocket from Sir William Franks. Sir William had
+still teased him about his fate and his providence, in which he, Aaron,
+was supposed to trust. "I shall be very glad to hear from you, and to
+know how your benevolent Providence--or was yours a Fate--has treated
+you since we saw you---"
+
+So, Aaron turned away, and walked to the post office. There he took
+paper, and sat down at one of the tables in the writing room, and wrote
+his answer. It was very strange, writing thus when most of his mind's
+eyes were scorched, and it seemed he could hardly see to hold the pen,
+to drive it straight across the paper. Yet write he must. And most of
+his faculties being quenched or blasted for the moment, he wrote perhaps
+his greatest, or his innermost, truth.--"I don't want my Fate or my
+Providence to treat me well. I don't want kindness or love. I don't
+believe in harmony and people loving one another. I believe in the fight
+and in nothing else. I believe in the fight which is in everything. And
+if it is a question of women, I believe in the fight of love, even if it
+blinds me. And if it is a question of the world, I believe in fighting
+it and in having it hate me, even if it breaks my legs. I want the world
+to hate me, because I can't bear the thought that it might love me. For
+of all things love is the most deadly to me, and especially from such a
+repulsive world as I think this is...."
+
+Well, here was a letter for a poor old man to receive. But, in the
+dryness of his withered mind, Aaron got it out of himself. When a man
+writes a letter to himself, it is a pity to post it to somebody else.
+Perhaps the same is true of a book.
+
+His letter written, however, he stamped it and sealed it and put it
+in the box. That made it final. Then he turned towards home. One fact
+remained unbroken in the debris of his consciousness: that in the town
+was Lilly: and that when he needed, he could go to Lilly: also, that
+in the world was Lottie, his wife: and that against Lottie, his heart
+burned with a deep, deep, almost unreachable bitterness.--Like a deep
+burn on his deepest soul, Lottie. And like a fate which he resented, yet
+which steadied him, Lilly.
+
+He went home and lay on his bed. He had enough self-command to hear the
+gong and go down to dinner. White and abstract-looking, he sat and ate
+his dinner. And then, thank God, he could go to bed, alone, in his own
+cold bed, alone, thank God. To be alone in the night! For this he was
+unspeakably thankful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX. CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+
+
+Aaron awoke in the morning feeling better, but still only a part
+himself. The night alone had restored him. And the need to be alone
+still was his greatest need. He felt an intense resentment against the
+Marchesa. He felt that somehow, she had given him a scorpion. And his
+instinct was to hate her. And yet he avoided hating her. He remembered
+Lilly--and the saying that one must possess oneself, and be alone in
+possession of oneself. And somehow, under the influence of Lilly, he
+refused to follow the reflex of his own passion. He refused to hate the
+Marchesa. He _did_ like her. He did _esteem_ her. And after all, she too
+was struggling with her fate. He had a genuine sympathy with her. Nay,
+he was not going to hate her.
+
+But he could not see her. He could not bear the thought that she might
+call and see him. So he took the tram to Settignano, and walked away all
+day into the country, having bread and sausage in his pocket. He sat for
+long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany. And never had any trees
+seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange, pregnant presences. He lay
+and watched tall cypresses breathing and communicating, faintly moving
+and as it were walking in the small wind. And his soul seemed to
+leave him and to go far away, far back, perhaps, to where life was
+all different and time passed otherwise than time passes now. As in
+clairvoyance he perceived it: that our life is only a fragment of the
+shell of life. That there has been and will be life, human life such as
+we do not begin to conceive. Much that is life has passed away from men,
+leaving us all mere bits. In the dark, mindful silence and inflection of
+the cypress trees, lost races, lost language, lost human ways of feeling
+and of knowing. Men have known as we can no more know, have felt as we
+can no more feel. Great life-realities gone into the darkness. But the
+cypresses commemorate. In the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising
+dark about him, like so many high visitants from an old, lost, lost
+subtle world, where men had the wonder of demons about them, the aura of
+demons, such as still clings to the cypresses, in Tuscany.
+
+All day, he did not make up his mind what he was going to do. His first
+impulse was never to see her again. And this was his intention all day.
+But as he went home in the tram he softened, and thought. Nay,
+that would not be fair. For how had she treated him, otherwise than
+generously.
+
+She had been generous, and the other thing, that he felt blasted
+afterwards, which was his experience, that was fate, and not her fault.
+So he must see her again. He must not act like a churl. But he would
+tell her--he would tell her that he was a married man, and that though
+he had left his wife, and though he had no dogma of fidelity, still,
+the years of marriage had made a married man of him, and any other woman
+than his wife was a strange woman to him, a violation. "I will tell
+her," he said to himself, "that at the bottom of my heart I love Lottie
+still, and that I can't help it. I believe that is true. It isn't love,
+perhaps. But it is marriage. I am married to Lottie. And that means I
+can't be married to another woman. It isn't my nature. And perhaps I
+can't bear to live with Lottie now, because I am married and not in
+love. When a man is married, he is not in love. A husband is not a
+lover. Lilly told me that: and I know it's true now. Lilly told me that
+a husband cannot be a lover, and a lover cannot be a husband. And that
+women will only have lovers now, and never a husband. Well, I am a
+husband, if I am anything. And I shall never be a lover again, not while
+I live. No, not to anybody. I haven't it in me. I'm a husband, and so it
+is finished with me as a lover. I can't be a lover any more, just as I
+can't be aged twenty any more. I am a man now, not an adolescent. And to
+my sorrow I am a husband to a woman who wants a lover: always a lover.
+But all women want lovers. And I can't be it any more. I don't want to.
+I have finished that. Finished for ever: unless I become senile---"
+
+Therefore next day he gathered up his courage. He would not have had
+courage unless he had known that he was not alone. The other man was
+in the town, and from this fact he derived his strength: the fact that
+Lilly was there. So at teatime he went over the river, and rang at her
+door. Yes, she was at home, and she had other visitors. She was wearing
+a beautiful soft afternoon dress, again of a blue like chicory-flowers,
+a pale, warm blue. And she had cornflowers in her belt: heaven knows
+where she had got them.
+
+She greeted Aaron with some of the childish shyness. He could tell that
+she was glad he had come, and that she had wondered at his not coming
+sooner. She introduced him to her visitors: two young ladies and one
+old lady and one elderly Italian count. The conversation was mostly in
+French or Italian, so Aaron was rather out of it.
+
+However, the visitors left fairly early, so Aaron stayed them out. When
+they had gone, he asked:
+
+"Where is Manfredi?"
+
+"He will come in soon. At about seven o'clock."
+
+Then there was a silence again.
+
+"You are dressed fine today," he said to her.
+
+"Am I?" she smiled.
+
+He was never able to make out quite what she felt, what she was feeling.
+But she had a quiet little air of proprietorship in him, which he did
+not like.
+
+"You will stay to dinner tonight, won't you?" she said.
+
+"No--not tonight," he said. And then, awkwardly, he added: "You know. I
+think it is better if we are friends--not lovers. You know--I don't feel
+free. I feel my wife, I suppose, somewhere inside me. And I can't help
+it---"
+
+She bent her head and was silent for some moments. Then she lifted her
+face and looked at him oddly.
+
+"Yes," she said. "I am sure you love your wife."
+
+The reply rather staggered him--and to tell the truth, annoyed him.
+
+"Well," he said. "I don't know about love. But when one has been married
+for ten years--and I did love her--then--some sort of bond or something
+grows. I think some sort of connection grows between us, you know. And
+it isn't natural, quite, to break it.--Do you know what I mean?"
+
+She paused a moment. Then, very softly, almost gently, she said:
+
+"Yes, I do. I know so well what you mean."
+
+He was really surprised at her soft acquiescence. What _did_ she mean?
+
+"But we can be friends, can't we?" he said.
+
+"Yes, I hope so. Why, yes! Goodness, yes! I should be sorry if we
+couldn't be friends."
+
+After which speech he felt that everything was all right--everything
+was A-one. And when Manfredi came home, the first sound he heard was the
+flute and his wife's singing.
+
+"I'm so glad you've come," his wife said to him. "Shall we go into the
+sala and have real music? Will you play?"
+
+"I should love to," replied the husband.
+
+Behold them then in the big drawing-room, and Aaron and the Marchese
+practising together, and the Marchesa singing an Italian folk-song
+while her husband accompanied her on the pianoforte. But her singing was
+rather strained and forced. Still, they were quite a little family, and
+it seemed quite nice. As soon as she could, the Marchesa left the two
+men together, whilst she sat apart. Aaron and Manfredi went through
+old Italian and old German music, tried one thing and then another, and
+seemed quite like brothers. They arranged a piece which they should play
+together on a Saturday morning, eight days hence.
+
+The next day, Saturday, Aaron went to one of the Del Torre music
+mornings. There was a string quartette--and a violin soloist--and the
+Marchese at the piano. The audience, some dozen or fourteen friends,
+sat at the near end of the room, or in the smaller salotta, whilst the
+musicians performed at the further end of the room. The Lillys were
+there, both Tanny and her husband. But apart from these, Aaron knew
+nobody, and felt uncomfortable. The Marchesa gave her guests little
+sandwiches and glasses of wine or Marsala or vermouth, as they chose.
+And she was quite the hostess: the well-bred and very simple, but still
+the conventional hostess. Aaron did not like it. And he could see that
+Lilly too was unhappy. In fact, the little man bolted the moment he
+could, dragging after him the indignant Tanny, who was so looking
+forward to the excellent little sandwiches. But no--Lilly just rudely
+bolted. Aaron followed as soon as he could.
+
+"Will you come to dinner tomorrow evening?" said his hostess to him as
+he was leaving. And he agreed. He had really resented seeing her as a
+conventional hostess, attending so charmingly to all the other people,
+and treating him so merely as one of the guests, among many others. So
+that when at the last moment she quietly invited him to dinner next day,
+he was flattered and accepted at once.
+
+The next day was Sunday--the seventh day after his coming together with
+the Marchesa--which had taken place on the Monday. And already he was
+feeling much less dramatic in his decision to keep himself apart from
+her, to be merely friends. Already the memory of the last time was
+fanning up in him, not as a warning but as a terrible incitement. Again
+the naked desire was getting hold of him, with that peculiar brutal
+powerfulness which startled him and also pleased him.
+
+So that by the time Sunday morning came, his recoil had exhausted
+itself, and he was ready again, eager again, but more wary this time.
+He sat in his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing over
+from memory the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she would get
+into unison in the evening. His flute, his Aaron's rod, would blossom
+once again with splendid scarlet flowers, the red Florentine lilies.
+It was curious, the passion he had for her: just unalloyed desire, and
+nothing else. Something he had not known in his life before. Previously
+there had been always _some_ personal quality, some sort of personal
+tenderness. But here, none. She did not seem to want it. She seemed
+to hate it, indeed. No, all he felt was stark, naked desire, without a
+single pretension. True enough, his last experience had been a warning
+to him. His desire and himself likewise had broken rather disastrously
+under the proving. But not finally broken. He was ready again. And with
+all the sheer powerful insolence of desire he looked forward to the
+evening. For he almost expected Manfredi would not be there. The
+officer had said something about having to go to Padua on the Saturday
+afternoon.
+
+So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock. Judge
+of his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an
+elderly, quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected English
+authoress. She was charming, in her white hair and dress of soft white
+wool and white lace, with a long chain of filigree gold beads, like
+bubbles. She was charming in her old-fashioned manner too, as if the
+world were still safe and stable, like a garden in which delightful
+culture, and choice ideas bloomed safe from wind and weather. Alas,
+never was Aaron more conscious of the crude collapse in the world than
+when he listened to this animated, young-seeming lady from the safe
+days of the seventies. All the old culture and choice ideas seemed like
+blowing bubbles. And dear old Corinna Wade, she seemed to be blowing
+bubbles still, as she sat there so charming in her soft white dress,
+and talked with her bright animation about the influence of woman
+in Parliament and the influence of woman in the Periclean day. Aaron
+listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles float round his head, and
+almost hearing them go pop.
+
+To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud
+of his not-very-important social standing than of his literature. In
+fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad.
+Perfectly well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face
+was the most well-dressed thing to be met in North Italy.
+
+"Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French. I didn't know you were in Florence
+again. You make that journey from Venice so often. I wonder you don't
+get tired of it," cried Corinna Wade.
+
+"No," he said. "So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I shall
+come to Florence. But I can LIVE in no town but Venice."
+
+"No, I suppose you can't. Well, there is something special about Venice:
+having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a gondola. I
+suppose it is all much more soothing."
+
+"Much less nerve-racking, yes. And then there is a quality in the
+whole life. Of course I see few English people in Venice--only the old
+Venetian families, as a rule."
+
+"Ah, yes. That must be very interesting. They are very exclusive still,
+the Venetian _noblesse_?" said Miss Wade.
+
+"Oh, very exclusive," said Mr. French. "That is one of the charms.
+Venice is really altogether exclusive. It excludes the world, really,
+and defies time and modern movement. Yes, in spite of the steamers on
+the canal, and the tourists."
+
+"That is so. That is so. Venice is a strange back-water. And the old
+families are very proud still, in these democratic days. They have a
+great opinion of themselves, I am told."
+
+"Well," said Mr. French. "Perhaps you know the rhyme:
+
+                     "'Veneziano gran' Signore
+                     Padovano buon' dotore.
+                     Vicenzese mangia il gatto
+                     Veronese tutto matto---'"
+
+"How very amusing!" said Miss Wade. "_Veneziana_ gran' Signore. The
+Venetian is a great gentleman! Yes, I know they are all convinced of it.
+Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days. To be born a Venetian,
+is to be born a great gentleman! But this outdoes divine right of king."
+
+"To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman," said
+Mr. French, rather fussily.
+
+"You seriously think so?" said Miss Wade. "Well now, what do you base
+your opinion on?"
+
+Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.
+
+"Yes--interesting. Very interesting. Rather like the
+Byzantines--lingering on into far other ages. Anna Comnena always
+charmed me very much. HOW she despised the flower of the north--even
+Tancred! And so the lingering Venetian families! And you, in your
+palazzo on the Grand Canal: you are a northern barbarian civilised into
+the old Venetian Signoria. But how very romantic a situation!"
+
+It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit
+out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor,
+how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
+
+But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it. He sat and
+listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam
+in his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion. He made
+the two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his democratic
+silence, Miss Wade might have said.
+
+However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early, to
+catch her tram. And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to accompany
+her, to see her safe on board. Which left Aaron and the Marchesa alone.
+
+"What time is Manfredi coming back?" said he.
+
+"Tomorrow," replied she.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Why do you have those people?" he asked.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Those two who were here this evening."
+
+"Miss Wade and Mr. French?--Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much. She is so
+refreshing."
+
+"Those old people," said Aaron. "They licked the sugar off the pill, and
+go on as if everything was toffee. And we've got to swallow the pill.
+It's easy to be refreshing---"
+
+"No, don't say anything against her. I like her so much."
+
+"And him?"
+
+"Mr. French!--Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt
+the pea through three feather-beds. But he can be quite witty, and an
+excellent conversationalist, too. Oh yes, I like him quite well."
+
+"Matter of taste," said Aaron.
+
+They had not much to say to one another. The time passed, in the pauses.
+He looked at his watch.
+
+"I shall have to go," he said.
+
+"Won't you stay?" she said, in a small, muted voice.
+
+"Stay all night?" he said.
+
+"Won't you?"
+
+"Yes," he said quietly. Did he not feel the strength of his desire on
+him.
+
+After which she said no more. Only she offered him whiskey and soda,
+which he accepted.
+
+"Go then," he said to her. "And I'll come to you.--Shall I come in
+fifteen minutes?"
+
+She looked at him with strange, slow dark eyes. And he could not
+understand.
+
+"Yes," she said. And she went.
+
+And again, this night as before, she seemed strangely small and clinging
+in his arms. And this night he felt his passion drawn from him as if
+a long, live nerve were drawn out from his body, a long live thread of
+electric fire, a long, living nerve finely extracted from him, from the
+very roots of his soul. A long fine discharge of pure, bluish fire,
+from the core of his soul. It was an excruciating, but also an intensely
+gratifying sensation.
+
+This night he slept with a deeper obliviousness than before. But ah, as
+it grew towards morning how he wished he could be alone.
+
+They must stay together till the day was light. And she seemed to love
+clinging to him and curling strangely on his breast. He could never
+reconcile it with her who was a hostess entertaining her guests. How
+could she now in a sort of little ecstasy curl herself and nestle
+herself on his, Aaron's breast, tangling his face all over with her
+hair. He verily believed that this was what she really wanted of him: to
+curl herself on his naked breast, to make herself small, small, to feel
+his arms around her, while he himself was remote, silent, in some
+way inaccessible. This seemed almost to make her beside herself with
+gratification. But why, why? Was it because he was one of her own race,
+and she, as it were, crept right home to him?
+
+He did not know. He only knew it had nothing to do with him: and that,
+save out of _complaisance_, he did not want it. It simply blasted his
+own central life. It simply blighted him.
+
+And she clung to him closer. Strange, she was afraid of him! Afraid of
+him as of a fetish! Fetish afraid, and fetish-fascinated! Or was her
+fear only a delightful game of cat and mouse? Or was the fear genuine,
+and the delight the greater: a sort of sacrilege? The fear, and the
+dangerous, sacrilegious power over that which she feared.
+
+In some way, she was not afraid of him at all. In some other way she
+used him as a mere magic implement, used him with the most amazing
+priestess-craft. Himself, the individual man which he was, this she
+treated with an indifference that was startling to him.
+
+He forgot, perhaps, that this was how he had treated her. His famous
+desire for her, what had it been but this same attempt to strike a magic
+fire out of her, for his own ecstasy. They were playing the same game
+of fire. In him, however, there was all the time something hard and
+reckless and defiant, which stood apart. She was absolutely gone in
+her own incantations. She was absolutely gone, like a priestess utterly
+involved in her terrible rites. And he was part of the ritual only, God
+and victim in one. God and victim! All the time, God and victim. When
+his aloof soul realised, amid the welter of incantation, how he was
+being used,--not as himself but as something quite different--God and
+victim--then he dilated with intense surprise, and his remote soul stood
+up tall and knew itself alone. He didn't want it, not at all. He knew
+he was apart. And he looked back over the whole mystery of their
+love-contact. Only his soul was apart.
+
+He was aware of the strength and beauty and godlikeness that his breast
+was then to her--the magic. But himself, he stood far off, like Moses'
+sister Miriam. She would drink the one drop of his innermost heart's
+blood, and he would be carrion. As Cleopatra killed her lovers in the
+morning. Surely they knew that death was their just climax. They had
+approached the climax. Accept then.
+
+But his soul stood apart, and could have nothing to do with it. If he
+had really been tempted, he would have gone on, and she might have had
+his central heart's blood. Yes, and thrown away the carrion. He would
+have been willing.
+
+But fatally, he was not tempted. His soul stood apart and decided. At
+the bottom of his soul he disliked her. Or if not her, then her whole
+motive. Her whole life-mode. He was neither God nor victim: neither
+greater nor less than himself. His soul, in its isolation as she lay on
+his breast, chose it so, with the soul's inevitability. So, there was no
+temptation.
+
+When it was sufficiently light, he kissed her and left her. Quietly he
+left the silent flat. He had some difficulty in unfastening the various
+locks and bars and catches of the massive door downstairs, and began, in
+irritation and anger, to feel he was a prisoner, that he was locked
+in. But suddenly the ponderous door came loose, and he was out in the
+street. The door shut heavily behind him, with a shudder. He was out in
+the morning streets of Florence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX. THE BROKEN ROD
+
+
+The day was rainy. Aaron stayed indoors alone, and copied music and
+slept. He felt the same stunned, withered feeling as before, but less
+intensely, less disastrously, this time. He knew now, without argument
+or thought that he would never go again to the Marchesa: not as a lover.
+He would go away from it all. He did not dislike her. But he would never
+see her again. A great gulf had opened, leaving him alone on the far
+side.
+
+He did not go out till after dinner. When he got downstairs he found the
+heavy night-door closed. He wondered: then remembered the Signorina's
+fear of riots and disturbances. As again he fumbled with the catches,
+he felt that the doors of Florence were trying to prevent his egress.
+However, he got out.
+
+It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming. He
+was struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere.
+Yet he noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one
+with a torch: a long torch with naked flames. The men were stooping over
+something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too. It was a
+dark, weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence. Aaron lingered on his
+doorstep, watching. He could not see what they were doing. But now, the
+two were crouching down; over a long dark object on the ground, and the
+one with the torch bending also to look. What was it? They were just at
+the foot of the statue, a dark little group under the big pediment, the
+torch-flames weirdly flickering as the torch-bearer moved and stooped
+lower to the two crouching men, who seemed to be kneeling.
+
+Aaron felt his blood stir. There was something dark and mysterious,
+stealthy, in the little scene. It was obvious the men did not want to
+draw attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming. And an eerie
+instinct prevented Aaron's going nearer to look. Instead, he swerved
+on to the Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the
+little group in the centre. He walked the deserted dark-seeming street
+by the river, then turned inwards, into the city. He was going to the
+Piazza Vittoria Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre
+of Florence at night. There he could sit for an hour, and drink his
+vermouth and watch the Florentines.
+
+As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
+hurrying of feet behind him. Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
+coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him as
+he trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street. Aaron shrank under
+the wall. The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron perceived
+the other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily, bearing a
+stretcher on which a body was wrapped up, completely and darkly covered.
+The torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher passed too, hastily
+and stealthily, the flickering flames revealing them. They took no
+notice of Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted softly on towards
+the centre of the city. Their queer, quick footsteps echoed down the
+distance. Then Aaron too resumed his way.
+
+He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe. It was Sunday evening,
+and the place was full. Men, Florentines, many, many men sat in groups
+and in twos and threes at the little marble tables. They were mostly in
+dark clothes or black overcoats. They had mostly been drinking just a
+cup of coffee--others however had glasses of wine or liquor. But mostly
+it was just a little coffee-tray with a tiny coffee pot and a cup and
+saucer. There was a faint film of tobacco smoke. And the men were
+all talking: talking, talking with that peculiar intensity of
+the Florentines. Aaron felt the intense, compressed sound of many
+half-secret voices. For the little groups and couples abated their
+voices, none wished that others should hear what they said.
+
+Aaron was looking for a seat--there was no table to him---when suddenly
+someone took him by the arm. It was Argyle.
+
+"Come along, now! Come and join us. Here, this way! Come along!"
+
+Aaron let himself be led away towards a corner. There sat Lilly and a
+strange man: called Levison. The room was warm. Aaron could never bear
+to be too hot. After sitting a minute, he rose and took off his coat,
+and hung it on a stand near the window. As he did so he felt the weight
+of his flute--it was still in his pocket. And he wondered if it was safe
+to leave it.
+
+"I suppose no one will steal from the overcoat pockets," he said, as he
+sat down.
+
+"My dear chap, they'd steal the gold filling out of your teeth, if you
+happened to yawn," said Argyle. "Why, have you left valuables in your
+overcoat?"
+
+"My flute," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, they won't steal that," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Lilly, "we should see anyone who touched it."
+
+And so they settled down to the vermouth.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "what have you been doing with yourself, eh? I
+haven't seen a glimpse of you for a week. Been going to the dogs, eh?"
+
+"Or the bitches," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but look here, that's bad! That's bad! I can see I shall have
+to take you in hand, and commence my work of reform. Oh, I'm a great
+reformer, a Zwingli and Savonarola in one. I couldn't count the number
+of people I've led into the right way. It takes some finding, you know.
+Strait is the gate--damned strait sometimes. A damned tight squeeze...."
+Argyle was somewhat intoxicated. He spoke with a slight slur, and
+laughed, really tickled at his own jokes. The man Levison smiled
+acquiescent. But Lilly was not listening. His brow was heavy and he
+seemed abstracted. He hardly noticed Aaron's arrival.
+
+"Did you see the row yesterday?" asked Levison.
+
+"No," said Aaron. "What was it?"
+
+It was the socialists. They were making a demonstration against the
+imprisonment of one of the railway-strikers. I was there. They went on
+all right, with a good bit of howling and gibing: a lot of young louts,
+you know. And the shop-keepers shut up shop, and nobody showed the
+Italian flag, of course. Well, when they came to the Via Benedetto
+Croce, there were a few mounted carabinieri. So they stopped the
+procession, and the sergeant said that the crowd could continue, could
+go on where they liked, but would they not go down the Via Verrocchio,
+because it was being repaired, the roadway was all up, and there were
+piles of cobble stones. These might prove a temptation and lead to
+trouble. So would the demonstrators not take that road--they might take
+any other they liked.--Well, the very moment he had finished, there
+was a revolver shot, he made a noise, and fell forward over his horse's
+nose. One of the anarchists had shot him. Then there was hell let loose,
+the carabinieri fired back, and people were bolting and fighting like
+devils. I cleared out, myself. But my God--what do you think of it?"
+
+"Seems pretty mean," said Aaron.
+
+"Mean!--He had just spoken them fair--they could go where they liked,
+only would they not go down the one road, because of the heap of stones.
+And they let him finish. And then shot him dead."
+
+"Was he dead?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes--killed outright, the Nazione says."
+
+There was a silence. The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk
+vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "if you let loose the dogs of war, you mustn't
+expect them to come to heel again in five minutes."
+
+"But there's no fair play about it, not a bit," said Levison.
+
+"Ah, my dear fellow, are you still so young and callow that you cherish
+the illusion of fair play?" said Argyle.
+
+"Yes, I am," said Levison.
+
+"Live longer and grow wiser," said Argyle, rather contemptuously.
+
+"Are you a socialist?" asked Levison.
+
+"Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella," said Argyle, in
+his musical, indifferent voice. "Yes, Bella's her name. And if you
+can tell me a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure you,
+attentively."
+
+"But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha," said Aaron.
+
+"Haven't I? Oh, haven't I? I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if not
+more."
+
+"They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?" said Levison.
+
+"Not the very least in the world--if it hadn't been that my elder Aunt
+Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella. I cut myself off from
+the family after that. Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not a family
+name on it. Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest."
+
+"You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,"
+said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Assiduously! Assiduously! I can't stand these little vermin. Oh, I
+am quite indifferent about swallowing a camel or two--or even a whole
+string of dromedaries. How charmingly Eastern that sounds! But gnats!
+Not for anything in the world would I swallow one."
+
+"You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?" persisted Levison, now
+turning to Lilly.
+
+"No," said Lilly. "I was."
+
+"And am no more," said Argyle sarcastically. "My dear fellow, the only
+hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery."
+
+"What kind of slavery?" asked Levison.
+
+"Slavery! SLAVERY! When I say SLAVERY I don't mean any of your damned
+modern reform cant. I mean solid sound slavery on which the Greek and
+the Roman world rested. FAR finer worlds than ours, my dear chap! Oh
+FAR finer! And can't be done without slavery. Simply can't be done.--Oh,
+they'll all come to realise it, when they've had a bit more of this
+democratic washer-women business."
+
+Levison was laughing, with a slight sneer down his nose. "Anyhow,
+there's no immediate danger--or hope, if you prefer it--of the
+re-instituting of classic slavery," he said.
+
+"Unfortunately no. We are all such fools," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Levison, "who would you make slaves of?"
+
+"Everybody, my dear chap: beginning with the idealists and the
+theorising Jews, and after them your nicely-bred gentlemen, and then
+perhaps, your profiteers and Rothschilds, and ALL politicians, and
+ending up with the proletariat," said Argyle.
+
+"Then who would be the masters?--the professional classes, doctors and
+lawyers and so on?"
+
+"What? Masters. They would be the sewerage slaves, as being those who
+had made most smells." There was a moment's silence.
+
+"The only fault I have to find with your system," said Levison, rather
+acidly, "is that there would be only one master, and everybody else
+slaves."
+
+"Do you call that a fault? What do you want with more than one
+master? Are you asking for several?--Well, perhaps there's cunning in
+THAT.--Cunning devils, cunning devils, these theorising slaves--" And
+Argyle pushed his face with a devilish leer into Aaron's face. "Cunning
+devils!" he reiterated, with a slight tipsy slur. "That be-fouled
+Epictetus wasn't the last of 'em--nor the first. Oh, not by any means,
+not by any means."
+
+Here Lilly could not avoid a slight spasm of amusement. "But returning
+to serious conversation," said Levison, turning his rather sallow face
+to Lilly. "I think you'll agree with me that socialism is the inevitable
+next step--"
+
+Lilly waited for some time without answering. Then he said, with
+unwilling attention to the question: "I suppose it's the logically
+inevitable next step."
+
+"Use logic as lavatory paper," cried Argyle harshly. "Yes--logically
+inevitable--and humanly inevitable at the same time. Some form of
+socialism is bound to come, no matter how you postpone it or try
+variations," said Levison.
+
+"All right, let it come," said Lilly. "It's not my affair, neither to
+help it nor to keep it back, or even to try varying it."
+
+"There I don't follow you," said Levison. "Suppose you were in Russia
+now--"
+
+"I watch it I'm not."
+
+"But you're in Italy, which isn't far off. Supposing a socialist
+revolution takes place all around you. Won't that force the problem on
+you?--It is every man's problem," persisted Levison.
+
+"Not mine," said Lilly.
+
+"How shall you escape it?" said Levison.
+
+"Because to me it is no problem. To Bolsh or not to Bolsh, as far as my
+mind goes, presents no problem. Not any more than to be or not to be. To
+be or not to be is simply no problem--"
+
+"No, I quite agree, that since you are already existing, and since death
+is ultimately inevitable, to be or not to be is no sound problem,"
+said Levison. "But the parallel isn't true of socialism. That is not a
+problem of existence, but of a certain mode of existence which centuries
+of thought and action on the part of Europe have now made logically
+inevitable for Europe. And therefore there is a problem. There is more
+than a problem, there is a dilemma. Either we must go to the logical
+conclusion--or--"
+
+"Somewhere else," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--yes. Precisely! But where ELSE? That's the one half of the
+problem: supposing you do not agree to a logical progression in human
+social activity. Because after all, human society through the course
+of ages only enacts, spasmodically but still inevitably, the logical
+development of a given idea."
+
+"Well, then, I tell you.--The idea and the ideal has for me gone
+dead--dead as carrion--"
+
+"Which idea, which ideal precisely?"
+
+"The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to receive,
+the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man, the ideal of
+the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call goodness, charity,
+benevolence, public spirited-ness, the ideal of sacrifice for a cause,
+the ideal of unity and unanimity--all the lot--all the whole beehive
+of ideals--has all got the modern bee-disease, and gone putrid,
+stinking.--And when the ideal is dead and putrid, the logical sequence
+is only stink.--Which, for me, is the truth concerning the ideal of
+good, peaceful, loving humanity and its logical sequence in socialism
+and equality, equal opportunity or whatever you like.--But this time he
+stinketh--and I'm sorry for any Christus who brings him to life again,
+to stink livingly for another thirty years: the beastly Lazarus of our
+idealism."
+
+"That may be true for you--"
+
+"But it's true for nobody else," said Lilly. "All the worse for them.
+Let them die of the bee-disease."
+
+"Not only that," persisted Levison, "but what is your alternative? Is it
+merely nihilism?"
+
+"My alternative," said Lilly, "is an alternative for no one but myself,
+so I'll keep my mouth shut about it."
+
+"That isn't fair."
+
+"I tell you, the ideal of fairness stinks with the rest.--I have no
+obligation to say what I think."
+
+"Yes, if you enter into conversation, you have--"
+
+"Bah, then I didn't enter into conversation.--The only thing is, I agree
+in the rough with Argyle. You've got to have a sort of slavery again.
+People are not MEN: they are insects and instruments, and their
+destiny is slavery. They are too many for me, and so what I think
+is ineffectual. But ultimately they will be brought to agree--after
+sufficient extermination--and then they will elect for themselves a
+proper and healthy and energetic slavery."
+
+"I should like to know what you mean by slavery. Because to me it is
+impossible that slavery should be healthy and energetic. You seem to
+have some other idea in your mind, and you merely use the word slavery
+out of exasperation--"
+
+"I mean it none the less. I mean a real committal of the life-issue of
+inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being."
+
+"It'll take a bit of knowing, who are the inferior and which is the
+superior," said Levison sarcastically.
+
+"Not a bit. It is written between a man's brows, which he is."
+
+"I'm afraid we shall all read differently."
+
+"So long as we're liars."
+
+"And putting that question aside: I presume that you mean that this
+committal of the life-issue of inferior beings to someone higher shall
+be made voluntarily--a sort of voluntary self-gift of the inferiors--"
+
+"Yes--more or less--and a voluntary acceptance. For it's no pretty gift,
+after all.--But once made it must be held fast by genuine power.
+Oh yes--no playing and fooling about with it. Permanent and very
+efficacious power."
+
+"You mean military power?"
+
+"I do, of course."
+
+Here Levison smiled a long, slow, subtle smile of ridicule. It all
+seemed to him the preposterous pretentiousness of a megalomaniac--one
+whom, after a while, humanity would probably have the satisfaction of
+putting into prison, or into a lunatic asylum. And Levison felt
+strong, overwhelmingly strong, in the huge social power with which
+he, insignificant as he was, was armed against such criminal-imbecile
+pretensions as those above set forth. Prison or the lunatic asylum.
+The face of the fellow gloated in these two inevitable engines of his
+disapproval.
+
+"It will take you some time before you'll get your doctrines accepted,"
+he said.
+
+"Accepted! I'd be sorry. I don't want a lot of swine snouting and
+sniffing at me with their acceptance.--Bah, Levison--one can easily make
+a fool of you. Do you take this as my gospel?"
+
+"I take it you are speaking seriously."
+
+Here Lilly broke into that peculiar, gay, whimsical smile.
+
+"But I should say the blank opposite with just as much fervour," he
+declared.
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't MEAN what you've been saying?" said
+Levison, now really looking angry.
+
+"Why, I'll tell you the real truth," said Lilly. "I think every man is a
+sacred and holy individual, NEVER to be violated; I think there is only
+one thing I hate to the verge of madness, and that is BULLYING. To see
+any living creature BULLIED, in any way, almost makes a murderer of me.
+That is true. Do you believe it--?"
+
+"Yes," said Levison unwillingly. "That may be true as well. You have no
+doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which--"
+
+C R A S H!
+
+There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in
+darkness.
+
+Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible
+sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the
+hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful
+gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
+
+He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos. Then as he began to
+recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some
+distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where tables and
+chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris of glass and
+breakage: he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody gone: he saw
+the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of debris: he
+saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious.
+And still he had no idea of what had happened. He thought perhaps
+something had broken down. He could not understand.
+
+Lilly began to look round. He caught Aaron's eye. And then Aaron began
+to approach his friend.
+
+"What is it?" he asked.
+
+"A bomb," said Lilly.
+
+The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now
+advanced to the place of debris. And now Aaron saw that a man was lying
+there--and horror, blood was running across the floor of the cafe. Men
+began now hastily to return to the place. Some seized their hats and
+departed again at once. But many began to crowd in--a black eager crowd
+of men pressing to where the bomb had burst--where the man was lying. It
+was rather dark, some of the lamps were broken--but enough still shone.
+Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has
+been an accident. Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat
+and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung. But Aaron looked in
+vain for his own hat. The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had
+hung it and his overcoat.
+
+"My hat and coat?" he said to Lilly.
+
+Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe. Then he climbed on a chair and
+looked round. Then he squeezed past the crowd.
+
+Aaron followed. On the other side of the crowd excited angry men
+were wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble
+table-top. Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the wall.
+He waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward to where
+the coats were. Someone had dragged out his, and it lay on the floor
+under many feet. He managed, with a struggle, to get it from under the
+feet of the crowd. He felt at once for his flute. But his trampled, torn
+coat had no flute in its pocket. He pushed and struggled, caught sight
+of a section, and picked it up. But it was split right down, two silver
+stops were torn out, and a long thin spelch of wood was curiously torn
+off. He looked at it, and his heart stood still. No need to look for the
+rest.
+
+He felt utterly, utterly overcome--as if he didn't care what became
+of him any further. He didn't care whether he were hit by a bomb, or
+whether he himself threw the next bomb, and hit somebody. He just didn't
+care any more about anything in life or death. It was as if the reins of
+his life slipped from his hands. And he would let everything run where
+it would, so long as it did run.
+
+Then he became aware of Lilly's eyes on him--and automatically he joined
+the little man.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And they pushed their way through the door. The police were just
+marching across the square. Aaron and Lilly walked in the opposite
+direction. Groups of people were watching. Suddenly Lilly swerved--in
+the middle of the road was a large black glisten of blood, trickling
+horribly. A wounded man had run from the blow and fallen here.
+
+Aaron did not know where he was going. But in the Via Tournabuoni Lilly
+turned towards the Arno, and soon they were on the Ponte Santa Trinita.
+
+"Who threw the bomb?" said Aaron.
+
+"I suppose an anarchist."
+
+"It's all the same," said Aaron.
+
+The two men, as if unable to walk any further, leaned on the broad
+parapet of the bridge and looked at the water in the darkness of the
+still, deserted night. Aaron still had his flute section in his hand,
+his overcoat over his arm.
+
+"Is that your flute?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Bit of it. Smashed."
+
+"Let me look."
+
+He looked, and gave it back.
+
+"No good," he said.
+
+"Oh, no," said Aaron.
+
+"Throw it in the river, Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron turned and looked at him.
+
+"Throw it in the river," repeated Lilly. "It's an end."
+
+Aaron nervelessly dropped the flute into the stream. The two men stood
+leaning on the bridge-parapet, as if unable to move.
+
+"We shall have to go home," said Lilly. "Tanny may hear of it and be
+anxious."
+
+Aaron was quite dumbfounded by the night's event: the loss of his
+flute. Here was a blow he had not expected. And the loss was for him
+symbolistic. It chimed with something in his soul: the bomb, the smashed
+flute, the end.
+
+"There goes Aaron's Rod, then," he said to Lilly.
+
+"It'll grow again. It's a reed, a water-plant--you can't kill it," said
+Lilly, unheeding.
+
+"And me?"
+
+"You'll have to live without a rod, meanwhile."
+
+To which pleasant remark Aaron made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI. WORDS
+
+
+He went home to bed: and dreamed a strange dream. He dreamed that he was
+in a country with which he was not acquainted. Night was coming on, and
+he had nowhere to sleep. So he passed the mouth of a sort of cave or
+house, in which a woman, an old woman, sat. Therefore he entered, and
+though he could not understand the language, still his second self
+understood. The cave was a house: and men came home from work. His
+second self assumed that they were tin-miners.
+
+He wandered uneasily to and fro, no one taking any particular notice of
+him. And he realized that there was a whole vast country spreading, a
+sort of underworld country, spreading away beyond him. He wandered from
+vast apartment to apartment, down narrow corridors like the roads in a
+mine. In one of the great square rooms, the men were going to eat. And
+it seemed to him that what they were going to eat was a man, naked man.
+But his second self knew that what appeared to his eyes as a man was
+really a man's skin stuffed tight with prepared meat, as the skin of a
+Bologna sausage. This did not prevent his seeing the naked man who was
+to be eaten walk slowly and stiffly across the gangway and down the
+corridor. He saw him from behind. It was a big handsome man in the prime
+of life, quite naked and perhaps stupid. But of course he was only a
+skin stuffed with meat, whom the grey tin-miners were going to eat.
+
+Aaron, the dream-Aaron, turned another way, and strayed along the vast
+square rooms, cavern apartments. He came into one room where there were
+many children, all in white gowns. And they were all busily putting
+themselves to bed, in the many beds scattered about the room at
+haphazard. And each child went to bed with a wreath of flowers on its
+head, white flowers and pink, so it seemed. So there they all lay, in
+their flower-crowns in the vast space of the rooms. And Aaron went away.
+
+He could not remember the following part. Only he seemed to have passed
+through many grey domestic apartments, where were all women, all
+greyish in their clothes and appearance, being wives of the underground
+tin-miners. The men were away and the dream-Aaron remembered with fear
+the food they were to eat.
+
+The next thing he could recall was, that he was in a boat. And now he
+was most definitely two people. His invisible, _conscious_ self, what we
+have called his second self, hovered as it were before the prow of
+the boat, seeing and knowing, but unseen. His other self, the palpable
+Aaron, sat as a passenger in the boat, which was being rowed by the
+unknown people of this underworld. They stood up as they thrust the boat
+along. Other passengers were in the boat too, women as well, but all of
+them unknown people, and not noticeable.
+
+The boat was upon a great lake in the underworld country, a lake of dark
+blue water, but crystal clear and very beautiful in colour. The second
+or invisible Aaron sat in the prow and watched the fishes swimming
+suspended in the clear, beautiful dark-blue water. Some were pale fish,
+some frightening-looking, like centipedes swimming, and some were dark
+fish, of definite form, and delightful to watch.
+
+The palpable or visible Aaron sat at the side of the boat, on the end of
+the middle seat, with his naked right elbow leaning out over the side.
+And now the boat entered upon shallows. The impalpable Aaron in the bows
+saw the whitish clay of the bottom swirl up in clouds at each thrust of
+the oars, whitish-clayey clouds which would envelope the strange fishes
+in a sudden mist. And on the right hand of the course stakes stood up in
+the water, at intervals, to mark the course.
+
+The boat must pass very near these stakes, almost touching. And Aaron's
+naked elbow was leaning right over the side. As they approached the
+first stake, the boatmen all uttered a strange cry of warning, in a
+foreign language. The flesh-and-blood Aaron seemed not even to hear. The
+invisible Aaron heard, but did not comprehend the words of the cry.
+
+So the naked elbow struck smartly against the stake as the boat passed.
+
+The rowers rowed on. And still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat with his
+arm over the side. Another stake was nearing. "Will he heed, will he
+heed?" thought the anxious second self. The rowers gave the strange
+warning cry. He did not heed, and again the elbow struck against the
+stake as the boat passed. And yet the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on and
+made no sign. There were stakes all along this shallow part of the lake.
+Beyond was deep water again. The invisible Aaron was becoming anxious.
+"Will he never hear? Will he never heed? Will he never understand?"
+he thought. And he watched in pain for the next stake. But still the
+flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on, and though the rowers cried so acutely
+that the invisible Aaron almost understood their very language, still
+the Aaron seated at the side heard nothing, and his elbow struck against
+the third stake.
+
+This was almost too much. But after a few moments, as the boat rowed on,
+the palpable Aaron changed his position as he sat, and drew in his arm:
+though even now he was not aware of any need to do so. The invisible
+Aaron breathed with relief in the bows, the boat swung steadily on, into
+the deep, unfathomable water again.
+
+They were drawing near a city. A lake-city, like Mexico. They must have
+reached a city, because when Aaron woke up and tried to piece together
+the dream of which these are mere fragments, he could remember having
+just seen an idol. An Astarte he knew it as, seated by the road, and in
+her open lap, were some eggs: smallish hen's eggs, and one or two bigger
+eggs, like swan's, and one single little roll of bread. These lay in the
+lap of the roadside Astarte.... And then he could remember no more.
+
+He woke, and for a minute tried to remember what he had been dreaming,
+and what it all meant. But he quickly relinquished the effort. So he
+looked at his watch: it was only half-past three. He had one of those
+American watches with luminous, phosphorescent figures and fingers. And
+tonight he felt afraid of its eerily shining face.
+
+He was awake a long time in the dark--for two hours, thinking and
+not thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full
+wakefulness, and which is a painful strain. At length he went to sleep
+again, and did not wake till past eight o'clock. He did not ring for his
+coffee till nine.
+
+Outside was a bright day--but he hardly heeded it. He lay profitlessly
+thinking. With the breaking of the flute, that which was slowly breaking
+had finally shattered at last. And there was nothing ahead: no plan, no
+prospect. He knew quite well that people would help him: Francis Dekker
+or Angus Guest or the Marchese or Lilly. They would get him a new flute,
+and find him engagements. But what was the good? His flute was broken,
+and broken finally. The bomb had settled it. The bomb had settled it and
+everything. It was an end, no matter how he tried to patch things up.
+The only thing he felt was a thread of destiny attaching him to Lilly.
+The rest had all gone as bare and bald as the dead orb of the moon. So
+he made up his mind, if he could, to make some plan that would bring his
+life together with that of his evanescent friend.
+
+Lilly was a peculiar bird. Clever and attractive as he undoubtedly was,
+he was perhaps the most objectionable person to know. It was stamped on
+his peculiar face. Aaron thought of Lilly's dark, ugly face, which had
+something that lurked in it as a creature under leaves. Then he thought
+of the wide-apart eyes, with their curious candour and surety. The
+peculiar, half-veiled surety, as if nothing, nothing could overcome
+him. It made people angry, this look of silent, indifferent assurance.
+"Nothing can touch him on the quick, nothing can really GET at him,"
+they felt at last. And they felt it with resentment, almost with hate.
+They wanted to be able to get at him. For he was so open-seeming, so
+very outspoken. He gave himself away so much. And he had no money to
+fall back on. Yet he gave himself away so easily, paid such attention,
+almost deference to any chance friend. So they all thought: Here is
+a wise person who finds me the wonder which I really am.--And lo and
+behold, after he had given them the trial, and found their inevitable
+limitations, he departed and ceased to heed their wonderful existence.
+Which, to say the least of it, was fraudulent and damnable. It was then,
+after his departure, that they realised his basic indifference to them,
+and his silent arrogance. A silent arrogance that knew all their wisdom,
+and left them to it.
+
+Aaron had been through it all. He had started by thinking Lilly a
+peculiar little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a
+bit pathetic: progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing: then
+cruel and intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own: then
+terribly arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove which is
+in holes at the finger-ends. And all the time, which was most beastly,
+seeing through one. All the time, freak and outsider as he was, Lilly
+_knew_. He knew, and his soul was against the whole world.
+
+Driven to bay, and forced to choose. Forced to choose, not between life
+and death, but between the world and the uncertain, assertive Lilly.
+Forced to choose, and yet, in the world, having nothing left to choose.
+For in the world there was nothing left to choose, unless he would give
+in and try for success. Aaron knew well enough that if he liked to do
+a bit of buttering, people would gladly make a success of him, and give
+him money and success. He could become quite a favourite.
+
+But no! If he had to give in to something: if he really had to give in,
+and it seemed he had: then he would rather give in to the little Lilly
+than to the beastly people of the world. If he had to give in, then
+it should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no social
+institution. No!--if he had to yield his wilful independence, and give
+himself, then he would rather give himself to the little, individual man
+than to any of the rest. For to tell the truth, in the man was something
+incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he chose to allow it.
+
+As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the _cul de sac_ in which
+he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:
+yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man's nature rather than to the
+quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society: yielding, since
+yield he must, in some direction or other: yielding in a new direction
+now, to one strange and incalculable little individual: as Aaron lay so
+relaxing, finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul to his mind's
+hero, the self-same hero tapped and entered.
+
+"I wondered," he said, "if you'd like to walk into the country with me:
+it is such a nice day. I thought you might have gone out already. But
+here you are in bed like a woman who's had a baby.--You're all right,
+are you?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron. "I'm all right."
+
+"Miserable about your flute?--Ah, well, there are more flutes. Get up
+then." And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.
+
+"We're going away on Thursday," he said.
+
+"Where to?" said Aaron.
+
+"Naples. We've got a little house there for the winter--in the country,
+not far from Sorrento--I must get a bit of work done, now the winter is
+coming. And forget all about everything and just live with life. What's
+the good of running after life, when we've got it in us, if nobody
+prevents us and obstructs us?"
+
+Aaron felt very queer.
+
+"But for how long will you settle down--?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, only the winter. I am a vagrant really: or a migrant. I must
+migrate. Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one
+AND the same bird? Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and
+south, so oscillate I do. It's just my nature. All people don't have the
+same needs."
+
+"Perhaps not," said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side of
+the bed.
+
+"I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another
+race. I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me. Europe may be all right
+in herself. But I find myself chafing. Another year I shall get out. I
+shall leave Europe. I begin to feel caged."
+
+"I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you," said Aaron.
+
+"I guess there are."
+
+"And maybe they haven't a chance to get out."
+
+Lilly was silent a moment. Then he said:
+
+"Well, I didn't make life and society. I can only go my own way."
+
+Aaron too was silent. A deep disappointment was settling over his
+spirit.
+
+"Will you be alone all winter?"
+
+"Just myself and Tanny," he answered. "But people always turn up."
+
+"And then next year, what will you do?"
+
+"Who knows? I may sail far off. I should like to. I should like to try
+quite a new life-mode. This is finished in me--and yet perhaps it is
+absurd to go further. I'm rather sick of seekers. I hate a seeker."
+
+"What," said Aaron rather sarcastically--"those who are looking for a
+new religion?"
+
+"Religion--and love--and all that. It's a disease now."
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Aaron. "Perhaps the lack of love and religion
+is the disease."
+
+"Ah--bah! The grinding the old millstones of love and God is what ails
+us, when there's no more grist between the stones. We've ground love
+very small. Time to forget it. Forget the very words religion, and God,
+and love--then have a shot at a new mode. But the very words rivet us
+down and don't let us move. Rivets, and we can't get them out."
+
+"And where should we be if we could?" said Aaron.
+
+"We might begin to be ourselves, anyhow."
+
+"And what does that mean?" said Aaron. "Being yourself--what does it
+mean?"
+
+"To me, everything."
+
+"And to most folks, nothing. They've got to have a goal."
+
+"There is no goal. I loathe goals more than any other impertinence.
+Gaols, they are. Bah--jails and jailers, gaols and gaolers---"
+
+"Wherever you go, you'll find people with their noses tied to some
+goal," said Aaron.
+
+"Their wagon hitched to a star--which goes round and round like an ass
+in a gin," laughed Lilly. "Be damned to it."
+
+Aaron got himself dressed, and the two men went out, took a tram and
+went into the country. Aaron could not help it--Lilly put his back up.
+They came to a little inn near a bridge, where a broad stream rustled
+bright and shallow. It was a sunny warm day, and Aaron and Lilly had
+a table outside under the thin trees at the top of the bank above the
+river. The yellow leaves were falling--the Tuscan sky was turquoise
+blue. In the stream below three naked boys still adventurously bathed,
+and lay flat on the shingle in the sun. A wagon with two pale, loving,
+velvety oxen drew slowly down the hill, looking at each step as if they
+were going to come to rest, to move no more. But still they stepped
+forward. Till they came to the inn, and there they stood at rest. Two
+old women were picking the last acorns under three scrubby oak-trees,
+whilst a girl with bare feet drove her two goats and a sheep up from the
+water-side towards the women. The girl wore a dress that had been blue,
+perhaps indigo, but which had faded to the beautiful lavender-purple
+colour which is so common, and which always reminded Lilly of purple
+anemones in the south.
+
+The two friends sat in the sun and drank red wine. It was midday. From
+the thin, square belfry on the opposite hill the bells had rung. The
+old women and the girl squatted under the trees, eating their bread
+and figs. The boys were dressing, fluttering into their shirts on the
+stream's shingle. A big girl went past, with somebody's dinner tied in
+a red kerchief and perched on her head. It was one of the most precious
+hours: the hour of pause, noon, and the sun, and the quiet acceptance
+of the world. At such a time everything seems to fall into a true
+relationship, after the strain of work and of urge.
+
+Aaron looked at Lilly, and saw the same odd, distant look on his face as
+on the face of some animal when it lies awake and alert, yet perfectly
+at one with its surroundings. It was something quite different from
+happiness: an alert enjoyment of rest, an intense and satisfying sense
+of centrality. As a dog when it basks in the sun with one eye open and
+winking: or a rabbit quite still and wide-eyed, with a faintly-twitching
+nose. Not passivity, but alert enjoyment of being central, life-central
+in one's own little circumambient world.
+
+They sat thus still--or lay under the trees--for an hour and a half.
+Then Lilly paid the bill, and went on.
+
+"What am I going to do this winter, do you think?" Aaron asked.
+
+"What do you want to do?"
+
+"Nay, that's what I want to know."
+
+"Do you want anything? I mean, does something drive you from inside?"
+
+"I can't just rest," said Aaron.
+
+"Can't you settle down to something?--to a job, for instance?"
+
+"I've not found the job I could settle down to, yet," said Aaron.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"It's just my nature."
+
+"Are you a seeker? Have you got a divine urge, or need?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron. "Perhaps I've got a DAMNED urge, at the
+bottom of me. I'm sure it's nothing divine."
+
+"Very well then. Now, in life, there are only two great dynamic
+urges--do you believe me--?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron. "Do you want to be believed?"
+
+"No, I don't care a straw. Only for your own sake, you'd better believe
+me."
+
+"All right then--what about it?"
+
+"Well, then, there are only two great dynamic urges in LIFE: love and
+power."
+
+"Love and power?" said Aaron. "I don't see power as so very important."
+
+"You don't see because you don't look. But that's not the point. What
+sort of urge is your urge? Is it the love urge?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you do. You know that you have got an urge, don't you?"
+
+"Yes--" rather unwillingly Aaron admitted it.
+
+"Well then, what is it? Is it that you want to love, or to be obeyed?"
+
+"A bit of both."
+
+"All right--a bit of both. And what are you looking for in love?--A
+woman whom you can love, and who will love you, out and out and all in
+all and happy ever after sort of thing?"
+
+"That's what I started out for, perhaps," laughed Aaron.
+
+"And now you know it's all my eye!" Aaron looked at Lilly, unwilling to
+admit it. Lilly began to laugh.
+
+"You know it well enough," he said. "It's one of your lost illusions, my
+boy. Well, then, what next? Is it a God you're after? Do you want a God
+you can strive to and attain, through love, and live happy ever after,
+countless millions of eternities, immortality and all that? Is this your
+little dodge?"
+
+Again Aaron looked at Lilly with that odd double look of mockery and
+unwillingness to give himself away.
+
+"All right then. You've got a love-urge that urges you to God; have
+you? Then go and join the Buddhists in Burmah, or the newest fangled
+Christians in Europe. Go and stick your head in a bush of Nirvana or
+spiritual perfection. Trot off."
+
+"I won't," said Aaron.
+
+"You must. If you've got a love-urge, then give it its fulfilment."
+
+"I haven't got a love-urge."
+
+"You have. You want to get excited in love. You want to be carried away
+in love. You want to whoosh off in a nice little love whoosh and love
+yourself. Don't deny it. I know you do. You want passion to sweep you
+off on wings of fire till you surpass yourself, and like the swooping
+eagle swoop right into the sun. I know you, my love-boy."
+
+"Not any more--not any more. I've been had too often," laughed Aaron.
+
+"Bah, it's a lesson men never learn. No matter how sick they make
+themselves with love, they always rush for more, like a dog to his
+vomit."
+
+"Well, what am I to do then, if I'm not to love?" cried Aaron.
+
+"You want to go on, from passion to passion, from ecstasy to ecstasy,
+from triumph to triumph, till you can whoosh away into glory, beyond
+yourself, all bonds loosened and happy ever after. Either that or
+Nirvana, opposite side of the medal."
+
+"There's probably more hate than love in me," said Aaron.
+
+"That's the recoil of the same urge. The anarchist, the criminal, the
+murderer, he is only the extreme lover acting on the recoil. But it
+is love: only in recoil. It flies back, the love-urge, and becomes a
+horror."
+
+"All right then. I'm a criminal and a murderer," said Aaron.
+
+"No, you're not. But you've a love-urge. And perhaps on the recoil just
+now. But listen to me. It's no good thinking the love-urge is the one
+and only. _Niente_! You can whoosh if you like, and get excited and
+carried away loving a woman, or humanity, or God. Swoop away in the love
+direction till you lose yourself. But that's where you're had. You can't
+lose yourself. You can try. But you might just as well try to swallow
+yourself. You'll only bite your fingers off in the attempt. You can't
+lose yourself, neither in woman nor humanity nor in God. You've always
+got yourself on your hands in the end: and a very raw and jaded and
+humiliated and nervous-neurasthenic self it is, too, in the end. A
+very nasty thing to wake up to is one's own raw self after an excessive
+love-whoosh. Look even at President Wilson: he love-whooshed for
+humanity, and found in the end he'd only got a very sorry self on his
+hands.
+
+"So leave off. Leave off, my boy. Leave off love-whooshing. You can't
+lose yourself, so stop trying. The responsibility is on your own
+shoulders all the time, and no God which man has ever struck can take it
+off. You ARE yourself and so BE yourself. Stick to it and abide by it.
+Passion or no passion, ecstasy or no ecstasy, urge or no urge, there's
+no goal outside you, where you can consummate like an eagle flying
+into the sun, or a moth into a candle. There's no goal outside you--and
+there's no God outside you. No God, whom you can get to and rest in.
+None. It's a case of:
+
+
+          'Trot, trot to market, to buy a penny bun,
+           And trot, trot back again, as fast as you can run.'
+
+
+But there's no God outside you, whom you can rise to or sink to or swoop
+away to. You can't even gum yourself to a divine Nirvana moon. Because
+all the time you've got to eat your dinner and digest it. There is no
+goal outside you. None.
+
+"There is only one thing, your own very self. So you'd better stick to
+it. You can't be any bigger than just yourself, so you needn't drag God
+in. You've got one job, and no more. There inside you lies your own very
+self, like a germinating egg, your precious Easter egg of your own soul.
+There it is, developing bit by bit, from one single egg-cell which you
+were at your conception in your mother's womb, on and on to the strange
+and peculiar complication in unity which never stops till you die--if
+then. You've got an innermost, integral unique self, and since it's the
+only thing you have got or ever will have, don't go trying to lose it.
+You've got to develop it, from the egg into the chicken, and from the
+chicken into the one-and-only phoenix, of which there can only be one
+at a time in the universe. There can only be one of you at a time in the
+universe--and one of me. So don't forget it. Your own single oneness is
+your destiny. Your destiny comes from within, from your own self-form.
+And you can't know it beforehand, neither your destiny nor your
+self-form. You can only develop it. You can only stick to your own very
+self, and NEVER betray it. And by so sticking, you develop the one and
+only phoenix of your own self, and you unfold your own destiny, as
+a dandelion unfolds itself into a dandelion, and not into a stick of
+celery.
+
+"Remember this, my boy: you've never got to deny the Holy Ghost which is
+inside you, your own soul's self. Never. Or you'll catch it. And you've
+never got to think you'll dodge the responsibility of your own soul's
+self, by loving or sacrificing or Nirvaning--or even anarchising and
+throwing bombs. You never will...."
+
+Aaron was silenced for a moment by this flood of words. Then he said
+smiling:
+
+"So I'd better sit tight on my soul, till it hatches, had I?"
+
+"Oh, yes. If your soul's urge urges you to love, then love. But always
+know that what you are doing is the fulfilling of your own soul's
+impulse. It's no good trying to act by prescription: not a bit. And
+it's no use getting into frenzies. If you've got to go in for love and
+passion, go in for them. But they aren't the goal. They're a mere means:
+a life-means, if you will. The only goal is the fulfilling of your own
+soul's active desire and suggestion. Be passionate as much as ever it is
+your nature to be passionate, and deeply sensual as far as you can
+be. Small souls have a small sensuality, deep souls a deep one. But
+remember, all the time, the responsibility is upon your own head, it
+all rests with your own lonely soul, the responsibility for your own
+action."
+
+"I never said it didn't," said Aaron.
+
+"You never said it did. You never accepted. You thought there was
+something outside, to justify you: God, or a creed, or a prescription.
+But remember, your soul inside you is your only Godhead. It develops
+your actions within you as a tree develops its own new cells. And the
+cells push on into buds and boughs and flowers. And these are your
+passion and your acts and your thoughts and expressions, your developing
+consciousness. You don't know beforehand, and you can't. You can only
+stick to your own soul through thick and thin.
+
+"You are your own Tree of Life, roots and limbs and trunk. Somewhere
+within the wholeness of the tree lies the very self, the quick: its own
+innate Holy Ghost. And this Holy Ghost puts forth new buds, and pushes
+past old limits, and shakes off a whole body of dying leaves. And the
+old limits hate being empassed, and the old leaves hate to fall. But
+they must, if the tree-soul says so...."
+
+They had sat again during this harangue, under a white wall. Aaron
+listened more to the voice than the words. It was more the sound value
+which entered his soul, the tone, the strange speech-music which sank
+into him. The sense he hardly heeded. And yet he understood, he knew.
+He understood, oh so much more deeply than if he had listened with his
+head. And he answered an objection from the bottom of his soul.
+
+"But you talk," he said, "as if we were like trees, alone by ourselves
+in the world. We aren't. If we love, it needs another person than
+ourselves. And if we hate, and even if we talk."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly. "And that's just the point. We've got to love and
+hate moreover--and even talk. But we haven't got to fix on any one of
+these modes, and say that's the only mode. It is such imbecility to say
+that love and love alone must rule. It is so obviously not the case. Yet
+we try and make it so."
+
+"I feel that," said Aaron. "It's all a lie."
+
+"It's worse. It's a half lie. But listen. I told you there were two
+urges--two great life-urges, didn't I? There may be more. But it comes
+on me so strongly, now, that there are two: love, and power. And
+we've been trying to work ourselves, at least as individuals, from the
+love-urge exclusively, hating the power-urge, and repressing it. And now
+I find we've got to accept the very thing we've hated.
+
+"We've exhausted our love-urge, for the moment. And yet we try to force
+it to continue working. So we get inevitably anarchy and murder. It's
+no good. We've got to accept the power motive, accept it in deep
+responsibility, do you understand me? It is a great life motive. It was
+that great dark power-urge which kept Egypt so intensely living for so
+many centuries. It is a vast dark source of life and strength in us now,
+waiting either to issue into true action, or to burst into cataclysm.
+Power--the power-urge. The will-to-power--but not in Nietzsche's sense.
+Not intellectual power. Not mental power. Not conscious will-power. Not
+even wisdom. But dark, living, fructifying power. Do you know what I
+mean?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Take what you call love, for example. In the real way of love, the
+positive aim is to make the other person--or persons--happy. It devotes
+itself to the other or to others. But change the mode. Let the urge be
+the urge of power. Then the great desire is not happiness, neither of
+the beloved nor of oneself. Happiness is only one of many states, and it
+is horrible to think of fixing us down to one state. The urge of power
+does not seek for happiness any more than for any other state. It urges
+from within, darkly, for the displacing of the old leaves, the inception
+of the new. It is powerful and self-central, not seeking its centre
+outside, in some God or some beloved, but acting indomitably from within
+itself.
+
+"And of course there must be one who urges, and one who is impelled.
+Just as in love there is a beloved and a lover: The man is supposed to
+be the lover, the woman the beloved. Now, in the urge of power, it is
+the reverse. The woman must submit, but deeply, deeply submit. Not to
+any foolish fixed authority, not to any foolish and arbitrary will. But
+to something deep, deeper. To the soul in its dark motion of power and
+pride. We must reverse the poles. The woman must now submit--but deeply,
+deeply, and richly! No subservience. None of that. No slavery. A deep,
+unfathomable free submission."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, if you abandon the love idea and the love motive, and if
+you stand apart, and never bully, never force from the conscious will.
+That's where Nietzsche was wrong. His was the conscious and benevolent
+will, in fact, the love-will. But the deep power-urge is not conscious
+of its aims: and it is certainly not consciously benevolent or
+love-directed.--Whatever else happens, somewhere, sometime, the deep
+power-urge in man will have to issue forth again, and woman will submit,
+livingly, not subjectedly."
+
+"She never will," persisted Aaron. "Anything else will happen, but not
+that."
+
+"She will," said Lilly, "once man disengages himself from the love-mode,
+and stands clear. Once he stands clear, and the other great urge begins
+to flow in him, then the woman won't be able to resist. Her own soul
+will wish to yield itself."
+
+"Woman yield--?" Aaron re-echoed.
+
+"Woman--and man too. Yield to the deep power-soul in the individual man,
+and obey implicitly. I don't go back on what I said before. I do believe
+that every man must fulfil his own soul, every woman must be herself,
+herself only, not some man's instrument, or some embodied theory. But
+the mode of our being is such that we can only live and have our being
+whilst we are implicit in one of the great dynamic modes. We MUST either
+love, or rule. And once the love-mode changes, as change it must, for we
+are worn out and becoming evil in its persistence, then the other mode
+will take place in us. And there will be profound, profound obedience in
+place of this love-crying, obedience to the incalculable power-urge. And
+men must submit to the greater soul in a man, for their guidance: and
+women must submit to the positive power-soul in man, for their being."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, when all men want it. All men say, they want a leader. Then
+let them in their souls submit to some greater soul than theirs. At
+present, when they say they want a leader, they mean they want an
+instrument, like Lloyd George. A mere instrument for their use. But it's
+more than that. It's the reverse. It's the deep, fathomless submission
+to the heroic soul in a greater man. You, Aaron, you too have the need
+to submit. You, too, have the need livingly to yield to a more heroic
+soul, to give yourself. You know you have. And you know it isn't love.
+It is life-submission. And you know it. But you kick against the pricks.
+And perhaps you'd rather die than yield. And so, die you must. It is
+your affair."
+
+There was a long pause. Then Aaron looked up into Lilly's face. It was
+dark and remote-seeming. It was like a Byzantine eikon at the moment.
+
+"And whom shall I submit to?" he said.
+
+"Your soul will tell you," replied the other.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+The Project Gutenberg Etext of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
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+Title: Aaron's Rod
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+Author: D. H. Lawrence
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+Release Date: October, 2003 [Etext# 4520]
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+
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Doug Levy
+
+
+
+
+AARON'S ROD
+
+by D. H. Lawrence
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+     I.  THE BLUE BALL
+    II.  ROYAL OAK
+   III.  "THE LIGHTED TREE"
+    IV.  "THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+     V.  AT THE OPERA
+    VI.  TALK
+   VII.  THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+  VIII.  A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+    IX.  LOW-WATER MARK
+     X.  THE WAR AGAIN
+    XI.  MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+   XII.  NOVARA
+  XIII.  WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+   XIV.  XX SETTEMBRE
+    XV.  A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+   XVI.  FLORENCE
+  XVII.  HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+ XVIII.  THE MARCHESA
+   XIX.  CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+    XX.  THE BROKEN ROD
+   XXI.  WORDS
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE BLUE BALL
+
+
+There was a large, brilliant evening star in the early twilight, and
+underfoot the earth was half frozen.  It was Christmas Eve.  Also the
+War was over, and there was a sense of relief that was almost a new
+menace.  A man felt the violence of the nightmare released now into the
+general air.  Also there had been another wrangle among the men on the
+pit-bank that evening.
+
+Aaron Sisson was the last man on the little black railway-line
+climbing the hill home from work.  He was late because he had attended
+a meeting of the men on the bank.  He was secretary to the Miners Union
+for his colliery, and had heard a good deal of silly wrangling that
+left him nettled.
+
+He strode over a stile, crossed two fields, strode another stile, and
+was in the long road of colliers' dwellings.  Just across was his own
+house: he had built it himself.  He went through the little gate, up
+past the side of the house to the back.  There he hung a moment,
+glancing down the dark, wintry garden.
+
+"My father--my father's come!" cried a child's excited voice, and two
+little girls in white pinafores ran out in front of his legs.
+
+"Father, shall you set the Christmas Tree?" they cried.  "We've
+got one!"
+
+"Afore I have my dinner?" he answered amiably.
+
+"Set it now.  Set it now.--We got it through Fred Alton."
+
+"Where is it?"
+
+The little girls were dragging a rough, dark object out of a corner of
+the passage into the light of the kitchen door.
+
+"It's a beauty!" exclaimed Millicent.
+
+"Yes, it is," said Marjory.
+
+"I should think so," he replied, striding over the dark bough.  He went
+to the back kitchen to take off his coat.
+
+"Set it now, Father.  Set it now," clamoured the girls.
+
+"You might as well.  You've left your dinner so long, you might as well
+do it now before you have it," came a woman's plangent voice, out of
+the brilliant light of the middle room.
+
+Aaron Sisson had taken off his coat and waistcoat and his cap.  He
+stood bare-headed in his shirt and braces, contemplating the tree.
+
+"What am I to put it in?" he queried.  He picked up the tree, and held
+it erect by the topmost twig.  He felt the cold as he stood in the yard
+coatless, and he twitched his shoulders.
+
+"Isn't it a beauty!" repeated Millicent.
+
+"Ay!--lop-sided though."
+
+"Put something on, you two!" came the woman's high imperative voice,
+from the kitchen.
+
+"We aren't cold," protested the girls from the yard.
+
+"Come and put something on," insisted the voice.  The man started off
+down the path, the little girls ran grumbling indoors.  The sky was
+clear, there was still a crystalline, non-luminous light in the under
+air.
+
+Aaron rummaged in his shed at the bottom of the garden, and found a
+spade and a box that was suitable.  Then he came out to his neat, bare,
+wintry garden.  The girls flew towards him, putting the elastic of
+their hats under their chins as they ran.  The tree and the box lay
+on the frozen earth.  The air breathed dark, frosty, electric.
+
+"Hold it up straight," he said to Millicent, as he arranged the tree
+in the box.  She stood silent and held the top bough, he filled in
+round the roots.
+
+When it was done, and pressed in, he went for the wheelbarrow.  The
+girls were hovering excited round the tree.  He dropped the barrow
+and stooped to the box.  The girls watched him hold back his face--
+the boughs pricked him.
+
+"Is it very heavy?"  asked Millicent.
+
+"Ay!" he replied, with a little grunt.  Then the procession set off--
+the trundling wheel-barrow, the swinging hissing tree, the two excited
+little girls.  They arrived at the door.  Down went the legs of the
+wheel-barrow on the yard.  The man looked at the box.
+
+"Where are you going to have it?" he called.
+
+"Put it in the back kitchen," cried his wife.
+
+"You'd better have it where it's going to stop.  I don't want to hawk
+it about."
+
+"Put it on the floor against the dresser, Father.  Put it there,"
+urged Millicent.
+
+"You come and put some paper down, then," called the mother hastily.
+
+The two children ran indoors, the man stood contemplative in the cold,
+shrugging his uncovered shoulders slightly.  The open inner door showed
+a bright linoleum on the floor, and the end of a brown side-board on
+which stood an aspidistra.
+
+Again with a wrench Aaron Sisson lifted the box.  The tree pricked
+and stung.  His wife watched him as he entered staggering, with his
+face averted.
+
+"Mind where you make a lot of dirt," she said.
+
+He lowered the box with a little jerk on to the spread-out newspaper
+on the floor.  Soil scattered.
+
+"Sweep it up," he said to Millicent.
+
+His ear was lingering over the sudden, clutching hiss of the tree-
+boughs.
+
+A stark white incandescent light filled the room and made everything
+sharp and hard.  In the open fire-place a hot fire burned red.  All
+was scrupulously clean and perfect.  A baby was cooing in a rocker-
+less wicker cradle by the hearth.  The mother, a slim, neat woman with
+dark hair, was sewing a child's frock.  She put this aside, rose, and
+began to take her husband's dinner from the oven.
+
+"You stopped confabbing long enough tonight," she said.
+
+"Yes," he answered, going to the back kitchen to wash his hands.
+
+In a few minutes he came and sat down to his dinner.  The doors were
+shut close, but there was a draught, because the settling of the mines
+under the house made the doors not fit.  Aaron moved his chair, to get
+out of the draught.  But he still sat in his shirt and trousers.
+
+He was a good-looking man, fair, and pleasant, about thirty-two years
+old.  He did not talk much, but seemed to think about something.  His
+wife resumed her sewing.  She was acutely aware of her husband, but he
+seemed not very much aware of her.
+
+"What were they on about today, then?" she said.
+
+"About the throw-in."
+
+"And did they settle anything?"
+
+"They're going to try it--and they'll come out if it isn't
+satisfactory."
+
+"The butties won't have it, I know," she said.  He gave a short laugh,
+and went on with his meal.
+
+The two children were squatted on the floor by the tree.  They had a
+wooden box, from which they had taken many little newspaper packets,
+which they were spreading out like wares.
+
+"Don't open any.  We won't open any of them till we've taken them
+all out--and then we'll undo one in our turns.  Then we s'll both
+undo equal," Millicent was saying.
+
+"Yes, we'll take them ALL out first," re-echoed Marjory.
+
+"And what are they going to do about Job Arthur Freer?  Do they want
+him?"  A faint smile came on her husband's face.
+
+"Nay, I don't know what they want.--Some of 'em want him--whether
+they're a majority, I don't know."
+
+She watched him closely.
+
+"Majority!  I'd give 'em majority.  They want to get rid of you, and
+make a fool of you, and you want to break your heart over it.  Strikes
+me you need something to break your heart over."
+
+He laughed silently.
+
+"Nay," he said.  "I s'll never break my heart."
+
+"You'll go nearer to it over that, than over anything else: just
+because a lot of ignorant monkeys want a monkey of their own sort to
+do the Union work, and jabber to them, they want to get rid of you,
+and you eat your heart out about it.  More fool you, that's all I
+say--more fool you.  If you cared for your wife and children half
+what you care about your Union, you'd be a lot better pleased in the
+end.  But you care about nothing but a lot of ignorant colliers, who
+don't know what they want except it's more money just for themselves.
+Self, self, self--that's all it is with them--and ignorance."
+
+"You'd rather have self without ignorance?" he said, smiling finely.
+
+"I would, if I've got to have it.  But what I should like to see is
+a man that has thought for others, and isn't all self and politics."
+
+Her color had risen, her hand trembled with anger as she sewed.  A
+blank look had come over the man's face, as if he did not hear or heed
+any more.  He drank his tea in a long draught, wiped his moustache with
+two fingers, and sat looking abstractedly at the children.
+
+They had laid all the little packets on the floor, and Millicent was
+saying:
+
+"Now I'll undo the first, and you can have the second.  I'll take
+this--"
+
+She unwrapped the bit of newspaper and disclosed a silvery ornament
+for a Christmas tree: a frail thing like a silver plum, with deep rosy
+indentations on each side.
+
+"Oh!" she exclaimed.  "Isn't it LOVELY!"  Her fingers cautiously
+held the long bubble of silver and glowing rose, cleaving to it with
+a curious, irritating possession.  The man's eyes moved away from her.
+The lesser child was fumbling with one of the little packets.
+
+"Oh!"--a wail went up from Millicent.  "You've taken one!--You didn't
+wait."  Then her voice changed to a motherly admonition, and she began
+to interfere.  "This is the way to do it, look!  Let me help you."
+
+But Marjory drew back with resentment.
+
+"Don't, Millicent!--Don't!" came the childish cry.  But Millicent's
+fingers itched.
+
+At length Marjory had got out her treasure--a little silvery bell
+with a glass top hanging inside.  The bell was made of frail glassy
+substance, light as air.
+
+"Oh, the bell!" rang out Millicent's clanging voice.  "The bell!  It's
+my bell.  My bell!  It's mine!  Don't break it, Marjory.  Don't break
+it, will you?"
+
+Marjory was shaking the bell against her ear.  But it was dumb, it made
+no sound.
+
+"You'll break it, I know you will.--You'll break it.  Give it ME--"
+cried Millicent, and she began to take away the bell.  Marjory set up
+an expostulation.
+
+"LET HER ALONE," said the father.
+
+Millicent let go as if she had been stung, but still her brassy,
+impudent voice persisted:
+
+"She'll break it.  She'll break it.  It's mine--"
+
+"You undo another," said the mother, politic.
+
+Millicent began with hasty, itching fingers to unclose another package.
+
+"Aw--aw Mother, my peacock--aw, my peacock, my green peacock!"
+Lavishly she hovered over a sinuous greenish bird, with wings and tail
+of spun glass, pearly, and body of deep electric green.
+
+"It's mine--my green peacock!  It's mine, because Marjory's had one
+wing off, and mine hadn't.  My green peacock that I love!  I love it!"
+She swung it softly from the little ring on its back.  Then she went
+to her mother.
+
+"Look, Mother, isn't it a beauty?"
+
+"Mind the ring doesn't come out," said her mother.  "Yes, it's lovely!"
+The girl passed on to her father.
+
+"Look, Father, don't you love it!"
+
+"Love it?" he re-echoed, ironical over the word love.
+
+She stood for some moments, trying to force his attention.  Then she
+went back to her place.
+
+Marjory had brought forth a golden apple, red on one cheek, rather
+garish.
+
+"Oh!" exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for
+what she had not got, indifferent to what she had.  Her eye ran quickly
+over the packages.  She took one.
+
+"Now!" she exclaimed loudly, to attract attention.  "Now!  What's
+this?--What's this?  What will this beauty be?"
+
+With finicky fingers she removed the newspaper.  Marjory watched her
+wide-eyed.  Millicent was self-important.
+
+"The blue ball!" she cried in a climax of rapture.  "I've got THE BLUE
+BALL."
+
+She held it gloating in the cup of her hands.  It was a little globe
+of hardened glass, of a magnificent full dark blue color.  She rose
+and went to her father.
+
+"It was your blue ball, wasn't it, father?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I have it when I'm
+a little girl."
+
+"Ay," he replied drily.
+
+"And it's never been broken all those years."
+
+"No, not yet."
+
+"And perhaps it never will be broken."  To this she received no answer.
+
+"Won't it break?" she persisted.  "Can't you break it?"
+
+"Yes, if you hit it with a hammer," he said.
+
+"Aw!" she cried.  "I don't mean that.  I mean if you just drop it.  It
+won't break if you drop it, will it?"
+
+"I dare say it won't."
+
+"But WILL it?"
+
+"I sh'd think not."
+
+"Should I try?"
+
+She proceeded gingerly to let the blue ball drop, it bounced dully on
+the floor-covering.
+
+"Oh-h-h!" she cried, catching it up.  "I love it."
+
+"Let ME drop it," cried Marjory, and there was a performance of
+admonition and demonstration from the elder sister.
+
+But Millicent must go further.  She became excited.
+
+"It won't break," she said, "even if you toss it up in the air."
+
+She flung it up, it fell safely.  But her father's brow knitted
+slightly.  She tossed it wildly: it fell with a little splashing
+explosion: it had smashed.  It had fallen on the sharp edge of the
+tiles that protruded under the fender.
+
+"NOW what have you done!" cried the mother.
+
+The child stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, half, of pure
+misery and dismay, half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face.
+
+"She wanted to break it," said the father.
+
+"No, she didn't!  What do you say that for!" said the mother.  And
+Millicent burst into a flood of tears.
+
+He rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor.
+
+"You must mind the bits," he said, "and pick 'em all up."
+
+He took one of the pieces to examine it.  It was fine and thin and
+hard, lined with pure silver, brilliant.  He looked at it closely.
+So--this was what it was.  And this was the end of it.  He felt the
+curious soft explosion of its breaking still in his ears.  He threw
+his piece in the fire.
+
+"Pick all the bits up," he said.  "Give over! give over!  Don't cry
+any more."  The good-natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as
+he intended it should.
+
+He went away into the back kitchen to wash himself.  As he was bending
+his head over the sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave,
+there came from outside the dissonant voices of boys, pouring out the
+dregs of carol-singing.
+
+"While Shep-ep-ep-ep-herds watched--"
+
+He held his soapy brush suspended for a minute.  They called this
+singing!  His mind flitted back to early carol music.  Then again
+he heard the vocal violence outside.
+
+"Aren't you off there!" he called out, in masculine menace.  The noise
+stopped, there was a scuffle.  But the feet returned and the voices
+resumed.  Almost immediately the door opened, boys were heard muttering
+among themselves.  Millicent had given them a penny.  Feet scraped
+on the yard, then went thudding along the side of the house, to the
+street.
+
+To Aaron Sisson, this was home, this was Christmas: the unspeakably
+familiar.  The war over, nothing was changed.  Yet everything changed.
+The scullery in which he stood was painted green, quite fresh, very
+clean, the floor was red tiles.  The wash-copper of red bricks was very
+red, the mangle with its put-up board was white-scrubbed, the American
+oil-cloth on the table had a gay pattern, there was a warm fire, the
+water in the boiler hissed faintly.  And in front of him, beneath him
+as he leaned forward shaving, a drop of water fell with strange,
+incalculable rhythm from the bright brass tap into the white enamelled
+bowl, which was now half full of pure, quivering water.  The war was
+over, and everything just the same.  The acute familiarity of this
+house, which he had built for his marriage twelve years ago, the
+changeless pleasantness of it all seemed unthinkable.  It prevented
+his thinking.
+
+When he went into the middle room to comb his hair he found the
+Christmas tree sparkling, his wife was making pastry at the table,
+the baby was sitting up propped in cushions.
+
+"Father," said Millicent, approaching him with a flat blue-and-white
+angel of cotton-wool, and two ends of cotton--"tie the angel at the
+top."
+
+"Tie it at the top?" he said, looking down.
+
+"Yes.  At the very top--because it's just come down from the sky."
+
+"Ay my word!" he laughed.  And he tied the angel.
+
+Coming downstairs after changing he went into the icy cold parlour,
+and took his music and a small handbag.  With this he retreated again
+to the back kitchen.  He was still in trousers and shirt and slippers:
+but now it was a clean white shirt, and his best black trousers, and
+new pink and white braces.  He sat under the gas-jet of the back
+kitchen, looking through his music.  Then he opened the bag, in which
+were sections of a flute and a piccolo.  He took out the flute, and
+adjusted it.  As he sat he was physically aware of the sounds of the
+night: the bubbling of water in the boiler, the faint sound of the
+gas, the sudden crying of the baby in the next room, then noises
+outside, distant boys shouting, distant rags of carols, fragments
+of voices of men.  The whole country was roused and excited.
+
+The little room was hot.  Aaron rose and opened a square ventilator
+over the copper, letting in a stream of cold air, which was grateful
+to him.  Then he cocked his eye over the sheet of music spread out on
+the table before him.  He tried his flute.  And then at last, with the
+odd gesture of a diver taking a plunge, he swung his head and began
+to play.  A stream of music, soft and rich and fluid, came out of the
+flute.  He played beautifully.  He moved his head and his raised bare
+arms with slight, intense movements, as the delicate music poured out.
+It was sixteenth-century Christmas melody, very limpid and delicate.
+
+The pure, mindless, exquisite motion and fluidity of the music
+delighted him with a strange exasperation.  There was something tense,
+exasperated to the point of intolerable anger, in his good-humored
+breast, as he played the finely-spun peace-music.  The more exquisite
+the music, the more perfectly he produced it, in sheer bliss; and at
+the same time, the more intense was the maddened exasperation within
+him.
+
+Millicent appeared in the room.  She fidgetted at the sink.  The music
+was a bugbear to her, because it prevented her from saying what was
+on her own mind.  At length it ended, her father was turning over the
+various books and sheets.  She looked at him quickly, seizing her
+opportunity.
+
+"Are you going out, Father?" she said.
+
+"Eh?"
+
+"Are you going out?" She twisted nervously.
+
+"What do you want to know for?"
+
+He made no other answer, and turned again to the music.  His eye went
+down a sheet--then over it again--then more closely over it again.
+
+"Are you?" persisted the child, balancing on one foot.
+
+He looked at her, and his eyes were angry under knitted brows.
+
+"What are you bothering about?" he said.
+
+"I'm not bothering--I only wanted to know if you were going out," she
+pouted, quivering to cry.
+
+"I expect I am," he said quietly.
+
+She recovered at once, but still with timidity asked:
+
+"We haven't got any candles for the Christmas tree--shall you buy some,
+because mother isn't going out?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, settling his music and taking up the piccolo.
+
+"Yes--shall you buy us some, Father?  Shall you?"
+
+"Candles!" he repeated, putting the piccolo to his mouth and blowing a
+few piercing, preparatory notes.
+
+"Yes, little Christmas-tree candles--blue ones and red ones, in boxes
+--Shall you, Father?"
+
+"We'll see--if I see any--"
+
+"But SHALL you?" she insisted desperately.  She wisely mistrusted his
+vagueness.
+
+But he was looking unheeding at the music.  Then suddenly the piccolo
+broke forth, wild, shrill, brilliant.  He was playing Mozart.  The
+child's face went pale with anger at the sound.  She turned, and went
+out, closing both doors behind her to shut out the noise.
+
+The shrill, rapid movement of the piccolo music seemed to possess the
+air, it was useless to try to shut it out.  The man went on playing
+to himself, measured and insistent.  In the frosty evening the sound
+carried.  People passing down the street hesitated, listening.  The
+neighbours knew it was Aaron practising his piccolo.  He was esteemed
+a good player: was in request at concerts and dances, also at swell
+balls.  So the vivid piping sound tickled the darkness.
+
+He played on till about seven o'clock; he did not want to go out too
+soon, in spite of the early closing of the public houses.  He never
+went with the stream, but made a side current of his own.  His wife
+said he was contrary.  When he went into the middle room to put on his
+collar and tie, the two little girls were having their hair brushed,
+the baby was in bed, there was a hot smell of mince-pies baking in
+the oven.
+
+"You won't forget our candles, will you, Father?" asked Millicent,
+with assurance now.
+
+"I'll see," he answered.
+
+His wife watched him as he put on his overcoat and hat.  He was well-
+dressed, handsome-looking.  She felt there was a curious glamour about
+him.  It made her feel bitter.  He had an unfair advantage--he was free
+to go off, while she must stay at home with the children.
+
+"There's no knowing what time you'll be home," she said.
+
+"I shan't be late," he answered.
+
+"It's easy to say so," she retorted, with some contempt.  He took his
+stick, and turned towards the door.
+
+"Bring the children some candles for their tree, and don't be so
+selfish," she said.
+
+"All right," he said, going out.
+
+"Don't say ALL RIGHT if you never mean to do it," she cried, with
+sudden anger, following him to the door.
+
+His figure stood large and shadowy in the darkness.
+
+"How many do you want?" he said.
+
+"A dozen," she said.  "And holders too, if you can get them," she
+added, with barren bitterness.
+
+"Yes--all right," he turned and melted into the darkness.  She went
+indoors, worn with a strange and bitter flame.
+
+He crossed the fields towards the little town, which once more fumed
+its lights under the night.  The country ran away, rising on his right
+hand.  It was no longer a great bank of darkness.  Lights twinkled
+freely here and there, though forlornly, now that the war-time
+restrictions were removed.  It was no glitter of pre-war nights, pit-
+heads glittering far-off with electricity.  Neither was it the black
+gulf of the war darkness: instead, this forlorn sporadic twinkling.
+
+Everybody seemed to be out of doors.  The hollow dark countryside
+re-echoed like a shell with shouts and calls and excited voices.
+Restlessness and nervous excitement, nervous hilarity were in the
+air.  There was a sense of electric surcharge everywhere, frictional,
+a neurasthenic haste for excitement.
+
+Every moment Aaron Sisson was greeted with Good-night--Good-night,
+Aaron--Good-night, Mr. Sisson.  People carrying parcels, children,
+women, thronged home on the dark paths.  They were all talking loudly,
+declaiming loudly about what they could and could not get, and what
+this or the other had lost.
+
+When he got into the main street, the only street of shops, it was
+crowded.  There seemed to have been some violent but quiet contest,
+a subdued fight, going on all the afternoon and evening: people
+struggling to buy things, to get things.  Money was spent like water,
+there was a frenzy of money-spending.  Though the necessities of life
+were in abundance, still the people struggled in frenzy for cheese,
+sweets, raisins, pork-stuff, even for flowers and holly, all of which
+were scarce, and for toys and knick-knacks, which were sold out.  There
+was a wild grumbling, but a deep satisfaction in the fight, the
+struggle.  The same fight and the same satisfaction in the fight was
+witnessed whenever a tram-car stopped, or when it heaved its way into
+sight.  Then the struggle to mount on board became desperate and savage,
+but stimulating.  Souls surcharged with hostility found now some outlet
+for their feelings.
+
+As he came near the little market-place he bethought himself of the
+Christmas-tree candles.  He did not intend to trouble himself.  And
+yet, when he glanced in passing into the sweet-shop window, and saw
+it bare as a board, the very fact that he probably _could not_ buy
+the things made him hesitate, and try.
+
+"Have you got any Christmas-tree candles?" he asked as he entered
+the shop.
+
+"How many do you want?"
+
+"A dozen."
+
+"Can't let you have a dozen.  You can have two boxes--four in a box--
+eight.  Six-pence a box."
+
+"Got any holders?"
+
+"Holders?  Don't ask.  Haven't seen one this year."
+
+"Got any toffee--?"
+
+"Cough-drops--two-pence an ounce--nothing else left."
+
+"Give me four ounces."
+
+He watched her weighing them in the little brass scales.
+
+"You've not got much of a Christmas show," he said.
+
+"Don't talk about Christmas, as far as sweets is concerned.  They ought
+to have allowed us six times the quantity--there's plenty of sugar, why
+didn't they?  We s'll have to enjoy ourselves with what we've got.  We
+mean to, anyhow."
+
+"Ay," he said.
+
+"Time we had a bit of enjoyment, THIS Christmas.  They ought to have
+made things more plentiful."
+
+"Yes," he said, stuffing his package in his pocket.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+ROYAL OAK
+
+
+The war had killed the little market of the town.  As he passed the
+market place on the brow, Aaron noticed that there were only two
+miserable stalls.  But people crowded just the same.  There was a loud
+sound of voices, men's voices.  Men pressed round the doorways of the
+public-houses.
+
+But he was going to a pub out of town.  He descended the dark hill.
+A street-lamp here and there shed parsimonious light.  In the bottoms,
+under the trees, it was very dark.  But a lamp glimmered in front of
+the "Royal Oak."  This was a low white house sunk three steps below
+the highway.  It was darkened, but sounded crowded.
+
+Opening the door, Sisson found himself in the stone passage.  Old Bob,
+carrying three cans, stopped to see who had entered--then went on into
+the public bar on the left.  The bar itself was a sort of little
+window-sill on the right: the pub was a small one.  In this window-
+opening stood the landlady, drawing and serving to her husband.  Behind
+the bar was a tiny parlour or den, the landlady's preserve.
+
+"Oh, it's you," she said, bobbing down to look at the newcomer.  None
+entered her bar-parlour unless invited.
+
+"Come in," said the landlady.  There was a peculiar intonation in her
+complacent voice, which showed she had been expecting him, a little
+irritably.
+
+He went across into her bar-parlour.  It would not hold more than eight
+or ten people, all told--just the benches along the walls, the fire
+between--and two little round tables.
+
+"I began to think you weren't coming," said the landlady, bringing him
+a whiskey.
+
+She was a large, stout, high-coloured woman, with a fine profile,
+probably Jewish.  She had chestnut-coloured eyes, quick, intelligent.
+Her movements were large and slow, her voice laconic.
+
+"I'm not so late, am I?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you are late, I should think."  She Looked up at the little
+clock.  "Close on nine."
+
+"I did some shopping," said Aaron, with a quick smile.
+
+"Did you indeed?  That's news, I'm sure.  May we ask what you bought?"
+
+This he did not like.  But he had to answer.
+
+"Christmas-tree candles, and toffee."
+
+"For the little children?  Well you've done well for once!  I must say
+I recommend you.  I didn't think you had so much in you."
+
+She sat herself down in her seat at the end of the bench, and took up
+her knitting.  Aaron sat next to her.  He poured water into his glass,
+and drank.
+
+"It's warm in here," he said, when he had swallowed the liquor.
+
+"Yes, it is.  You won't want to keep that thick good overcoat on,"
+replied the landlady.
+
+"No," he said, "I think I'll take it off."
+
+She watched him as he hung up his overcoat.  He wore black clothes, as
+usual.  As he reached up to the pegs, she could see the muscles of his
+shoulders, and the form of his legs.  Her reddish-brown eyes seemed to
+burn, and her nose, that had a subtle, beautiful Hebraic curve, seemed
+to arch itself.  She made a little place for him by herself, as he
+returned.  She carried her head thrown back, with dauntless self-
+sufficiency.
+
+There were several colliers in the room, talking quietly.  They
+were the superior type all, favoured by the landlady, who loved
+intellectual discussion.  Opposite, by the fire, sat a little,
+greenish man--evidently an oriental.
+
+"You're very quiet all at once, Doctor," said the landlady in her
+slow, laconic voice.
+
+"Yes.--May I have another whiskey, please?"  She rose at once,
+powerfully energetic.
+
+"Oh, I'm sorry," she said.  And she went to the bar.
+
+"Well," said the little Hindu doctor, "and how are things going now,
+with the men?"
+
+"The same as ever," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes," said the stately voice of the landlady.  "And I'm afraid they
+will always be the same as ever.  When will they learn wisdom?"
+
+"But what do you call wisdom?" asked Sherardy, the Hindu.  He spoke
+with a little, childish lisp.
+
+"What do I call wisdom?" repeated the landlady.  "Why all acting
+together for the common good.  That is wisdom in my idea."
+
+"Yes, very well, that is so.  But what do you call the common good?"
+replied the little doctor, with childish pertinence.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, with a laugh, "that's it."  The miners were all
+stirring now, to take part in the discussion.
+
+"What do I call the common good?" repeated the landlady.  "That all
+people should study the welfare of other people, and not only their
+own."
+
+"They are not to study their own welfare?" said the doctor.
+
+"Ah, that I did not say," replied the landlady.  "Let them study their
+own welfare, and that of others also."
+
+"Well then," said the doctor, "what is the welfare of a collier?"
+
+"The welfare of a collier," said the landlady, "is that he shall earn
+sufficient wages to keep himself and his family comfortable, to
+educate his children, and to educate himself; for that is what he
+wants, education."
+
+"Ay, happen so," put in Brewitt, a big, fine, good-humoured collier.
+"Happen so, Mrs. Houseley.  But what if you haven't got much education,
+to speak of?"
+
+"You can always get it," she said patronizing.
+
+"Nay--I'm blest if you can.  It's no use tryin' to educate a man over
+forty--not by book-learning.  That isn't saying he's a fool, neither."
+
+"And what better is them that's got education?" put in another man.
+"What better is the manager, or th' under-manager, than we are?--
+Pender's yaller enough i' th' face."
+
+"He is that," assented the men in chorus.
+
+"But because he's yellow in the face, as you say, Mr. Kirk," said the
+landlady largely, "that doesn't mean he has no advantages higher than
+what you have got."
+
+"Ay," said Kirk.  "He can ma'e more money than I can--that's about a'
+as it comes to."
+
+"He can make more money," said the landlady.  "And when he's made it,
+he knows better how to use it."
+
+"'Appen so, an' a'!--What does he do, more than eat and drink and
+work?--an' take it out of hisself a sight harder than I do, by th'
+looks of him.--What's it matter, if he eats a bit more or drinks a
+bit more--"
+
+"No," reiterated the landlady.  "He not only eats and drinks.  He can
+read, and he can converse."
+
+"Me an' a'," said Tom Kirk, and the men burst into a laugh.  "I can
+read--an' I've had many a talk an' conversation with you in this
+house, Mrs. Houseley--am havin' one at this minute, seemingly."
+
+"SEEMINGLY, you are," said the landlady ironically.  "But do you
+think there would be no difference between your conversation, and Mr.
+Pender's, if he were here so that I could enjoy his conversation?"
+
+"An' what difference would there be?" asked Tom Kirk.  "He'd go home
+to his bed just the same."
+
+"There, you are mistaken.  He would be the better, and so should I, a
+great deal better, for a little genuine conversation."
+
+"If it's conversation as ma'es his behind drop--" said Tom Kirk.  "An'
+puts th' bile in his face--" said Brewitt.  There was a general laugh.
+
+"I can see it's no use talking about it any further," said the
+landlady, lifting her head dangerously.
+
+"But look here, Mrs. Houseley, do you really think it makes much
+difference to a man, whether he can hold a serious conversation or
+not?" asked the doctor.
+
+"I do indeed, all the difference in the world--To me, there is no
+greater difference, than between an educated man and an uneducated
+man."
+
+"And where does it come in?" asked Kirk.
+
+"But wait a bit, now," said Aaron Sisson.  "You take an educated man--
+take Pender.  What's his education for?  What does he scheme for?--What
+does he contrive for?  What does he talk for?--"
+
+"For all the purposes of his life," replied the landlady.
+
+"Ay, an' what's the purpose of his life?" insisted Aaron Sisson.
+
+"The purpose of his life," repeated the landlady, at a loss.  "I should
+think he knows that best himself."
+
+"No better than I know it--and you know it," said Aaron.
+
+"Well," said the landlady, "if you know, then speak out.  What is it?"
+
+"To make more money for the firm--and so make his own chance of a
+rise better."
+
+The landlady was baffled for some moments.  Then she said:
+
+"Yes, and suppose that he does.  Is there any harm in it?  Isn't it
+his duty to do what he can for himself?  Don't you try to earn all
+you can?"
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.  "But there's soon a limit to what I can earn.--It's
+like this.  When you work it out, everything comes to money.  Reckon
+it as you like, it's money on both sides.  It's money we live for, and
+money is what our lives is worth--nothing else.  Money we live for,
+and money we are when we're dead: that or nothing.  An' it's money as
+is between the masters and us.  There's a few educated ones got hold
+of one end of the rope, and all the lot of us hanging on to th' other
+end, an' we s'll go on pulling our guts out, time in, time out--"
+
+"But they've got th' long end o' th' rope, th' masters has," said
+Brewitt.
+
+"For as long as one holds, the other will pull," concluded Aaron
+Sisson philosophically.
+
+"An' I'm almighty sure o' that," said Kirk.  There was a little pause.
+
+"Yes, that's all there is in the minds of you men," said the landlady.
+"But what can be done with the money, that you never think of--the
+education of the children, the improvement of conditions--"
+
+"Educate the children, so that they can lay hold of the long end of
+the rope, instead of the short end," said the doctor, with a little
+giggle.
+
+"Ay, that's it," said Brewitt.  "I've pulled at th' short end, an' my
+lads may do th' same."
+
+"A selfish policy," put in the landlady.
+
+"Selfish or not, they may do it."
+
+"Till the crack o' doom," said Aaron, with a glistening smile.
+
+"Or the crack o' th' rope," said Brewitt.
+
+"Yes, and THEN WHAT?" cried the landlady.
+
+"Then we all drop on our backsides," said Kirk.  There was a general
+laugh, and an uneasy silence.
+
+"All I can say of you men," said the landlady, "is that you have a
+narrow, selfish policy.--Instead of thinking of the children, instead
+of thinking of improving the world you live in--"
+
+"We hang on, British bulldog breed," said Brewitt.  There was a general
+laugh.
+
+"Yes, and little wiser than dogs, wrangling for a bone," said the
+landlady.
+
+"Are we to let t' other side run off wi' th' bone, then, while we sit
+on our stunts an' yowl for it?" asked Brewitt.
+
+"No indeed.  There can be wisdom in everything.--It's what you DO
+with the money, when you've got it," said the landlady, "that's where
+the importance lies."
+
+"It's Missis as gets it," said Kirk.  "It doesn't stop wi' us."  "Ay,
+it's the wife as gets it, ninety per cent," they all concurred.
+
+"And who SHOULD have the money, indeed, if not your wives?  They have
+everything to do with the money.  What idea have you, but to waste it!"
+
+"Women waste nothing--they couldn't if they tried," said Aaron Sisson.
+
+There was a lull for some minutes.  The men were all stimulated by
+drink.  The landlady kept them going.  She herself sipped a glass of
+brandy--but slowly.  She sat near to Sisson--and the great fierce
+warmth of her presence enveloped him particularly.  He loved so to
+luxuriate, like a cat, in the presence of a violent woman.  He knew
+that tonight she was feeling very nice to him--a female glow that
+came out of her to him.  Sometimes when she put down her knitting, or
+took it up again from the bench beside him, her fingers just touched
+his thigh, and the fine electricity ran over his body, as if he were
+a cat tingling at a caress.
+
+And yet he was not happy--nor comfortable.  There was a hard, opposing
+core in him, that neither the whiskey nor the woman could dissolve or
+soothe, tonight.  It remained hard, nay, became harder and more deeply
+antagonistic to his surroundings, every moment.  He recognised it
+as a secret malady he suffered from: this strained, unacknowledged
+opposition to his surroundings, a hard core of irrational, exhausting
+withholding of himself.  Irritating, because he still WANTED to give
+himself.  A woman and whiskey, these were usually a remedy--and music.
+But lately these had begun to fail him.  No, there was something in
+him that would not give in--neither to the whiskey, nor the woman, nor
+even the music.  Even in the midst of his best music, it sat in the
+middle of him, this invisible black dog, and growled and waited, never
+to be cajoled.  He knew of its presence--and was a little uneasy.  For
+of course he _wanted_ to let himself go, to feel rosy and loving and
+all that.  But at the very thought, the black dog showed its teeth.
+
+Still he kept the beast at bay--with all his will he kept himself as
+it were genial.  He wanted to melt and be rosy, happy.
+
+He sipped his whiskey with gratification, he luxuriated in the presence
+of the landlady, very confident of the strength of her liking for him.
+He glanced at her profile--that fine throw-back of her hostile head,
+wicked in the midst of her benevolence; that subtle, really very
+beautiful delicate curve of her nose, that moved him exactly like a
+piece of pure sound.  But tonight it did not overcome him.  There was
+a devilish little cold eye in his brain that was not taken in by what
+he saw.
+
+A terrible obstinacy located itself in him.  He saw the fine, rich-
+coloured, secretive face of the Hebrew woman, so loudly self-
+righteous, and so dangerous, so destructive, so lustful--and he waited
+for his blood to melt with passion for her.  But not tonight.  Tonight
+his innermost heart was hard and cold as ice.  The very danger and
+lustfulness of her, which had so pricked his senses, now made him
+colder.  He disliked her at her tricks.  He saw her once too often.
+Her and all women.  Bah, the love game!  And the whiskey that was to
+help in the game!  He had drowned himself once too often in whiskey
+and in love.  Now he floated like a corpse in both, with a cold,
+hostile eye.
+
+And at least half of his inward fume was anger because he could no
+longer drown.  Nothing would have pleased him better than to feel
+his senses melting and swimming into oneness with the dark.  But
+impossible!  Cold, with a white fury inside him, he floated wide eyed
+and apart as a corpse.  He thought of the gentle love of his first
+married years, and became only whiter and colder, set in more intense
+obstinacy.  A wave of revulsion lifted him.
+
+He became aware that he was deadly antagonistic to the landlady, that
+he disliked his whole circumstances.  A cold, diabolical consciousness
+detached itself from his state of semi-intoxication.
+
+"Is it pretty much the same out there in India?" he asked of the
+doctor, suddenly.
+
+The doctor started, and attended to him on his own level.
+
+"Probably," he answered.  "It is worse."
+
+"Worse!" exclaimed Aaron Sisson.  "How's that?"
+
+"Why, because, in a way the people of India have an easier time even
+than the people of England.  Because they have no responsibility.
+The British Government takes the responsibility.  And the people
+have nothing to do, except their bit of work--and talk perhaps about
+national rule, just for a pastime."
+
+"They have to earn their living?" said Sisson.
+
+"Yes," said the little doctor, who had lived for some years among the
+colliers, and become quite familiar with them.  "Yes, they have to earn
+their living--and then no more.  That's why the British Government is
+the worst thing possible for them.  It is the worst thing possible.
+And not because it is a bad government.  Really, it is not a bad
+government.  It is a good one--and they know it--much better than
+they would make for themselves, probably.  But for that reason it is
+so very bad."
+
+The little oriental laughed a queer, sniggering laugh.  His eyes were
+very bright, dilated, completely black.  He was looking into the ice-
+blue, pointed eyes of Aaron Sisson.  They were both intoxicated--but
+grimly so.  They looked at each other in elemental difference.
+
+The whole room was now attending to this new conversation: which they
+all accepted as serious.  For Aaron was considered a special man, a
+man of peculiar understanding, even though as a rule he said little.
+
+"If it is a good government, doctor, how can it be so bad for the
+people?" said the landlady.
+
+The doctor's eyes quivered for the fraction of a second, as he watched
+the other man.  He did not look at the landlady.
+
+"It would not matter what kind of mess they made--and they would make
+a mess, if they governed themselves, the people of India.  They would
+probably make the greatest muddle possible--and start killing one
+another.  But it wouldn't matter if they exterminated half the
+population, so long as they did it themselves, and were responsible
+for it."
+
+Again his eyes dilated, utterly black, to the eyes of the other man,
+and an arch little smile flickered on his face.
+
+"I think it would matter very much indeed," said the landlady.  "They
+had far better NOT govern themselves."
+
+She was, for some reason, becoming angry.  The little greenish doctor
+emptied his glass, and smiled again.
+
+"But what difference does it make," said Aaron Sisson, "whether they
+govern themselves or not?  They only live till they die, either way."
+And he smiled faintly.  He had not really listened to the doctor.
+The terms "British Government," and "bad for the people--good for
+the people," made him malevolently angry.
+
+The doctor was nonplussed for a moment.  Then he gathered himself
+together.
+
+"It matters," he said; "it matters.--People should always be
+responsible for themselves.  How can any people be responsible for
+another race of people, and for a race much older than they are,
+and not at all children."
+
+Aaron Sisson watched the other's dark face, with its utterly exposed
+eyes.  He was in a state of semi-intoxicated anger and clairvoyance.
+He saw in the black, void, glistening eyes of the oriental only the
+same danger, the same menace that he saw in the landlady.  Fair, wise,
+even benevolent words: always the human good speaking, and always
+underneath, something hateful, something detestable and murderous.
+Wise speech and good intentions--they were invariably maggoty with
+these secret inclinations to destroy the man in the man.  Whenever he
+heard anyone holding forth: the landlady, this doctor, the spokesman
+on the pit bank: or when he read the all-righteous newspaper; his soul
+curdled with revulsion as from something foul.  Even the infernal
+love and good-will of his wife.  To hell with good-will!  It was more
+hateful than ill-will.  Self-righteous bullying, like poison gas!
+
+The landlady looked at the clock.
+
+"Ten minutes to, gentlemen," she said coldly.  For she too knew that
+Aaron was spoiled for her for that night.
+
+The men began to take their leave, shakily.  The little doctor seemed
+to evaporate.  The landlady helped Aaron on with his coat.  She saw the
+curious whiteness round his nostrils and his eyes, the fixed hellish
+look on his face.
+
+"You'll eat a mince-pie in the kitchen with us, for luck?" she said to
+him, detaining him till last.
+
+But he turned laughing to her.
+
+"Nay," he said, "I must be getting home."
+
+He turned and went straight out of the house.  Watching him, the
+landlady's face became yellow with passion and rage.
+
+"That little poisonous Indian viper," she said aloud, attributing
+Aaron's mood to the doctor.  Her husband was noisily bolting the door.
+
+Outside it was dark and frosty.  A gang of men lingered in the road
+near the closed door.  Aaron found himself among them, his heart
+bitterer than steel.
+
+The men were dispersing.  He should take the road home.  But the devil
+was in it, if he could take a stride in the homeward direction.  There
+seemed a wall in front of him.  He veered.  But neither could he take
+a stride in the opposite direction.  So he was destined to veer round,
+like some sort of weather-cock, there in the middle of the dark road
+outside the "Royal Oak."
+
+But as he turned, he caught sight of a third exit.  Almost opposite was
+the mouth of Shottle Lane, which led off under trees, at right angles
+to the highroad, up to New Brunswick Colliery.  He veered towards the
+off-chance of this opening, in a delirium of icy fury, and plunged
+away into the dark lane, walking slowly, on firm legs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+"THE LIGHTED TREE"
+
+
+It is remarkable how many odd or extraordinary people there are in
+England.  We hear continual complaints of the stodgy dullness of the
+English.  It would be quite as just to complain of their freakish,
+unusual characters.  Only _en masse_ the metal is all Britannia.
+
+In an ugly little mining town we find the odd ones just as distinct as
+anywhere else.  Only it happens that dull people invariably meet dull
+people, and odd individuals always come across odd individuals, no
+matter where they may be.  So that to each kind society seems all of
+a piece.
+
+At one end of the dark tree-covered Shottle Lane stood the "Royal Oak"
+public house; and Mrs. Houseley was certainly an odd woman.  At the
+other end of the lane was Shottle House, where the Bricknells lived;
+the Bricknells were odd, also.  Alfred Bricknell, the old man, was one
+of the partners in the Colliery firm.  His English was incorrect, his
+accent, broad Derbyshire, and he was not a gentleman in the snobbish
+sense of the word.  Yet he was well-to-do, and very stuck-up.  His wife
+was dead.
+
+Shottle House stood two hundred yards beyond New Brunswick Colliery.
+The colliery was imbedded in a plantation, whence its burning pit-
+hill glowed, fumed, and stank sulphur in the nostrils of the
+Bricknells.  Even war-time efforts had not put out this refuse fire.
+Apart from this, Shottle House was a pleasant square house, rather
+old, with shrubberies and lawns.  It ended the lane in a dead end.
+Only a field-path trekked away to the left.
+
+On this particular Christmas Eve Alfred Bricknell had only two of his
+children at home.  Of the others, one daughter was unhappily married,
+and away in India weeping herself thinner; another was nursing her
+babies in Streatham.  Jim, the hope of the house, and Julia, now
+married to Robert Cunningham, had come home for Christmas.
+
+The party was seated in the drawing-room, that the grown-up daughters
+had made very fine during their periods of courtship.  Its walls were
+hung with fine grey canvas, it had a large, silvery grey, silky
+carpet, and the furniture was covered with dark green silky material.
+Into this reticence pieces of futurism, Omega cushions and Van-Gogh-
+like pictures exploded their colours.  Such _chic_ would certainly not
+have been looked for up Shottle Lane.
+
+The old man sat in his high grey arm-chair very near an enormous coal
+fire.  In this house there was no coal-rationing.  The finest coal was
+arranged to obtain a gigantic glow such as a coal-owner may well
+enjoy, a great, intense mass of pure red fire.  At this fire Alfred
+Bricknell toasted his tan, lambs-wool-lined slippers.
+
+He was a large man, wearing a loose grey suit, and sprawling in the
+large grey arm-chair.  The soft lamp-light fell on his clean, bald,
+Michael-Angelo head, across which a few pure hairs glittered.  His
+chin was sunk on his breast, so that his sparse but strong-haired
+white beard, in which every strand stood distinct, like spun glass
+lithe and elastic, curved now upwards and inwards, in a curious curve
+returning upon him.  He seemed to be sunk in stern, prophet-like
+meditation.  As a matter of fact, he was asleep after a heavy meal.
+
+Across, seated on a pouffe on the other side of the fire, was a cameo-
+like girl with neat black hair done tight and bright in the French
+mode.  She had strangely-drawn eyebrows, and her colour was brilliant.
+She was hot, leaning back behind the shaft of old marble of the
+mantel-piece, to escape the fire.  She wore a simple dress of apple-
+green satin, with full sleeves and ample skirt and a tiny bodice of
+green cloth.  This was Josephine Ford, the girl Jim was engaged to.
+
+Jim Bricknell himself was a tall big fellow of thirty-eight.  He sat
+in a chair in front of the fire, some distance back, and stretched
+his long legs far in front of him.  His chin too was sunk on his
+breast, his young forehead was bald, and raised in odd wrinkles,
+he had a silent half-grin on his face, a little tipsy, a little
+satyr-like.  His small moustache was reddish.
+
+Behind him a round table was covered with cigarettes, sweets, and
+bottles.  It was evident Jim Bricknell drank beer for choice.  He
+wanted to get fat--that was his idea.  But he couldn't bring it off:
+he was thin, though not too thin, except to his own thinking.
+
+His sister Julia was bunched up in a low chair between him and his
+father.  She too was a tall stag of a thing, but she sat bunched up
+like a witch.  She wore a wine-purple dress, her arms seemed to poke
+out of the sleeves, and she had dragged her brown hair into straight,
+untidy strands.  Yet she had real beauty.  She was talking to the
+young man who was not her husband: a fair, pale, fattish young fellow
+in pince-nez and dark clothes.  This was Cyril Scott, a friend.
+
+The only other person stood at the round table pouring out red wine.
+He was a fresh, stoutish young Englishman in khaki, Julia's husband,
+Robert Cunningham, a lieutenant about to be demobilised, when he would
+become a sculptor once more.  He drank red wine in large throatfuls,
+and his eyes grew a little moist.  The room was hot and subdued,
+everyone was silent.
+
+"I say," said Robert suddenly, from the rear--"anybody have a drink?
+Don't you find it rather hot?"
+
+"Is there another bottle of beer there?" said Jim, without moving, too
+settled even to stir an eye-lid.
+
+"Yes--I think there is," said Robert.
+
+"Thanks--don't open it yet," murmured Jim.
+
+"Have a drink, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"No thank you," said Josephine, bowing slightly.
+
+Finding the drinks did not go, Robert went round with the cigarettes.
+Josephine Ford looked at the white rolls.
+
+"Thank you," she said, and taking one, suddenly licked her rather
+full, dry red lips with the rapid tip of her tongue.  It was an odd
+movement, suggesting a snake's flicker.  She put her cigarette between
+her lips, and waited.  Her movements were very quiet and well bred; but
+perhaps too quiet, they had the dangerous impassivity of the Bohemian,
+Parisian or American rather than English.
+
+"Cigarette, Julia?" said Robert to his wife.
+
+She seemed to start or twitch, as if dazed.  Then she looked up at
+her husband with a queer smile, puckering the corners of her eyes.
+He looked at the cigarettes, not at her.  His face had the blunt
+voluptuous gravity of a young lion, a great cat.  She kept him
+standing for some moments impassively.  Then suddenly she hung her
+long, delicate fingers over the box, in doubt, and spasmodically
+jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily raking one out at last.
+
+"Thank you, dear--thank you," she cried, rather high, looking up and
+smiling once more.  He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes
+to Scott, who refused.
+
+"Oh!" said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette.  "Robert is so
+happy with all the good things--aren't you dear?" she sang, breaking
+into a hurried laugh.  "We aren't used to such luxurious living, we
+aren't--ARE WE DEAR--No, we're not such swells as this, we're not.
+Oh, ROBBIE, isn't it all right, isn't it just all right?"  She tailed
+off into her hurried, wild, repeated laugh.  "We're so happy in a land
+of plenty, AREN'T WE DEAR?"
+
+"Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?" said Robert.
+
+"Greedy!--Oh, greedy!--he asks if he's greedy?--no you're not greedy,
+Robbie, you're not greedy.  I want you to be happy."
+
+"I'm quite happy," he returned.
+
+"Oh, he's happy!--Really!--he's happy!  Oh, what an accomplishment!
+Oh, my word!"  Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself into a
+nervous twitching silence.
+
+Robert went round with the matches.  Julia sucked her cigarette.
+
+"Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!" she cried.
+
+"It's coming," he answered.
+
+Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs.  Julia sucked wildly at her
+light.  Robert returned to his red wine.  Jim Bricknell suddenly roused
+up, looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and
+showing his odd, pointed teeth.
+
+"Where's the beer?" he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into
+Josephine's face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight
+of hand.  Then he wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring
+beer down his throat as down a pipe.  Then he dropped supine again.
+Cyril Scott was silently absorbing gin and water.
+
+"I say," said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling.  "Isn't
+there something we could do to while the time away?"
+
+Everybody suddenly laughed--it sounded so remote and absurd.
+
+"What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?"
+said Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were
+a child.
+
+"Oh, damn bridge," said Jim in his sleep-voice.  Then he began pulling
+his powerful length together.  He sat on the edge of his chair-seat,
+leaning forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.
+
+"Don't look at me like that--so long--" said Josephine, in her self-
+contained voice.  "You make me uncomfortable."  She gave an odd little
+grunt of a laugh, and the tip of her tongue went over her lips as she
+glanced sharply, half furtively round the room.
+
+"I like looking at you," said Jim, his smile becoming more malicious.
+
+"But you shouldn't, when I tell you not," she returned.
+
+Jim twisted round to look at the state of the bottles.  The father also
+came awake.  He sat up.
+
+"Isn't it time," he said, "that you all put away your glasses and
+cigarettes and thought of bed?"
+
+Jim rolled slowly round towards his father, sprawling in the long
+chair.
+
+"Ah, Dad," he said, "tonight's the night!  Tonight's some night, Dad.--
+You can sleep any time--" his grin widened--"but there aren't many
+nights to sit here--like this--Eh?"
+
+He was looking up all the time into the face of his father, full and
+nakedly lifting his face to the face of his father, and smiling
+fixedly.  The father, who was perfectly sober, except for the contagion
+from the young people, felt a wild tremor go through his heart as he
+gazed on the face of his boy.  He rose stiffly.
+
+"You want to stay?" he said.  "You want to stay!--Well then--well
+then, I'll leave you.  But don't be long."  The old man rose to his
+full height, rather majestic.  The four younger people also rose
+respectfully--only Jim lay still prostrate in his chair, twisting
+up his face towards his father.
+
+"You won't stay long," said the old man, looking round a little
+bewildered.  He was seeking a responsible eye.  Josephine was the
+only one who had any feeling for him.
+
+"No, we won't stay long, Mr. Bricknell," she said gravely.
+
+"Good night, Dad," said Jim, as his father left the room.
+
+Josephine went to the window.  She had rather a stiff, _poupee_ walk.
+
+"How is the night?" she said, as if to change the whole feeling in
+the room.  She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains.  "Why?" she
+exclaimed.  "What is that light burning?  A red light?"
+
+"Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire," said Robert, who had followed
+her.
+
+"How strange!--Why is it burning now?"
+
+"It always burns, unfortunately--it is most consistent at it.  It is
+the refuse from the mines.  It has been burning for years, in spite
+of all efforts to the contrary."
+
+"How very curious!  May we look at it?" Josephine now turned the handle
+of the French windows, and stepped out.
+
+"Beautiful!" they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
+
+In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of
+Cyril Scott.
+
+"Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!" she said,
+smiling with subtle tenderness to him.
+
+"Naturally!  Young people always do these romantic things," replied
+Cyril Scott.  He was twenty-two years old, so he could afford to be
+cynical.
+
+"Do they?--Don't you think it's nice of them?" she said, gently
+removing her hand from his.  His eyes were shining with pleasure.
+
+"I do.  I envy them enormously.  One only needs to be sufficiently
+naive," he said.
+
+"One does, doesn't one!" cooed Julia.
+
+"I say, do you hear the bells?" said Robert, poking his head into
+the room.
+
+"No, dear!  Do you?" replied Julia.
+
+"Bells!  Hear the bells!  Bells!" exclaimed the half-tipsy and self-
+conscious Jim.  And he rolled in his chair in an explosion of sudden,
+silent laughter, showing his mouthful of pointed teeth, like a dog.
+Then he gradually gathered himself together, found his feet, smiling
+fixedly.
+
+"Pretty cool night!" he said aloud, when he felt the air on his almost
+bald head.  The darkness smelt of sulphur.
+
+Josephine and Robert had moved out of sight.  Julia was abstracted,
+following them with her eyes.  With almost supernatural keenness she
+seemed to catch their voices from the distance.
+
+"Yes, Josephine, WOULDN'T that be AWFULLY ROMANTIC!"--she suddenly
+called shrilly.
+
+The pair in the distance started.
+
+"What--!" they heard Josephine's sharp exclamation.
+
+"What's that?--What would be romantic?" said Jim as he lurched up and
+caught hold of Cyril Scott's arm.
+
+"Josephine wants to make a great illumination of the grounds of the
+estate," said Julia, magniloquent.
+
+"No--no--I didn't say it," remonstrated Josephine.
+
+"What Josephine said," explained Robert, "was simply that it would be
+pretty to put candles on one of the growing trees, instead of having a
+Christmas-tree indoors."
+
+"Oh, Josephine, how sweet of you!" cried Julia.
+
+Cyril Scott giggled.
+
+"Good egg!  Champion idea, Josey, my lass.  Eh?  What--!" cried Jim.
+"Why not carry it out--eh?  Why not?  Most attractive."  He leaned
+forward over Josephine, and grinned.
+
+"Oh, no!" expostulated Josephine.  "It all sounds so silly now.  No.
+Let us go indoors and go to bed."
+
+"NO, Josephine dear--No!  It's a LOVELY IDEA!" cried Julia.  "Let's
+get candles and lanterns and things--"
+
+"Let's!" grinned Jim.  "Let's, everybody--let's."
+
+"Shall we really?" asked Robert.  "Shall we illuminate one of the fir-
+trees by the lawn?"
+
+"Yes!  How lovely!" cried Julia.  "I'll fetch the candles."
+
+"The women must put on warm cloaks," said Robert.
+
+They trooped indoors for coats and wraps and candles and lanterns.
+Then, lighted by a bicycle lamp, they trooped off to the shed to
+twist wire round the candles for holders.  They clustered round
+the bench.
+
+"I say," said Julia, "doesn't Cyril look like a pilot on a stormy
+night!  Oh, I say--!" and she went into one of her hurried laughs.
+
+They all looked at Cyril Scott, who was standing sheepishly in the
+background, in a very large overcoat, smoking a large pipe.  The
+young man was uncomfortable, but assumed a stoic air of philosophic
+indifference.
+
+Soon they were busy round a prickly fir-tree at the end of the lawn.
+Jim stood in the background vaguely staring.  The bicycle lamp sent
+a beam of strong white light deep into the uncanny foliage, heads
+clustered and hands worked.  The night above was silent, dim.  There
+was no wind.  In the near distance they could hear the panting of
+some engine at the colliery.
+
+"Shall we light them as we fix them," asked Robert, "or save them for
+one grand rocket at the end?"
+
+"Oh, as we do them," said Cyril Scott, who had lacerated his fingers
+and wanted to see some reward.
+
+A match spluttered.  One naked little flame sprang alight among the
+dark foliage.  The candle burned tremulously, naked.  They all were
+silent.
+
+"We ought to do a ritual dance!  We ought to worship the tree," sang
+Julia, in her high voice.
+
+"Hold on a minute.  We'll have a little more illumination," said
+Robert.
+
+"Why yes.  We want more than one candle," said Josephine.
+
+But Julia had dropped the cloak in which she was huddled, and with
+arms slung asunder was sliding, waving, crouching in a _pas seul_
+before the tree, looking like an animated bough herself.
+
+Jim, who was hugging his pipe in the background, broke into a short,
+harsh, cackling laugh.
+
+"Aren't we fools!" he cried.  "What?  Oh, God's love, aren't we fools!"
+
+"No--why?" cried Josephine, amused but resentful.
+
+But Jim vouchsafed nothing further, only stood like a Red Indian
+gripping his pipe.
+
+The beam of the bicycle-lamp moved and fell upon the hands and faces
+of the young people, and penetrated the recesses of the secret trees.
+Several little tongues of flame clipped sensitive and ruddy on the
+naked air, sending a faint glow over the needle foliage.  They gave a
+strange, perpendicular aspiration in the night.  Julia waved slowly in
+her tree dance.  Jim stood apart, with his legs straddled, a motionless
+figure.
+
+The party round the tree became absorbed and excited as more ruddy
+tongues of flame pricked upward from the dark tree.  Pale candles
+became evident, the air was luminous.  The illumination was becoming
+complete, harmonious.
+
+Josephine suddenly looked round.
+
+"Why-y-y!" came her long note of alarm.
+
+A man in a bowler hat and a black overcoat stood on the edge of the
+twilight.
+
+"What is it?" cried Julia.
+
+"_Homo sapiens_!" said Robert, the lieutenant.  "Hand the light,
+Cyril."  He played the beam of light full on the intruder; a man in
+a bowler hat, with a black overcoat buttoned to his throat, a pale,
+dazed, blinking face.  The hat was tilted at a slightly jaunty angle
+over the left eye, the man was well-featured.  He did not speak.
+
+"Did you want anything?" asked Robert, from behind the light.
+
+Aaron Sisson blinked, trying to see who addressed him.  To him, they
+were all illusory.  He did not answer.
+
+"Anything you wanted?" repeated Robert, military, rather peremptory.
+
+Jim suddenly doubled himself up and burst into a loud harsh cackle
+of laughter.  Whoop! he went, and doubled himself up with laughter.
+Whoop!  Whoop! he went, and fell on the ground and writhed with
+laughter.  He was in that state of intoxication when he could find
+no release from maddening self-consciousness.  He knew what he was
+doing, he did it deliberately.  And yet he was also beside himself,
+in a sort of hysterics.  He could not help himself in exasperated
+self-consciousness.
+
+The others all began to laugh, unavoidably.  It was a contagion.  They
+laughed helplessly and foolishly.  Only Robert was anxious.
+
+"I'm afraid he'll wake the house," he said, looking at the doubled up
+figure of Jim writhing on the grass and whooping loudly.
+
+"Or not enough," put in Cyril Scott.  He twigged Jim's condition.
+
+"No--no!" cried Josephine, weak with laughing in spite of herself.
+"No--it's too long--I'm like to die laughing--"
+
+Jim embraced the earth in his convulsions.  Even Robert shook quite
+weakly with laughter.  His face was red, his eyes full of dancing
+water.  Yet he managed to articulate.
+
+"I say, you know, you'll bring the old man down."  Then he went off
+again into spasms.
+
+"Hu!  Hu!" whooped Jim, subsiding.  "Hu!"
+
+He rolled over on to his back, and lay silent.  The others also became
+weakly silent.
+
+"What's amiss?" said Aaron Sisson, breaking this spell.
+
+They all began to laugh again, except Jim, who lay on his back looking
+up at the strange sky.
+
+"What're you laughing at?" repeated Aaron.
+
+"We're laughing at the man on the ground," replied Josephine.  "I think
+he's drunk a little too much."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron, standing mute and obstinate.
+
+"Did you want anything?" Robert enquired once more.
+
+"Eh?" Aaron looked up.  "Me?  No, not me."  A sort of inertia kept
+him rooted.  The young people looked at one another and began to
+laugh, rather embarrassed.
+
+"Another!" said Cyril Scott cynically.
+
+They wished he would go away.  There was a pause.
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" asked the sepulchral voice of Jim.
+He still lay flat on his back on the grass.
+
+Josephine went to him and pulled at his coat.
+
+"Get up," she said.  "You'll take cold.  Get up now, we're going
+indoors."
+
+"What do you reckon stars are?" he persisted.
+
+Aaron Sisson stood on the edge of the light, smilingly staring at the
+scene, like a boy out of his place, but stubbornly keeping his ground.
+
+"Get up now," said Josephine.  "We've had enough."  But Jim would not
+move.
+
+Robert went with the bicycle lamp and stood at Aaron's side.
+
+"Shall I show you a light to the road--you're off your track," he said.
+"You're in the grounds of Shottle House."
+
+"I can find my road," said Aaron.  "Thank you."
+
+Jim suddenly got up and went to peer at the stranger, poking his face
+close to Aaron's face.
+
+"Right-o," he replied.  "You're not half a bad sort of chap--Cheery-o!
+What's your drink?"
+
+"Mine--whiskey," said Aaron.
+
+"Come in and have one.  We're the only sober couple in the bunch--
+what?" cried Jim.
+
+Aaron stood unmoving, static in everything.  Jim took him by the arm
+affectionately.  The stranger looked at the flickering tree, with its
+tiers of lights.
+
+"A Christmas tree," he said, jerking his head and smiling.
+
+"That's right, old man," said Jim, seeming thoroughly sober now.  "Come
+indoors and have a drink."
+
+Aaron Sisson negatively allowed himself to be led off.  The others
+followed in silence, leaving the tree to flicker the night through.
+The stranger stumbled at the open window-door.
+
+"Mind the step," said Jim affectionately.
+
+They crowded to the fire, which was still hot.  The newcomer looked
+round vaguely.  Jim took his bowler hat and gave him a chair.  He
+sat without looking round, a remote, abstract look on his face.  He
+was very pale, and seemed-inwardly absorbed.
+
+The party threw off their wraps and sat around.  Josephine turned to
+Aaron Sisson, who sat with a glass of whiskey in his hand, rather
+slack in his chair, in his thickish overcoat.  He did not want to
+drink.  His hair was blond, quite tidy, his mouth and chin handsome
+but a little obstinate, his eyes inscrutable.  His pallor was not
+natural to him.  Though he kept the appearance of a smile, underneath
+he was hard and opposed.  He did not wish to be with these people, and
+yet, mechanically, he stayed.
+
+"Do you feel quite well?" Josephine asked him.
+
+He looked at her quickly.
+
+"Me?" he said.  He smiled faintly.  "Yes, I'm all right."  Then he
+dropped his head again and seemed oblivious.
+
+"Tell us your name," said Jim affectionately.
+
+The stranger looked up.
+
+"My name's Aaron Sisson, if it's anything to you," he said.
+
+Jim began to grin.
+
+"It's a name I don't know," he said.  Then he named all the party
+present.  But the stranger hardly heeded, though his eyes looked
+curiously from one to the other, slow, shrewd, clairvoyant.
+
+"Were you on your way home?" asked Robert, huffy.
+
+The stranger lifted his head and looked at him.
+
+"Home!" he repeated.  "No.  The other road--" He indicated the
+direction with his head, and smiled faintly.
+
+"Beldover?" inquired Robert.
+
+"Yes."
+
+He had dropped his head again, as if he did not want to look at them.
+
+To Josephine, the pale, impassive, blank-seeming face, the blue eyes
+with the smile which wasn't a smile, and the continual dropping of the
+well-shaped head was curiously affecting.  She wanted to cry.
+
+"Are you a miner?" Robert asked, _de haute en bas_.
+
+"No," cried Josephine.  She had looked at his hands.
+
+"Men's checkweighman," replied Aaron.  He had emptied his glass.  He
+put it on the table.
+
+"Have another?" said Jim, who was attending fixedly, with curious
+absorption, to the stranger.
+
+"No," cried Josephine, "no more."
+
+Aaron looked at Jim, then at her, and smiled slowly, with remote
+bitterness.  Then he lowered his head again.  His hands were loosely
+clasped between his knees.
+
+"What about the wife?" said Robert--the young lieutenant.
+
+"What about the wife and kiddies?  You're a married man, aren't you?"
+
+The sardonic look of the stranger rested on the subaltern.
+
+"Yes," he said.
+
+"Won't they be expecting you?" said Robert, trying to keep his temper
+and his tone of authority.
+
+"I expect they will--"
+
+"Then you'd better be getting along, hadn't you?"
+
+The eyes of the intruder rested all the time on the flushed subaltern.
+The look on Aaron's face became slowly satirical.
+
+"Oh, dry up the army touch," said Jim contemptuously, to Robert.
+"We're all civvies here.  We're all right, aren't we?" he said loudly,
+turning to the stranger with a grin that showed his pointed teeth.
+
+Aaron gave a brief laugh of acknowledgement.
+
+"How many children have you?" sang Julia from her distance.
+
+"Three."
+
+"Girls or boys?"
+
+"Girls."
+
+"All girls?  Dear little things!  How old?"
+
+"Oldest eight--youngest nine months--"
+
+"So small!" sang Julia, with real tenderness now--Aaron dropped his
+head.  "But you're going home to them, aren't you?" said Josephine,
+in whose eyes the tears had already risen.  He looked up at her, at
+her tears.  His face had the same pale perverse smile.
+
+"Not tonight," he said.
+
+"But why?  You're wrong!" cried Josephine.
+
+He dropped his head and became oblivious.
+
+"Well!" said Cyril Scott, rising at last with a bored exclamation.
+"I think I'll retire."
+
+"Will you?" said Julia, also rising.  "You'll find your candle
+outside."
+
+She went out.  Scott bade good night, and followed her.  The four
+people remained in the room, quite silent.  Then Robert rose and
+began to walk about, agitated.
+
+"Don't you go back to 'em.  Have a night out.  You stop here tonight,"
+Jim said suddenly, in a quiet intimate tone.
+
+The stranger turned his head and looked at him, considering.
+
+"Yes?" he said.  He seemed to be smiling coldly.
+
+"Oh, but!" cried Josephine.  "Your wife and your children!  Won't they
+be awfully bothered?  Isn't it awfully unkind to them?"
+
+She rose in her eagerness.  He sat turning up his face to her.  She
+could not understand his expression.
+
+"Won't you go home to them?" she said, hysterical.
+
+"Not tonight," he replied quietly, again smiling.
+
+"You're wrong!" she cried.  "You're wrong!"  And so she hurried out of
+the room in tears.
+
+"Er--what bed do you propose to put him in?" asked Robert rather
+officer-like.
+
+"Don't propose at all, my lad," replied Jim, ironically--he did not
+like Robert.  Then to the stranger he said:
+
+"You'll be all right on the couch in my room?--it's a good couch, big
+enough, plenty of rugs--"  His voice was easy and intimate.
+
+Aaron looked at him, and nodded.
+
+They had another drink each, and at last the two set off, rather
+stumbling, upstairs.  Aaron carried his bowler hat with him.
+
+Robert remained pacing in the drawing-room for some time.  Then he
+went out, to return in a little while.  He extinguished the lamps and
+saw that the fire was safe.  Then he went to fasten the window-doors
+securely.  Outside he saw the uncanny glimmer of candles across the
+lawn.  He had half a mind to go out and extinguish them--but he did
+not.  So he went upstairs and the house was quiet.  Faint crumbs of
+snow were falling outside.
+
+When Jim woke in the morning Aaron had gone.  Only on the floor were
+two packets of Christmas-tree candles, fallen from the stranger's
+pockets.  He had gone through the drawing-room door, as he had come.
+The housemaid said that while she was cleaning the grate in the
+dining-room she heard someone go into the drawing-room: a parlour-
+maid had even seen someone come out of Jim's bedroom.  But they had
+both thought it was Jim himself, for he was an unsettled house mate.
+
+There was a thin film of snow, a lovely Christmas morning.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+"THE PILLAR OF SALT"
+
+
+Our story will not yet see daylight.  A few days after Christmas,
+Aaron sat in the open shed at the bottom of his own garden, looking
+out on the rainy darkness.  No one knew he was there.  It was some
+time after six in the evening.
+
+From where he sat, he looked straight up the garden to the house.
+The blind was not drawn in the middle kitchen, he could see the
+figures of his wife and one child.  There was a light also in the
+upstairs window.  His wife was gone upstairs again.  He wondered if
+she had the baby ill.  He could see her figure vaguely behind the lace
+curtains of the bedroom.  It was like looking at his home through the
+wrong end of a telescope.  Now the little girls had gone from the
+middle room: only to return in a moment.
+
+His attention strayed.  He watched the light falling from the window
+of the next-door house.  Uneasily, he looked along the whole range of
+houses.  The street sloped down-hill, and the backs were open to the
+fields.  So he saw a curious succession of lighted windows, between
+which jutted the intermediary back premises, scullery and outhouse, in
+dark little blocks.  It was something like the keyboard of a piano:
+more still, like a succession of musical notes.  For the rectangular
+planes of light were of different intensities, some bright and keen,
+some soft, warm, like candle-light, and there was one surface of pure
+red light, one or two were almost invisible, dark green.  So the long
+scale of lights seemed to trill across the darkness, now bright, now
+dim, swelling and sinking.  The effect was strange.
+
+And thus the whole private life of the street was threaded in lights.
+There was a sense of indecent exposure, from so many backs.  He felt
+himself almost in physical contact with this contiguous stretch of
+back premises.  He heard the familiar sound of water gushing from the
+sink in to the grate, the dropping of a pail outside the door, the
+clink of a coal shovel, the banging of a door, the sound of voices.
+So many houses cheek by jowl, so many squirming lives, so many back
+yards, back doors giving on to the night.  It was revolting.
+
+Away in the street itself, a boy was calling the newspaper: "-'NING
+POST! -'NING PO-O-ST!"  It was a long, melancholy howl, and seemed to
+epitomise the whole of the dark, wet, secretive, thickly-inhabited
+night.  A figure passed the window of Aaron's own house, entered, and
+stood inside the room talking to Mrs. Sisson.  It was a young woman in
+a brown mackintosh and a black hat.  She stood under the incandescent
+light, and her hat nearly knocked the globe.  Next door a man had run
+out in his shirt sleeves: this time a young, dark-headed collier
+running to the gate for a newspaper, running bare-headed, coatless,
+slippered in the rain.  He had got his news-sheet, and was returning.
+And just at that moment the young man's wife came out, shading her
+candle with a lading tin.  She was going to the coal-house for some
+coal.  Her husband passed her on the threshold.  She could be heard
+breaking the bits of coal and placing them on the dustpan.  The light
+from her candle fell faintly behind her.  Then she went back, blown by
+a swirl of wind.  But again she was at the door, hastily standing her
+iron shovel against the wall.  Then she shut the back door with a bang.
+These noises seemed to scrape and strike the night.
+
+In Aaron's own house, the young person was still talking to Mrs.
+Sisson.  Millicent came out, sheltering a candle with her hand.
+The candle blew out.  She ran indoors, and emerged again, her white
+pinafore fluttering.  This time she performed her little journey
+safely.  He could see the faint glimmer of her candle emerging
+secretly from the closet.
+
+The young person was taking her leave.  He could hear her sympathetic
+--"Well--good night!  I hope she'll be no worse.  Good night Mrs.
+Sisson!"  She was gone--he heard the windy bang of the street-gate.
+Presently Millicent emerged again, flitting indoors.
+
+So he rose to his feet, balancing, swaying a little before he started
+into motion, as so many colliers do.  Then he moved along the path
+towards the house, in the rain and darkness, very slowly edging
+forwards.
+
+Suddenly the door opened.  His wife emerged with a pail.  He stepped
+quietly aside, on to his side garden, among the sweet herbs.  He could
+smell rosemary and sage and hyssop.  A low wall divided his garden
+from his neighbour's.  He put his hand on it, on its wetness, ready
+to drop over should his wife come forward.  But she only threw the
+contents of her pail on the garden and retired again.  She might have
+seen him had she looked.  He remained standing where he was, listening
+to the trickle of rain in the water-butt.  The hollow countryside lay
+beyond him.  Sometimes in the windy darkness he could see the red burn
+of New Brunswick bank, or the brilliant jewels of light clustered at
+Bestwood Colliery.  Away in the dark hollow, nearer, the glare of the
+electric power-station disturbed the night.  So again the wind swirled
+the rain across all these hieroglyphs of the countryside, familiar to
+him as his own breast.
+
+A motor-car was labouring up the hill.  His trained ear attended to it
+unconsciously.  It stopped with a jar.  There was a bang of the yard-
+gate.  A shortish dark figure in a bowler hat passed the window.
+Millicent was drawing down the blind.  It was the doctor.  The blind
+was drawn, he could see no more.
+
+Stealthily he began to approach the house.  He stood by the climbing
+rose of the porch, listening.  He heard voices upstairs.  Perhaps the
+children would be downstairs.  He listened intently.  Voices were
+upstairs only.  He quietly opened the door.  The room was empty, save
+for the baby, who was cooing in her cradle.  He crossed to the hall.
+At the foot of the stairs he could hear the voice of the Indian
+doctor: "Now little girl, you must just keep still and warm in bed,
+and not cry for the moon."  He said "_de_ moon," just as ever.--Marjory
+must be ill.
+
+So Aaron quietly entered the parlour.  It was a cold, clammy room,
+dark.  He could hear footsteps passing outside on the asphalt pavement
+below the window, and the wind howling with familiar cadence.  He
+began feeling for something in the darkness of the music-rack beside
+the piano.  He touched and felt--he could not find what he wanted.
+Perplexed, he turned and looked out of the window.  Through the iron
+railing of the front wall he could see the little motorcar sending its
+straight beams of light in front of it, up the street.
+
+He sat down on the sofa by the window.  The energy had suddenly left
+all his limbs.  He sat with his head sunk, listening.  The familiar
+room, the familiar voice of his wife and his children--he felt weak as
+if he were dying.  He felt weak like a drowning man who acquiesces in
+the waters.  His strength was gone, he was sinking back.  He would
+sink back to it all, float henceforth like a drowned man.
+
+So he heard voices coming nearer from upstairs, feet moving.  They
+were coming down.
+
+"No, Mrs. Sisson, you needn't worry," he heard the voice of the doctor
+on the stairs.  "If she goes on as she is, she'll be all right.  Only
+she must be kept warm and quiet--warm and quiet--that's the chief
+thing."
+
+"Oh, when she has those bouts I can't bear it," Aaron heard his wife's
+voice.
+
+They were downstairs.  Their feet click-clicked on the tiled passage.
+They had gone into the middle room.  Aaron sat and listened.
+
+"She won't have any more bouts.  If she does, give her a few drops
+from the little bottle, and raise her up.  But she won't have any
+more," the doctor said.
+
+"If she does, I s'll go off my head, I know I shall."
+
+"No, you won't.  No, you won't do anything of the sort.  You won't go
+off your head.  You'll keep your head on your shoulders, where it ought
+to be," protested the doctor.
+
+"But it nearly drives me mad."
+
+"Then don't let it.  The child won't die, I tell you.  She will be all
+right, with care.  Who have you got sitting up with her?  You're not
+to sit up with her tonight, I tell you.  Do you hear me?"
+
+"Miss Smitham's coming in.  But it's no good--I shall have to sit up.
+I shall HAVE to."
+
+"I tell you you won't.  You obey ME.  I know what's good for you as
+well as for her.  I am thinking of you as much as of her."
+
+"But I can't bear it--all alone."  This was the beginning of tears.
+There was a dead silence--then a sound of Millicent weeping with her
+mother.  As a matter of fact, the doctor was weeping too, for he was
+an emotional sympathetic soul, over forty.
+
+"Never mind--never mind--you aren't alone," came the doctor's matter-
+of-fact voice, after a loud nose-blowing.  "I am here to help you.  I
+will do whatever I can--whatever I can."
+
+"I can't bear it.  I can't bear it," wept the woman.
+
+Another silence, another nose-blowing, and again the doctor:
+
+"You'll HAVE to bear it--I tell you there's nothing else for it.
+You'll have to bear it--but we'll do our best for you.  I will do my
+best for you--always--ALWAYS--in sickness or out of sickness--There!"
+He pronounced _there_ oddly, not quite _dhere_.
+
+"You haven't heard from your husband?" he added.
+
+"I had a letter--"--sobs--"from the bank this morning."
+
+"FROM DE BANK?"
+
+"Telling me they were sending me so much per month, from him, as an
+allowance, and that he was quite well, but he was travelling."
+
+"Well then, why not let him travel?  You can live."
+
+"But to leave me alone," there was burning indignation in her voice.
+"To go off and leave me with every responsibility, to leave me with
+all the burden."
+
+"Well I wouldn't trouble about him.  Aren't you better off without
+him?"
+
+"I am.  I am," she cried fiercely.  "When I got that letter this
+morning, I said MAY EVIL BEFALL YOU, YOU SELFISH DEMON.  And I hope
+it may."
+
+
+"Well-well, well-well, don't fret.   Don't be angry, it won't make it
+any better, I tell you."
+
+"Angry!  I AM angry.  I'm worse than angry.  A week ago I hadn't a
+grey hair in my head.  Now look here--"  There was a pause.
+
+"Well-well, well-well, never mind.  You will be all right, don't you
+bother.  Your hair is beautiful anyhow."
+
+"What makes me so mad is that be should go off like that--never a
+word--coolly takes his hook.  I could kill him for it."
+
+"Were you ever happy together?"
+
+"We were all right at first.  I know I was fond of him.  But he'd kill
+anything.--He kept himself back, always kept himself back, couldn't
+give himself--"
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Ah well," sighed the doctor.  "Marriage is a mystery.  I'm glad I'm
+not entangled in it."
+
+"Yes, to make some woman's life a misery.--I'm sure it was death to
+live with him, he seemed to kill everything off inside you.  He was a
+man you couldn't quarrel with, and get it over.  Quiet--quiet in his
+tempers, and selfish through and through.  I've lived with him twelve
+years--I know what it is.  Killing!  You don't know what he was--"
+
+"I think I knew him.  A fair man?  Yes?" said the doctor.
+
+"Fair to look at.--There's a photograph of him in the parlour--taken
+when he was married--and one of me.--Yes, he's fairhaired."
+
+Aaron guessed that she was getting a candle to come into the parlour.
+He was tempted to wait and meet them--and accept it all again.
+Devilishly tempted, he was.  Then he thought of her voice, and his
+heart went cold.  Quick as thought, he obeyed his first impulse.  He
+felt behind the couch, on the floor where the curtains fell.  Yes--the
+bag was there.  He took it at once.  In the next breath he stepped out
+of the room and tip-toed into the passage.  He retreated to the far
+end, near the street door, and stood behind the coats that hung on the
+hall-stand.
+
+At that moment his wife came into the passage, holding a candle.  She
+was red-eyed with weeping, and looked frail.
+
+"Did YOU leave the parlour door open?" she asked of Millicent,
+suspiciously.
+
+"No," said Millicent from the kitchen.
+
+The doctor, with his soft, Oriental tread followed Mrs. Sisson into
+the parlour.  Aaron saw his wife hold up the candle before his
+portrait and begin to weep.  But he knew her.  The doctor laid his
+hand softly on her arm, and left it there, sympathetically.  Nor
+did he remove it when Millicent stole into the room, looking very
+woe-begone and important.  The wife wept silently, and the child
+joined in.
+
+"Yes, I know him," said the doctor.  "If he thinks he will be happier
+when he's gone away, you must be happier too, Mrs. Sisson.  That's all.
+Don't let him triumph over you by making you miserable.  You enjoy
+yourself as well.  You're only a girl---"
+
+But a tear came from his eye, and he blew his nose vigorously on a
+large white silk handkerchief, and began to polish his _pince nez_.
+Then he turned, and they all bundled out of the room.
+
+The doctor took his departure.  Mrs. Sisson went almost immediately
+upstairs, and Millicent shortly crept after her.  Then Aaron, who had
+stood motionless as if turned to a pillar of salt, went quietly down
+the passage and into the living room.  His face was very pale, ghastly-
+looking.  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the mantel,
+as he passed, and felt weak, as if he were really a criminal.  But his
+heart did not relax, nevertheless.  So he hurried into the night, down
+the garden, climbed the fence into the field, and went away across the
+field in the rain, towards the highroad.
+
+He felt sick in every fibre.  He almost hated the little handbag he
+carried, which held his flute and piccolo.  It seemed a burden just
+then--a millstone round his neck.  He hated the scene he had left--
+and he hated the hard, inviolable heart that stuck unchanging in his
+own breast.
+
+Coming to the high-road, he saw a tall, luminous tram-car roving along
+through the rain.  The trams ran across country from town to town.  He
+dared not board, because people knew him.  So he took a side road, and
+walked in a detour for two miles.  Then he came out on the high-road
+again and waited for a tram-car.  The rain blew on his face.  He
+waited a long time for the last car.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+AT THE OPERA
+
+
+A friend had given Josephine Ford a box at the opera for one evening;
+our story continues by night.  The box was large and important, near
+the stage.  Josephine and Julia were there, with Robert and Jim--also
+two more men.  The women sat in the front of the box, conspicuously.
+They were both poor, they were rather excited.  But they belonged to
+a set which looked on social triumphs as a downfall that one allows
+oneself.  The two men, Lilly and Struthers, were artists, the former
+literary, the latter a painter.  Lilly sat by Josephine in the front
+of the box: he was her little lion of the evening.
+
+Few women can sit in the front of a big box, on a crowded and full-
+swing opera night, without thrilling and dilating.  There is an
+intoxication in being thus thrust forward, conspicuous and enhanced,
+right in the eye of the vast crowd that lines the hollow shell of the
+auditorium.  Thus even Josephine and Julia leaned their elbows and
+poised their heads regally, looking condescendingly down upon the
+watchful world.  They were two poor women, having nothing to do with
+society.  Half bohemians.
+
+Josephine was an artist.  In Paris she was a friend of a very
+fashionable dressmaker and decorator, master of modern elegance.
+Sometimes she designed dresses for him, and sometimes she accepted
+from him a commission to decorate a room.  Usually at her last sou,
+it gave her pleasure to dispose of costly and exquisite things for
+other people, and then be rid of them.
+
+This evening her dress was a simple, but a marvellously poised thing
+of black and silver: in the words of the correct journal.  With her
+tight, black, bright hair, her arched brows, her dusky-ruddy face and
+her bare shoulders; her strange equanimity, her long, slow, slanting
+looks; she looked foreign and frightening, clear as a cameo, but dark,
+far off.  Julia was the English beauty, in a lovely blue dress.  Her
+hair was becomingly untidy on her low brow, her dark blue eyes wandered
+and got excited, her nervous mouth twitched.  Her high-pitched, sing-
+song voice and her hurried laugh could be heard in the theatre.  She
+twisted a beautiful little fan that a dead artist had given her.
+
+Not being fashionable, they were in the box when the overture began.
+The opera was Verdi--_Aida_.  If it is impossible to be in an important
+box at the opera without experiencing the strange intoxication of
+social pre-eminence, it is just as impossible to be there without
+some feeling of horror at the sight the stage presents.
+
+Josephine leaned her elbow and looked down: she knew how arresting
+that proud, rather stiff bend of her head was.  She had some aboriginal
+American in her blood.  But as she looked, she pursed her mouth.  The
+artist in her forgot everything, she was filled with disgust.  The
+sham Egypt of _Aida_ hid from her nothing of its shame.  The singers
+were all colour-washed, deliberately colour-washed to a bright orange
+tint.  The men had oblong dabs of black wool under their lower lip;
+the beard of the mighty Pharaohs.  This oblong dab shook and wagged to
+the singing.
+
+The vulgar bodies of the fleshy women were unendurable.  They all
+looked such good meat.  Why were their haunches so prominent?  It
+was a question Josephine could not solve.  She scanned their really
+expensive, brilliant clothing.  It was _nearly_ right--nearly splendid.
+It only lacked that last subtlety which the world always lacks, the
+last final clinching which puts calm into a sea of fabric, and yet
+is the opposite pole to machine fixity.
+
+But the leading tenor was the chief pain.  He was large, stout, swathed
+in a cummerbund, and looked like a eunuch.  This fattish, emasculated
+look seems common in stage heroes--even the extremely popular.  The
+tenor sang bravely, his mouth made a large, coffin-shaped, yawning gap
+in his orange face, his little beard fluttered oddly, like a tail.  He
+turned up his eyes to Josephine's box as he sang--that being the
+regulation direction.  Meanwhile his abdomen shook as he caught his
+breath, the flesh of his fat, naked arms swayed.
+
+Josephine looked down with the fixed gravity of a Red Indian,
+immovable, inscrutable.  It was not till the scene was ended that she
+lifted her head as if breaking a spell, sent the point of her tongue
+rapidly over her dried lips, and looked round into the box.  Her brown
+eyes expressed shame, fear, and disgust.  A curious grimace went over
+her face--a grimace only to be expressed by the exclamation _Merde!_
+But she was mortally afraid of society, and its fixed institutions.
+Rapidly she scanned the eyes of her friends in the box.  She rested
+on the eyes of Lilly, a dark, ugly man.
+
+"Isn't it nasty?" she said.
+
+"You shouldn't look so closely," he said.  But he took it calmly,
+easily, whilst she felt floods of burning disgust, a longing to
+destroy it all.
+
+"Oh-ho-ho!" laughed Julia.  "It's so fu-nny--so funny!"
+
+"Of course we are too near," said Robert.
+
+"Say you admire that pink fondant over there," said Struthers,
+indicating with his eyebrows a blond large woman in white satin with
+pink edging, who sat in a box opposite, on the upper tier.
+
+"Oh, the fondant--exactly--the fondant!  Yes, I admire her immensely!
+Isn't she exactly IT!" sang Julia.
+
+Josephine was scanning the auditorium.  So many myriads of faces--like
+beads on a bead-work pattern--all bead-work, in different layers.  She
+bowed to various acquaintances--mostly Americans in uniform, whom she
+had known in Paris.  She smiled to Lady Cochrane, two boxes off--Lady
+Cochrane had given her the box.  But she felt rather coldly towards
+her.
+
+The curtain rose, the opera wound its slow length along.  The audience
+loved it.  They cheered with mad enthusiasm.  Josephine looked down on
+the choppy sea of applause, white gloves clapping, heads shaking.  The
+noise was strange and rattling.  What a curious multiple object a
+theatre-audience was!  It seemed to have a million heads, a million
+hands, and one monstrous, unnatural consciousness.  The singers
+appeared before the curtain--the applause rose up like clouds of dust.
+
+"Oh, isn't it too wonderful!" cried Julia.  "I am wild with excitement.
+Are you all of you?"
+
+"Absolutely wild," said Lilly laconically.
+
+"Where is Scott to-night?" asked Struthers.
+
+Julia turned to him and gave him a long, queer look from her dark
+blue eyes.
+
+"He's in the country," she said, rather enigmatic.
+
+"Don't you know, he's got a house down in Dorset," said Robert,
+verbally rushing in.  "He wants Julia to go down and stay."
+
+"Is she going?" said Lilly.
+
+"She hasn't decided," replied Robert.
+
+"Oh!  What's the objection?" asked Struthers.
+
+"Well, none whatsoever, as far as can be seen, except that she can't
+make up her mind," replied Robert.
+
+"Julia's got no mind," said Jim rudely.
+
+"Oh!  Hear the brotherly verdict!" laughed Julia hurriedly.
+
+"You mean to go down to Dorset alone!" said Struthers.
+
+"Why not?" replied Robert, answering for her.
+
+"And stay how long?"
+
+"Oh--as long as it lasts," said Robert again.
+
+"Starting with eternity," said Lilly, "and working back to a
+fortnight."
+
+"And what's the matter?--looks bad in the eyes of the world?"
+
+"Yes--about that.  Afraid of compromising herself--"
+
+Lilly looked at them.
+
+"Depends what you take the world to mean.  Do you mean us in this box,
+or the crew outside there?" he jerked his head towards the auditorium.
+
+"Do you think, Lilly, that we're the world?" said Robert ironically.
+
+"Oh, yes, I guess we're shipwrecked in this box, like Robinson Crusoes.
+And what we do on our own little island matters to us alone.  As
+for the infinite crowds of howling savages outside there in the
+unspeakable, all you've got to do is mind they don't scrap you."
+
+"But WON'T they?" said Struthers.
+
+"Not unless you put your head in their hands," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know--" said Jim.
+
+But the curtain had risen, they hushed him into silence.
+
+All through the next scene, Julia puzzled herself, as to whether she
+should go down to the country and live with Scott.  She had carried
+on a nervous kind of _amour_ with him, based on soul sympathy and
+emotional excitement.  But whether to go and live with him?  She didn't
+know if she wanted to or not: and she couldn't for her life find out.
+She was in that nervous state when desire seems to evaporate the moment
+fulfilment is offered.
+
+When the curtain dropped she turned.
+
+"You see," she said, screwing up her eyes, "I have to think of
+Robert."  She cut the word in two, with an odd little hitch in
+her voice--"ROB-ert."
+
+"My dear Julia, can't you believe that I'm tired of being thought of,"
+cried Robert, flushing.
+
+Julia screwed up her eyes in a slow smile, oddly cogitating.
+
+"Well, who AM I to think of?" she asked.
+
+"Yourself," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, yes!  Why, yes!  I never thought of that!"  She gave a hurried
+little laugh.  "But then it's no FUN to think about oneself," she
+cried flatly.  "I think about ROB-ert, and SCOTT."  She screwed up
+her eyes and peered oddly at the company.
+
+"Which of them will find you the greatest treat," said Lilly
+sarcastically.
+
+"Anyhow," interjected Robert nervously, "it will be something new
+for Scott."
+
+"Stale buns for you, old boy," said Jim drily.
+
+"I don't say so.  But--" exclaimed the flushed, full-blooded Robert,
+who was nothing if not courteous to women.
+
+"How long ha' you been married?  Eh?" asked Jim.
+
+"Six years!" sang Julia sweetly.
+
+"Good God!"
+
+"You see," said Robert, "Julia can't decide anything for herself.  She
+waits for someone else to decide, then she puts her spoke in."
+
+"Put it plainly--" began Struthers.
+
+"But don't you know, it's no USE putting it plainly," cried Julia.
+
+"But DO you want to be with Scott, out and out, or DON'T you?" said
+Lilly.
+
+"Exactly!" chimed Robert.  "That's the question for you to answer
+Julia."
+
+"I WON'T answer it," she cried.  "Why should I?"  And she looked away
+into the restless hive of the theatre.  She spoke so wildly that she
+attracted attention.  But it half pleased her.  She stared abstractedly
+down at the pit.
+
+The men looked at one another in some comic consternation.
+
+"Oh, damn it all!" said the long Jim, rising and stretching himself.
+"She's dead nuts on Scott.  She's all over him.  She'd have eloped
+with him weeks ago if it hadn't been so easy.  She can't stand it
+that Robert offers to hand her into the taxi."
+
+He gave his malevolent grin round the company, then went out.  He did
+not reappear for the next scene.
+
+"Of course, if she loves Scott--" began Struthers.
+
+Julia suddenly turned with wild desperation, and cried:
+
+"I like him tremendously--tre-men-dous-ly!  He DOES understand."
+
+"Which we don't," said Robert.
+
+Julia smiled her long, odd smile in their faces: one might almost say
+she smiled in their teeth.
+
+"What do YOU think, Josephine?" asked Lilly.
+
+Josephine was leaning froward.  She started.  Her tongue went rapidly
+over her lips.  "Who--?  I--?" she exclaimed.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I think Julia should go with Scott," said Josephine.  "She'll bother
+with the idea till she's done it.  She loves him, really."
+
+"Of course she does," cried Robert.
+
+Julia, with her chin resting on her arms, in a position which
+irritated the neighbouring Lady Cochrane sincerely, was gazing with
+unseeing eyes down upon the stalls.
+
+"Well then--" began Struthers.  But the music struck up softly.  They
+were all rather bored.  Struthers kept on making small, half audible
+remarks--which was bad form, and displeased Josephine, the hostess of
+the evening.
+
+When the curtain came down for the end of the act, the men got up.
+Lilly's wife, Tanny, suddenly appeared.  She had come on after a
+dinner engagement.
+
+"Would you like tea or anything?" Lilly asked.
+
+The women refused.  The men filtered out on to the crimson and white,
+curving corridor.  Julia, Josephine and Tanny remained in the box.
+Tanny was soon hitched on to the conversation in hand.
+
+"Of course," she replied, "one can't decide such a thing like drinking
+a cup of tea."
+
+"Of course, one can't, dear Tanny," said Julia.
+
+"After all, one doesn't leave one's husband every day, to go and live
+with another man.  Even if one looks on it as an experiment--."
+
+"It's difficult!" cried Julia.  "It's difficult!  I feel they all want
+to FORCE me to decide.  It's cruel."
+
+"Oh, men with their beastly logic, their either-this-or-that stunt,
+they are an awful bore.--But of course, Robert can't love you REALLY,
+or he'd want to keep you.  I can see Lilly discussing such a thing
+for ME.  But then you don't love Robert either," said Tanny.
+
+"I do!  Oh, I do, Tanny!  I DO love him, I love him dearly.  I think
+he's beautiful.  Robert's beautiful.  And he NEEDS me.  And I need him
+too.  I need his support.  Yes, I do love him."
+
+"But you like Scott better," said Tanny.
+
+"Only because he--he's different," sang Julia, in long tones.  "You
+see Scott has his art.  His art matters.  And ROB-ert--Robert is a
+dilettante, don't you think--he's dilettante--"  She screwed up her
+eyes at Tanny.  Tanny cogitated.
+
+"Of course I don't think that matters," she replied.
+
+"But it does, it matters tremendously, dear Tanny, tremendously."
+
+"Of course," Tanny sheered off.  "I can see Scott has great
+attractions--a great warmth somewhere--"
+
+"Exactly!" cried Julia.  "He UNDERSTANDS"
+
+"And I believe he's a real artist.  You might even work together.  You
+might write his librettos."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--"  Julia spoke with a long, pondering hiss.
+
+"It might be AWFULLY nice," said Tanny rapturously.
+
+"Yes!--It might!--It might--!" pondered Julia.  Suddenly she gave
+herself a shake.  Then she laughed hurriedly, as if breaking from
+her line of thought.
+
+"And wouldn't Robert be an AWFULLY nice lover for Josephine!  Oh,
+wouldn't that be splendid!" she cried, with her high laugh.
+
+Josephine, who had been gazing down into the orchestra, turned now,
+flushing darkly.
+
+"But I don't want a lover, Julia," she said, hurt.
+
+"Josephine dear!  Dear old Josephine!  Don't you really!  Oh, yes,
+you do.--I want one so BADLY," cried Julia, with her shaking laugh.
+"Robert's awfully good to me.  But we've been married six years.
+And it does make a difference, doesn't it, Tanny dear?"
+
+"A great difference," said Tanny.
+
+"Yes, it makes a difference, it makes a difference," mused Julia.
+"Dear old Rob-ert--I wouldn't hurt him for worlds.  I wouldn't.  Do
+you think it would hurt Robert?"
+
+She screwed up her eyes, looking at Tanny.
+
+"Perhaps it would do Robert good to be hurt a little," said Tanny.
+"He's so well-nourished."
+
+"Yes!--Yes!--I see what you mean, Tanny!--Poor old ROB-ert!  Oh, poor
+old Rob-ert, he's so young!"
+
+"He DOES seem young," said Tanny.  "One doesn't forgive it."
+
+"He is young," said Julia.  "I'm five years older than he.  "He's only
+twenty-seven.  Poor Old Robert."
+
+"Robert is young, and inexperienced," said Josephine, suddenly turning
+with anger.  "But I don't know why you talk about him."
+
+"Is he inexperienced, Josephine dear?  IS he?" sang Julia.  Josephine
+flushed darkly, and turned away.
+
+"Ah, he's not so innocent as all that," said Tanny roughly.  "Those
+young young men, who seem so fresh, they're deep enough, really.
+They're far less innocent really than men who are experienced."
+
+"They are, aren't they, Tanny," repeated Julia softly.  "They're old--
+older than the Old Man of the Seas, sometimes, aren't they?  Incredibly
+old, like little boys who know too much--aren't they?  Yes!"  She
+spoke quietly, seriously, as if it had struck her.
+
+Below, the orchestra was coming in.  Josephine was watching closely.
+Julia became aware of this.
+
+"Do you see anybody we know, Josephine?" she asked.
+
+Josephine started.
+
+"No," she said, looking at her friends quickly and furtively.
+
+"Dear old Josephine, she knows all sorts of people," sang Julia.
+
+At that moment the men returned.
+
+"Have you actually come back!" exclaimed Tanny to them.  They sat
+down without answering.  Jim spread himself as far as he could, in
+the narrow space.  He stared upwards, wrinkling his ugly, queer face.
+It was evident he was in one of his moods.
+
+"If only somebody loved me!" he complained.  "If only somebody loved
+me I should be all right.  I'm going to pieces."  He sat up and peered
+into the faces of the women.
+
+"But we ALL love you," said Josephine, laughing uneasily.  "Why aren't
+you satisfied?"
+
+"I'm not satisfied.  I'm not satisfied," murmured Jim.
+
+"Would you like to be wrapped in swaddling bands and laid at the
+breast?" asked Lilly, disagreeably.
+
+Jim opened his mouth in a grin, and gazed long and malevolently at
+his questioner.
+
+"Yes," he said.  Then he sprawled his long six foot of limb and body
+across the box again.
+
+"You should try loving somebody, for a change," said Tanny.  "You've
+been loved too often.  Why not try and love somebody?"
+
+Jim eyed her narrowly.
+
+"I couldn't love YOU," he said, in vicious tones.
+
+"_A la bonne heure_!" said Tanny.
+
+But Jim sank his chin on his chest, and repeated obstinately:
+
+"I want to be loved."
+
+"How many times have you been loved?" Robert asked him.  "It would be
+rather interesting to know."
+
+Jim looked at Robert long and slow, but did not answer.
+
+"Did you ever keep count?" Tanny persisted.
+
+Jim looked up at her, malevolent.
+
+"I believe I did," he replied.
+
+"Forty is the age when a man should begin to reckon up," said Lilly.
+
+Jim suddenly sprang to his feet, and brandished his fists.
+
+"I'll pitch the lot of you over the bloody rail," he said.
+
+He glared at them, from under his bald, wrinkled forehead.  Josephine
+glanced round.  She had become a dusky white colour.  She was afraid
+of him, and she disliked him intensely nowadays.
+
+"Do you recognise anyone in the orchestra?" she asked.
+
+The party in the box had become dead silent.  They looked down.  The
+conductor was at his stand.  The music began.  They all remained silent
+and motionless during the next scene, each thinking his own thoughts.
+Jim was uncomfortable.  He wanted to make good.  He sat with his elbows
+on his knees, grinning slightly, looking down.  At the next interval he
+stood up suddenly.
+
+"It IS the chap--What?" he exclaimed excitedly, looking round at his
+friends.
+
+"Who?" said Tanny.
+
+"It IS he?" said Josephine quietly, meeting Jim's eye.
+
+"Sure!" he barked.
+
+He was leaning forward over the ledge, rattling a programme in his
+hand, as if trying to attract attention.  Then he made signals.
+
+"There you are!" he exclaimed triumphantly.  "That's the chap."
+
+"Who?  Who?" they cried.
+
+But neither Jim nor Josephine would vouchsafe an answer.
+
+The next was the long interval.  Jim and Josephine gazed down at
+the orchestra.  The musicians were laying aside their instruments
+and rising.  The ugly fire-curtain began slowly to descend.  Jim
+suddenly bolted out.
+
+"Is it that man Aaron Sisson?" asked Robert.
+
+"Where?  Where?" cried Julia.  "It can't be."
+
+But Josephine's face was closed and silent.  She did not answer.
+
+The whole party moved out on to the crimson-carpeted gangway.  Groups
+of people stood about chatting, men and women were passing along, to
+pay visits or to find drinks.  Josephine's party stared around, talking
+desultorily.  And at length they perceived Jim stalking along, leading
+Aaron Sisson by the arm.  Jim was grinning, the flautist looked
+unwilling.  He had a comely appearance, in his white shirt--a certain
+comely blondness and repose.  And as much a gentleman as anybody.
+
+"Well!" cried Josephine to him.  "How do you come here?"
+
+"I play the flute," he answered, as he shook hands.
+
+The little crowd stood in the gangway and talked.
+
+"How wonderful of you to be here!" cried Julia.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"Do you think so?" he answered.
+
+"Yes, I do.--It seems so FAR from Shottle House and Christmas Eve.--Oh,
+wasn't it exciting!" cried Julia.
+
+Aaron looked at her, but did not answer.
+
+"We've heard all about you," said Tanny playfully.
+
+"Oh, yes," he replied.
+
+"Come!" said Josephine, rather irritated.  "We crowd up the gangway."
+And she led the way inside the box.
+
+Aaron stood and looked down at the dishevelled theatre.
+
+"You get all the view," he said.
+
+"We do, don't we!" cried Julia.
+
+"More than's good for us," said Lilly.
+
+"Tell us what you are doing.  You've got a permanent job?" asked
+Josephine.
+
+"Yes--at present."
+
+"Ah!  It's more interesting for you than at Beldover."
+
+She had taken her seat.  He looked down at her dusky young face.  Her
+voice was always clear and measured.
+
+"It's a change," he said, smiling.
+
+"Oh, it must be more than that," she said.  "Why, you must feel a
+whole difference.  It's a whole new life."
+
+He smiled, as if he were laughing at her silently.  She flushed.
+
+"But isn't it?" she persisted.
+
+"Yes.  It can be," he replied.
+
+He looked as if he were quietly amused, but dissociated.  None of the
+people in the box were quite real to him.  He was not really amused.
+Julia found him dull, stupid.  Tanny also was offended that he could
+not _perceive her_.  The men remained practically silent.
+
+"You're a chap I always hoped would turn up again," said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes!" replied Aaron, smiling as if amused.
+
+"But perhaps he doesn't like us!  Perhaps he's not glad that we turned
+up," said Julia, leaving her sting.
+
+The flautist turned and looked at her.
+
+"You can't REMEMBER us, can you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "I can remember you."
+
+"Oh," she laughed.  "You are unflattering."
+
+He was annoyed.  He did not know what she was getting at.
+
+"How are your wife and children?" she asked spitefully.
+
+"All right, I think."
+
+"But you've been back to them?" cried Josephine in dismay.
+
+He looked at her, a slow, half smiling look, but did not speak.
+
+"Come and have a drink.  Damn the women," said Jim uncouthly, seizing
+Aaron by the arm and dragging him off.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+TALK
+
+
+The party stayed to the end of the interminable opera.  They had agreed
+to wait for Aaron.  He was to come around to the vestibule for them,
+after the show.  They trooped slowly down-stairs into the crush of the
+entrance hall.  Chattering, swirling people, red carpet, palms green
+against cream-and-gilt walls, small whirlpools of life at the open,
+dark doorways, men in opera hats steering decisively about-it was the
+old scene.  But there were no taxis--absolutely no taxis.  And it was
+raining.  Fortunately the women had brought shoes.  They slipped these
+on.  Jim rocked through the crowd, in his tall hat, looking for the
+flautist.
+
+At last Aaron was found--wearing a bowler hat.  Julia groaned in
+spirit.  Josephine's brow knitted.  Not that anybody cared, really.
+But as one must frown at something, why not at the bowler hat?
+Acquaintances and elegant young men in uniforms insisted on rushing
+up and bowing and exchanging a few words, either with Josephine, or
+Jim, or Julia, or Lilly.  They were coldly received.  The party veered
+out into the night.
+
+The women hugged their wraps about them, and set off sharply, feeling
+some repugnance for the wet pavements and the crowd.  They had not far
+to go--only to Jim's rooms in Adelphi.  Jim was leading Aaron, holding
+him by the arm and slightly pinching his muscles.  It gave him great
+satisfaction to have between his fingers the arm-muscles of a working-
+man, one of the common people, the _fons et origo_ of modern life.
+Jim was talking rather vaguely about Labour and Robert Smillie, and
+Bolshevism.  He was all for revolution and the triumph of labour.
+
+So they arrived, mounted a dark stair, and entered a large, handsome
+room, one of the Adams rooms.  Jim had furnished it from Heale's with
+striped hangings, green and white and yellow and dark purple, and with
+a green-and-black checked carpet, and great stripe-covered chairs and
+Chesterfield.  A big gas-fire was soon glowing in the handsome old
+fire-place, the panelled room seemed cosy.
+
+While Jim was handing round drinks and sandwiches, and Josephine was
+making tea, Robert played Bach on the piano--the pianola, rather.  The
+chairs and lounge were in a half-circle round the fire.  The party
+threw off their wraps and sank deep into this expensive comfort of
+modern bohemia.  They needed the Bach to take away the bad taste that
+_Aida_ had left in their mouths.  They needed the whiskey and curacao
+to rouse their spirits.  They needed the profound comfort in which to
+sink away from the world.  All the men, except Aaron, had been through
+the war in some way or other.  But here they were, in the old setting
+exactly, the old bohemian routine.
+
+The bell rang, Jim went downstairs.  He returned shortly with a frail,
+elegant woman--fashionable rather than bohemian.  She was cream and
+auburn, Irish, with a slightly-lifted upper lip that gave her a
+pathetic look.  She dropped her wrap and sat down by Julia, taking
+her hand delicately.
+
+"How are you, darling?" she asked.
+
+"Yes--I'm happy," said Julia, giving her odd, screwed-up smile.
+
+The pianola stopped, they all chatted indiscriminately.  Jim was
+watching the new-comer--Mrs. Browning--with a concentrated wolfish
+grin.
+
+"I like her," he said at last.  "I've seen her before, haven't I?--I
+like her awfully."
+
+"Yes," said Josephine, with a slight grunt of a laugh.  "He wants to
+be loved."
+
+"Oh," cried Clariss.  "So do I!"
+
+"Then there you are!" cried Tanny.
+
+"Alas, no, there we aren't," cried Clariss.  She was beautiful too,
+with her lifted upper-lip.  "We both want to be loved, and so we miss
+each other entirely.  We run on in two parallel lines, that can never
+meet."  She laughed low and half sad.
+
+"Doesn't SHE love you?" said Aaron to Jim amused, indicating Josephine.
+"I thought you were engaged."
+
+"HER!" leered Jim vindictively, glancing at Josephine.  "She doesn't
+love me."
+
+"Is that true?" asked Robert hastily, of Josephine.
+
+"Why," she said, "yes.  Why should he make me say out here that I don't
+love him!"
+
+"Got you my girl," said Jim.
+
+"Then it's no engagement?" said Robert.
+
+"Listen to the row fools make, rushing in," said Jim maliciously.
+
+"No, the engagement is broken," said Josephine.
+
+"World coming to pieces bit by bit," said Lilly.  Jim was twisting
+in his chair, and looking like a Chinese dragon, diabolical.  The
+room was uneasy.
+
+"What gives you such a belly-ache for love, Jim?" said Lilly, "or
+for being loved?  Why do you want so badly to be loved?"
+
+"Because I like it, damn you," barked Jim.  "Because I'm in need
+of it."
+
+None of them quite knew whether they ought to take it as a joke.  It
+was just a bit too real to be quite pleasant.
+
+"Why are you such a baby?" said Lilly.  "There you are, six foot in
+length, have been a cavalry officer and fought in two wars, and you
+spend your time crying for somebody to love you.  You're a comic."
+
+"Am I though?" said Jim.  "I'm losing life.  I'm getting thin."
+
+"You don't look as if you were losing life," said Lilly.
+
+"Don't I?  I am, though.  I'm dying."
+
+"What of?  Lack of life?"
+
+"That's about it, my young cock.  Life's leaving me."
+
+"Better sing Tosti's Farewell to it."
+
+Jim who had been sprawling full length in his arm-chair, the centre of
+interest of all the company, suddenly sprang forward and pushed his
+face, grinning, in the face of Lilly.
+
+"You're a funny customer, you are," he said.
+
+Then he turned round in his chair, and saw Clariss sitting at the feet
+of Julia, with one white arm over her friend's knee.  Jim immediately
+stuck forward his muzzle and gazed at her.  Clariss had loosened her
+masses of thick, auburn hair, so that it hung half free.  Her face was
+creamy pale, her upper lip lifted with odd pathos!  She had rose-rubies
+in her ears.
+
+"I like HER," said Jim.  "What's her name?"
+
+"Mrs. Browning.  Don't be so rude," said Josephine.
+
+"Browning for gravies.  Any relation of Robert?"
+
+"Oh, yes!  You ask my husband," came the slow, plangent voice of
+Clariss.
+
+"You've got a husband, have you?"
+
+"Rather!  Haven't I, Juley?"
+
+"Yes," said Julia, vaguely and wispily.  "Yes, dear, you have."
+
+"And two fine children," put in Robert.
+
+"No!  You don't mean it!" said Jim.  "Who's your husband?  Anybody?"
+
+"Rather!" came the deep voice of Clariss.  "He sees to that."
+
+Jim stared, grinning, showing his pointed teeth, reaching nearer
+and nearer to Clariss who, in her frail scrap of an evening dress,
+amethyst and silver, was sitting still in the deep black hearth-rug,
+her arm over Julia's knee, taking very little notice of Jim, although
+he amused her.
+
+"I like you awfully, I say," he repeated.
+
+"Thanks, I'm sure," she said.
+
+The others were laughing, sprawling in their chairs, and sipping
+curacao and taking a sandwich or a cigarette.  Aaron Sisson alone
+sat upright, smiling flickeringly.  Josephine watched him, and her
+pointed tongue went from time to time over her lips.
+
+"But I'm sure," she broke in, "this isn't very interesting for the
+others.  Awfully boring!  Don't be silly all the time, Jim, or we
+must go home."
+
+Jim looked at her with narrowed eyes.  He hated her voice.  She let
+her eye rest on his for a moment.  Then she put her cigarette to her
+lips.  Robert was watching them both.
+
+Josephine took her cigarette from her lips again.
+
+"Tell us about yourself, Mr. Sisson," she said.  "How do you like
+being in London?"
+
+"I like London," said Aaron.
+
+Where did he live?  Bloomsbury.  Did he know many people?  No--nobody
+except a man in the orchestra.  How had he got his job?  Through an
+agent.  Etc. Etc.
+
+"What do you make of the miners?" said Jim, suddenly taking a new line.
+
+"Me?" said Sisson.  "I don't make anything of them."
+
+"Do you think they'll make a stand against the government?"
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Nationalisation."
+
+"They might, one day."
+
+"Think they'd fight?"
+
+"Fight?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron sat laughing.
+
+"What have they to fight for?"
+
+"Why, everything!  What haven't they to fight for?" cried Josephine
+fiercely.  "Freedom, liberty, and escape from this vile system.  Won't
+they fight for that?"
+
+Aaron sat smiling, slowly shaking his head.
+
+"Nay," he said, "you mustn't ask me what they'll do--I've only just
+left them, for good.  They'll do a lot of cavilling."
+
+"But won't they ACT?" cried Josephine.
+
+"Act?" said Aaron.  "How, act?"
+
+"Why, defy the government, and take things in their own hands," said
+Josephine.
+
+"They might, some time," said Aaron, rather indifferent.
+
+"I wish they would!" cried Josephine.  "My, wouldn't I love it if
+they'd make a bloody revolution!"
+
+They were all looking now at her.  Her black brows were twitching, in
+her black and silver dress she looked like a symbol of young disaster.
+
+"Must it be bloody, Josephine?" said Robert.
+
+"Why, yes.  I don't believe in revolutions that aren't bloody," said
+Josephine.  "Wouldn't I love it!  I'd go in front with a red flag."
+
+"It would be rather fun," said Tanny.
+
+"Wouldn't it!" cried Josephine.
+
+"Oh, Josey, dear!" cried Julia hysterically.  "Isn't she a red-hot
+Bolsher!  _I_ should be frightened."
+
+"No!" cried Josephine.  "I should love it."
+
+"So should I," said Jim, in a luscious sort of voice.  "What price
+machine-guns at the end of the Strand!  That's a day to live for,
+what?"
+
+"Ha! Ha!" laughed Clariss, with her deep laugh.  "We'd all Bolsh
+together.  I'd give the cheers."
+
+"I wouldn't mind getting killed.  I'd love it, in a real fight," said
+Josephine.
+
+"But, Josephine," said Robert, "don't you think we've had enough of
+that sort of thing in the war?  Don't you think it all works out
+rather stupid and unsatisfying?"
+
+"Ah, but a civil war would be different.  I've no interest in fighting
+Germans.  But a civil war would be different."
+
+"That's a fact, it would," said Jim.
+
+"Only rather worse," said Robert.
+
+"No, I don't agree," cried Josephine.  "You'd feel you were doing
+something, in a civil war."
+
+"Pulling the house down," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes," she cried.  "Don't you hate it, the house we live in--London--
+England--America!  Don't you hate them?"
+
+"I don't like them.  But I can't get much fire in my hatred.  They
+pall on me rather," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, suddenly stirring in his chair.
+
+Lilly and he glanced at one another with a look of recognition.
+
+"Still," said Tanny, "there's got to be a clearance some day or other."
+
+"Oh," drawled Clariss.  "I'm all for a clearance.  I'm all for pulling
+the house down.  Only while it stands I do want central heating and a
+good cook."
+
+"May I come to dinner?" said Jim.
+
+"Oh, yes.  You'd find it rather domestic."
+
+"Where do you live?"
+
+"Rather far out now--Amersham."
+
+"Amersham?  Where's that--?"
+
+"Oh, it's on the map."
+
+There was a little lull.  Jim gulped down a drink, standing at the
+sideboard.  He was a tall, fine, soldierly figure, and his face, with
+its little sandy moustache and bald forehead, was odd.  Aaron Sisson
+sat watching him, unconsciously.
+
+"Hello you!" said Jim.  "Have one?"
+
+Aaron shook his head, and Jim did not press him.  It saved the drinks.
+
+"You believe in love, don't you?" said Jim, sitting down near Aaron,
+and grinning at him.
+
+"Love!" said Aaron.
+
+"LOVE! he says," mocked Jim, grinning at the company.
+
+"What about it, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"It's life!  Love is life," said Jim fiercely.
+
+"It's a vice, like drink," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh?  A vice!" said Jim.  "May be for you, old bird."
+
+"More so still for you," said Lilly.
+
+"It's life.  It's life!" reiterated Jim.  "Don't you agree?"  He
+turned wolfishly to Clariss.
+
+"Oh, yes--every time--" she drawled, nonchalant.
+
+"Here, let's write it down," said Lilly.  He found a blue pencil and
+printed in large letters on the old creamy marble of the mantel-piece
+panel:--LOVE IS LIFE.
+
+Julia suddenly rose and flung her arms asunder wildly.
+
+"Oh, I hate love.  I hate it," she protested.
+
+Jim watched her sardonically.
+
+"Look at her!" he said.  "Look at Lesbia who hates love."
+
+"No, but perhaps it is a disease.  Perhaps we are all wrong, and we
+can't love properly," put in Josephine.
+
+"Have another try," said Jim,--"I know what love is.  I've thought
+about it.  Love is the soul's respiration."
+
+"Let's have that down," said Lilly.
+
+LOVE IS THE SOUL'S RESPIRATION.  He printed it on the old mantel-piece.
+
+Jim eyed the letters.
+
+"It's right," he said.  "Quite right.  When you love, your soul
+breathes in.  If you don't breathe in, you suffocate."
+
+"What about breathing out?" said Robert.  "If you don't breathe out,
+you asphyxiate."
+
+"Right you are, Mock Turtle--" said Jim maliciously.
+
+"Breathing out is a bloody revolution," said Lilly.
+
+"You've hit the nail on the head," said Jim solemnly.
+
+"Let's record it then," said Lilly.  And with the blue pencil he
+printed:
+
+WHEN YOU LOVE, YOUR SOUL BREATHES IN--
+
+WHEN YOUR SOUL BREATHES OUT, IT'S A BLOODY REVOLUTION.
+
+"I say Jim," he said.  "You must be busting yourself, trying to
+breathe in."
+
+"Don't you be too clever.  I've thought about it," said Jim.  "When
+I'm in love, I get a great inrush of energy.  I actually feel it rush
+in--here!"  He poked his finger on the pit of his stomach.  "It's the
+soul's expansion.  And if I can't get these rushes of energy, I'M
+DYING, AND I KNOW I AM."
+
+He spoke the last words with sudden ferocity and desperation.
+
+"All _I_ know is," said Tanny, "you don't look it."
+
+"I AM.  I am." Jim protested.  "I'm dying.  Life's leaving me."
+
+"Maybe you're choking with love," said Robert.  "Perhaps you have
+breathed in so much, you don't know how to let it go again.  Perhaps
+your soul's got a crick in it, with expanding so much."
+
+"You're a bloody young sucking pig, you are," said Jim.
+
+"Even at that age, I've learned my manners," replied Robert.
+
+Jim looked round the party.  Then he turned to Aaron Sisson.
+
+"What do you make of 'em, eh?" he said.
+
+Aaron shook his head, and laughed.
+
+"Me?" he said.
+
+But Jim did not wait for an answer.
+
+"I've had enough," said Tanny suddenly rising.  "I think you're all
+silly.  Besides, it's getting late."
+
+"She!" said Jim, rising and pointing luridly to Clariss.  "She's Love.
+And HE's the Working People.  The hope is these two--"  He jerked a
+thumb at Aaron Sisson, after having indicated Mrs. Browning.
+
+"Oh, how awfully interesting.  It's quite a long time since I've been
+a personification.--I suppose you've never been one before?" said
+Clariss, turning to Aaron in conclusion.
+
+"No, I don't think I have," he answered.
+
+"I hope personification is right.--Ought to be _allegory_ or something
+else?"  This from Clariss to Robert.
+
+"Or a parable, Clariss," laughed the young lieutenant.
+
+"Goodbye," said Tanny.  "I've been awfully bored."
+
+"Have you?" grinned Jim.  "Goodbye!  Better luck next time."
+
+"We'd better look sharp," said Robert, "if we want to get the tube."
+
+The party hurried through the rainy narrow streets down to the
+Embankment station.  Robert and Julia and Clariss were going west,
+Lilly and his wife were going to Hampstead, Josephine and Aaron
+Sisson were going both to Bloomsbury.
+
+"I suppose," said Robert, on the stairs--"Mr. Sisson will see you to
+your door, Josephine.  He lives your way."
+
+"There's no need at all," said Josephine.
+
+The four who were going north went down to the low tube level.  It
+was nearly the last train.  The station was half deserted, half rowdy,
+several fellows were drunk, shouting and crowing.  Down there in the
+bowels of London, after midnight, everything seemed horrible and
+unnatural.
+
+"How I hate this London," said Tanny.  She was half Norwegian, and had
+spent a large part of her life in Norway, before she married Lilly.
+
+"Yes, so do I," said Josephine.  "But if one must earn one's living one
+must stay here.  I wish I could get back to Paris.  But there's nothing
+doing for me in France.--When do you go back into the country, both of
+you?"
+
+"Friday," said Lilly.
+
+"How lovely for you!--And when will you go to Norway, Tanny?"
+
+"In about a month," said Tanny.
+
+"You must be awfully pleased."
+
+"Oh--thankful--THANKFUL to get out of England--"
+
+"I know.  That's how I feel.  Everything is so awful--so dismal and
+dreary, I find it--"
+
+They crowded into the train.  Men were still yelling like wild beasts
+--others were asleep--soldiers were singing.
+
+"Have you really broken your engagement with Jim?" shrilled Tanny in a
+high voice, as the train roared.
+
+"Yes, he's impossible," said Josephine.  "Perfectly hysterical and
+impossible."
+
+"And SELFISH--" cried Tanny.
+
+"Oh terribly--" cried Josephine.
+
+"Come up to Hampstead to lunch with us," said Lilly to Aaron.
+
+"Ay--thank you," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly scribbled directions on a card.  The hot, jaded midnight
+underground rattled on.  Aaron and Josephine got down to change
+trains.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+THE DARK SQUARE GARDEN
+
+
+Josephine had invited Aaron Sisson to dinner at a restaurant in Soho,
+one Sunday evening.  They had a corner to themselves, and with a bottle
+of Burgundy she was getting his history from him.
+
+His father had been a shaft-sinker, earning good money, but had been
+killed by a fall down the shaft when Aaron was only four years old.
+The widow had opened a shop: Aaron was her only child.  She had done
+well in her shop.  She had wanted Aaron to be a schoolteacher.  He had
+served three years apprenticeship, then suddenly thrown it up and gone
+to the pit.
+
+"But why?" said Josephine.
+
+"I couldn't tell you.  I felt more like it."
+
+He had a curious quality of an intelligent, almost sophisticated mind,
+which had repudiated education.  On purpose he kept the midland accent
+in his speech.  He understood perfectly what a personification was--
+and an allegory.  But he preferred to be illiterate.
+
+Josephine found out what a miner's checkweighman was.  She tried to
+find out what sort of wife Aaron had--but, except that she was the
+daughter of a publican and was delicate in health, she could learn
+nothing.
+
+"And do you send her money?" she asked.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.  "The house is mine.  And I allow her so much a week
+out of the money in the bank.  My mother left me a bit over a thousand
+when she died."
+
+"You don't mind what I say, do you?" said Josephine.
+
+"No I don't mind," he laughed.
+
+He had this pleasant-seeming courteous manner.  But he really kept
+her at a distance.  In some things he reminded her of Robert: blond,
+erect, nicely built, fresh and English-seeming.  But there was a
+curious cold distance to him, which she could not get across.  An
+inward indifference to her--perhaps to everything.  Yet his laugh
+was so handsome.
+
+"Will you tell me why you left your wife and children?--Didn't you
+love them?"
+
+Aaron looked at the odd, round, dark muzzle of the girl.  She had had
+her hair bobbed, and it hung in odd dark folds, very black, over her
+ears.
+
+"Why I left her?" he said.  "For no particular reason.  They're all
+right without me."
+
+Josephine watched his face.  She saw a pallor of suffering under its
+freshness, and a strange tension in his eyes.
+
+"But you couldn't leave your little girls for no reason at all--"
+
+"Yes, I did.  For no reason--except I wanted to have some free room
+round me--to loose myself--"
+
+"You mean you wanted love?" flashed Josephine, thinking he said _lose_.
+
+"No, I wanted fresh air.  I don't know what I wanted.  Why should I
+know?"
+
+"But we must know: especially when other people will be hurt,"
+said she.
+
+"Ah, well!  A breath of fresh air, by myself.  I felt forced to feel
+--I feel if I go back home now, I shall be FORCED--forced to love--
+or care--or something."
+
+"Perhaps you wanted more than your wife could give you," she said.
+
+"Perhaps less.  She's made up her mind she loves me, and she's not
+going to let me off."
+
+"Did you never love her?" said Josephine.
+
+"Oh, yes.  I shall never love anybody else.  But I'm damned if I want
+to be a lover any more.  To her or to anybody.  That's the top and
+bottom of it.  I don't want to CARE, when care isn't in me.  And I'm
+not going to be forced to it."
+
+The fat, aproned French waiter was hovering near.  Josephine let him
+remove the plates and the empty bottle.
+
+"Have more wine," she said to Aaron.
+
+But he refused.  She liked him because of his dead-level indifference
+to his surroundings.  French waiters and foreign food--he noticed them
+in his quick, amiable-looking fashion--but he was indifferent.
+Josephine was piqued.  She wanted to pierce this amiable aloofness
+of his.
+
+She ordered coffee and brandies.
+
+"But you don't want to get away from EVERYTHING, do you?  I myself
+feel so LOST sometimes--so dreadfully alone: not in a silly sentimental
+fashion, because men keep telling me they love me, don't you know.  But
+my LIFE seems alone, for some reason--"
+
+"Haven't you got relations?" he said.
+
+"No one, now mother is dead.  Nothing nearer than aunts and cousins
+in America.  I suppose I shall see them all again one day.  But they
+hardly count over here."
+
+"Why don't you get married?" he said.  "How old are you?"
+
+"I'm twenty-five.  How old are you?"
+
+"Thirty-three."
+
+"You might almost be any age.--I don't know why I don't get married.
+In a way, I hate earning my own living--yet I go on--and I like my
+work--"
+
+"What are you doing now?"
+
+"I'm painting scenery for a new play--rather fun--I enjoy it.  But I
+often wonder what will become of me."
+
+"In what way?"
+
+She was almost affronted.
+
+"What becomes of me?  Oh, I don't know.  And it doesn't matter, not
+to anybody but myself."
+
+"What becomes of anybody, anyhow?  We live till we die.  What do you
+want?"
+
+"Why, I keep saying I want to get married and feel sure of something.
+But I don't know--I feel dreadful sometimes--as if every minute would
+be the last.  I keep going on and on--I don't know what for--and IT
+keeps going on and on--goodness knows what it's all for."
+
+"You shouldn't bother yourself," he said.  "You should just let it go
+on and on--"
+
+"But I MUST bother," she said.  "I must think and feel--"
+
+"You've no occasion," he said.
+
+"How--?" she said, with a sudden grunting, unhappy laugh.  Then she
+lit a cigarette.
+
+"No," she said.  "What I should really like more than anything would
+be an end of the world.  I wish the world would come to an end."
+
+He laughed, and poured his drops of brandy down his throat.
+
+"It won't, for wishing," he said.
+
+"No, that's the awful part of it.  It'll just go on and on--  Doesn't
+it make you feel you'd go mad?"
+
+He looked at her and shook his head.
+
+"You see it doesn't concern me," he said.  "So long as I can float
+by myself."
+
+"But ARE you SATISFIED!" she cried.
+
+"I like being by myself--I hate feeling and caring, and being forced
+into it.  I want to be left alone--"
+
+"You aren't very polite to your hostess of the evening," she said,
+laughing a bit miserably.
+
+"Oh, we're all right," he said.  "You know what I mean--"
+
+"You like your own company?  Do you?--Sometimes I think I'm nothing
+when I'm alone.  Sometimes I think I surely must be nothing--
+nothingness."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"No," he said.  "No.  I only want to be left alone."
+
+"Not to have anything to do with anybody?" she queried ironically.
+
+"Not to any extent."
+
+She watched him--and then she bubbled with a laugh.
+
+"I think you're funny," she said.  "You don't mind?"
+
+"No--why--It's just as you see it.--Jim Bricknell's a rare comic, to
+my eye."
+
+"Oh, him!--no, not actually.  He's self-conscious and selfish and
+hysterical.  It isn't a bit funny after a while."
+
+"I only know what I've seen," said Aaron.  "You'd both of you like a
+bloody revolution, though."
+
+"Yes.  Only when it came he wouldn't be there."
+
+"Would you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed I would.  I would give everything to be in it.  I'd give
+heaven and earth for a great big upheaval--and then darkness."
+
+"Perhaps you'll get it, when you die," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but I don't want to die and leave all this standing.  I hate
+it so."
+
+"Why do you?"
+
+"But don't you?"
+
+"No, it doesn't really bother me."
+
+"It makes me feel I can't live."
+
+"I can't see that."
+
+"But you always disagree with one!" said Josephine.  "How do you like
+Lilly?  What do you think of him?"
+
+"He seems sharp," said Aaron.
+
+"But he's more than sharp."
+
+"Oh, yes!  He's got his finger in most pies."
+
+"And doesn't like the plums in any of them," said Josephine tartly.
+
+"What does he do?"
+
+"Writes--stories and plays."
+
+"And makes it pay?"
+
+"Hardly at all.--They want us to go.  Shall we?"  She rose from the
+table.  The waiter handed her her cloak, and they went out into the
+blowy dark night.  She folded her wrap round her, and hurried forward
+with short, sharp steps.  There was a certain Parisian _chic_ and
+mincingness about her, even in her walk: but underneath, a striding,
+savage suggestion as if she could leg it in great strides, like some
+savage squaw.
+
+Aaron pressed his bowler hat down on his brow.
+
+"Would you rather take a bus?" she said in a high voice, because of
+the wind.
+
+"I'd rather walk."
+
+"So would I."
+
+They hurried across the Charing Cross Road, where great buses rolled
+and rocked, crammed with people.  Her heels clicked sharply on the
+pavement, as they walked east.  They crossed Holborn, and passed the
+Museum.  And neither of them said anything.
+
+When they came to the corner, she held out her hand.
+
+"Look!" she said.  "Don't come any further: don't trouble."
+
+"I'll walk round with you: unless you'd rather not."
+
+"No--But do you want to bother?"
+
+"It's no bother."
+
+So they pursued their way through the high wind, and turned at last
+into the old, beautiful square.  It seemed dark and deserted, dark
+like a savage wilderness in the heart of London.  The wind was roaring
+in the great bare trees of the centre, as if it were some wild dark
+grove deep in a forgotten land.
+
+Josephine opened the gate of the square garden with her key, and let
+it slam to behind him.
+
+"How wonderful the wind is!" she shrilled.  "Shall we listen to it for
+a minute?"
+
+She led him across the grass past the shrubs to the big tree in the
+centre.  There she climbed up to a seat.  He sat beside her.  They
+sat in silence, looking at the darkness.  Rain was blowing in the
+wind.  They huddled against the big tree-trunk, for shelter, and
+watched the scene.
+
+Beyond the tall shrubs and the high, heavy railings the wet street
+gleamed silently.  The houses of the Square rose like a cliff on this
+inner dark sea, dimly lighted at occasional windows.  Boughs swayed
+and sang.  A taxi-cab swirled round a corner like a cat, and purred to
+a standstill.  There was a light of an open hall door.  But all far
+away, it seemed, unthinkably far away.  Aaron sat still and watched.
+He was frightened, it all seemed so sinister, this dark, bristling
+heart of London.  Wind boomed and tore like waves ripping a shingle
+beach.  The two white lights of the taxi stared round and departed,
+leaving the coast at the foot of the cliffs deserted, faintly spilled
+with light from the high lamp.  Beyond there, on the outer rim, a
+policeman passed solidly.
+
+Josephine was weeping steadily all the time, but inaudibly.
+Occasionally she blew her nose and wiped her face.  But he had not
+realized.  She hardly realized herself.  She sat near the strange
+man.  He seemed so still and remote--so fascinating.
+
+"Give me your hand," she said to him, subduedly.
+
+He took her cold hand in his warm, living grasp.  She wept more
+bitterly.  He noticed at last.
+
+"Why are you crying?" he said.
+
+"I don't know," she replied, rather matter-of-fact, through her tears.
+
+So he let her cry, and said no more, but sat with her cold hand in his
+warm, easy clasp.
+
+"You'll think me a fool," she said.  "I don't know why I cry."
+
+"You can cry for nothing, can't you?" he said.
+
+"Why, yes, but it's not very sensible."
+
+He laughed shortly.
+
+"Sensible!" he said.
+
+"You are a strange man," she said.
+
+But he took no notice.
+
+"Did you ever intend to marry Jim Bricknell?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"I can't imagine it," he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+Both were watching blankly the roaring night of mid-London, the
+phantasmagoric old Bloomsbury Square.  They were still hand in hand.
+
+"Such as you shouldn't marry," he said.
+
+"But why not?  I want to."
+
+"You think you do."
+
+"Yes indeed I do."
+
+He did not say any more.
+
+"Why shouldn't I?" she persisted.  "I don't know--"
+
+And again he was silent.
+
+"You've known some life, haven't you?" he asked.
+
+"Me?  Why?"
+
+"You seem to."
+
+Do I?  I'm sorry.  Do I seem vicious?--No, I'm not vicious.--I've seen
+some life, perhaps--in Paris mostly.  But not much.  Why do you ask?"
+
+"I wasn't thinking."
+
+"But what do you mean?  What are you thinking?"
+
+"Nothing.  Nothing."
+
+"Don't be so irritating," said she.
+
+But he did not answer, and she became silent also.  They sat hand
+in hand.
+
+"Won't you kiss me?" came her voice out of the darkness.
+
+He waited some moments, then his voice sounded gently, half mocking,
+half reproachful.
+
+"Nay!" he said.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"I don't want to."
+
+"Why not?" she asked.
+
+He laughed, but did not reply.
+
+She sat perfectly still for some time.  She had ceased to cry.  In the
+darkness her face was set and sullen.  Sometimes a spray of rain blew
+across it.  She drew her hand from his, and rose to her feet.
+
+"Ill go in now," she said.
+
+"You're not offended, are you?" he asked.
+
+"No.  Why?"
+
+They stepped down in the darkness from their perch.
+
+"I wondered."
+
+She strode off for some little way.  Then she turned and said:
+
+"Yes, I think it is rather insulting."
+
+"Nay," he said.  "Not it!  Not it!"
+
+And he followed her to the gate.
+
+She opened with her key, and they crossed the road to her door.
+
+"Good-night," she said, turning and giving him her hand.
+
+"You'll come and have dinner with me--or lunch--will you?  When shall
+we make it?" he asked.
+
+"Well, I can't say for certain--I'm very busy just now.  I'll let
+you know."
+
+A policeman shed his light on the pair of them as they stood on the
+step.
+
+"All right," said Aaron, dropping back, and she hastily opened the big
+door, and entered.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A PUNCH IN THE WIND
+
+
+The Lillys had a labourer's cottage in Hampshire--pleasant enough.
+They were poor.  Lilly was a little, dark, thin, quick fellow, his
+wife was strong and fair.  They had known Robert and Julia for some
+years, but Josephine and Jim were new acquaintances,--fairly new.
+
+One day in early spring Lilly had a telegram, "Coming to see you
+arrive 4:30--Bricknell."  He was surprised, but he and his wife got
+the spare room ready.  And at four o'clock Lilly went off to the
+station.  He was a few minutes late, and saw Jim's tall, rather
+elegant figure stalking down the station path.  Jim had been an
+officer in the regular army, and still spent hours with his tailor.
+But instead of being a soldier he was a sort of socialist, and a red-
+hot revolutionary of a very ineffectual sort.
+
+"Good lad!" he exclaimed, as Lilly came up.  "Thought you wouldn't
+mind."
+
+"Not at all.  Let me carry your bag."  Jim had a bag and a knapsack.
+
+"I had an inspiration this morning," said Jim.  "I suddenly saw that
+if there was a man in England who could save me, it was you."
+
+"Save you from what?" asked Lilly, rather abashed.
+
+"Eh--?" and Jim stooped, grinning at the smaller man.
+
+Lilly was somewhat puzzled, but he had a certain belief in himself as
+a saviour.  The two men tramped rather incongruously through the lanes
+to the cottage.
+
+Tanny was in the doorway as they came up the garden path.
+
+"So nice to see you!  Are you all right?" she said.
+
+"A-one" said Jim, grinning.  "Nice of you to have me."
+
+"Oh, we're awfully pleased."
+
+Jim dropped his knapsack on the broad sofa.
+
+"I've brought some food," he said.
+
+"Have you!  That's sensible of you.  We can't get a great deal here,
+except just at week-ends," said Tanny.
+
+Jim fished out a pound of sausages and a pot of fish paste.
+
+"How lovely the sausages," said Tanny.  "We'll have them for dinner
+tonight--and we'll have the other for tea now.  You'd like a wash?"
+
+But Jim had already opened his bag, taken off his coat, and put on an
+old one.
+
+"Thanks," he said.
+
+Lilly made the tea, and at length all sat down.
+
+"Well how unexpected this is--and how nice," said Tanny.
+
+"Jolly--eh?" said Jim.
+
+He ate rapidly, stuffing his mouth too full.
+
+"How is everybody?" asked Tanny.
+
+"All right.  Julia's gone with Cyril Scott.  Can't stand that fellow,
+can you?  What?"
+
+"Yes, I think he's rather nice," said Tanny.  "What will Robert do?"
+
+"Have a shot at Josephine, apparently."
+
+"Really?  Is he in love with her?  I thought so.  And she likes him
+too, doesn't she?" said Tanny.
+
+"Very likely," said Jim.
+
+"I suppose you're jealous," laughed Tanny.
+
+"Me!" Jim shook his head.  "Not a bit.  Like to see the ball kept
+rolling."
+
+"What have you been doing lately?"
+
+"Been staying a few days with my wife."
+
+"No, really!  I can't believe it."
+
+Jim had a French wife, who had divorced him, and two children.  Now he
+was paying visits to this wife again: purely friendly.  Tanny did most
+of the talking.  Jim excited her, with his way of looking in her face
+and grinning wolfishly, and at the same time asking to be saved.
+
+After tea, he wanted to send telegrams, so Lilly took him round to the
+village post-office.  Telegrams were a necessary part of his life.  He
+had to be suddenly starting off to keep sudden appointments, or he
+felt he was a void in the atmosphere.  He talked to Lilly about social
+reform, and so on.  Jim's work in town was merely nominal.  He spent
+his time wavering about and going to various meetings, philandering
+and weeping.
+
+Lilly kept in the back of his mind the Saving which James had come to
+look for.  He intended to do his best.  After dinner the three sat
+cosily round the kitchen fire.
+
+"But what do you really think will happen to the world?" Lilly asked
+Jim, amid much talk.
+
+"What?  There's something big coming," said Jim.
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"Watch Ireland, and watch Japan--they're the two poles of the world,"
+said Jim.
+
+"I thought Russia and America," said Lilly.
+
+"Eh?  What?  Russia and America!  They'll depend on Ireland and Japan.
+I know it.  I've had a vision of it.  Ireland on this side and Japan
+on the other--they'll settle it."
+
+"I don't see how," said Lilly.
+
+"I don't see HOW--But I had a vision of it."
+
+"What sort of vision?"
+
+"Couldn't describe it."
+
+"But you don't think much of the Japanese, do you?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Don't I!  Don't I!" said Jim.  "What, don't you think they're
+wonderful?"
+
+"No.  I think they're rather unpleasant."
+
+"I think the salvation of the world lies with them."
+
+"Funny salvation," said Lilly.  "I think they're anything but angels."
+
+"Do you though?  Now that's funny.  Why?"
+
+"Looking at them even.  I knew a Russian doctor who'd been through the
+Russo-Japanese war, and who had gone a bit cracked.  He said he saw the
+Japs rush a trench.  They threw everything away and flung themselves
+through the Russian fire and simply dropped in masses.  But those that
+reached the trenches jumped in with bare hands on the Russians and
+tore their faces apart and bit their throats out--fairly ripped the
+faces off the bone.--It had sent the doctor a bit cracked.  He said
+the wounded were awful,--their faces torn off and their throats
+mangled--and dead Japs with flesh between the teeth--God knows if it's
+true.  But that's the impression the Japanese had made on this man.
+It had affected his mind really."
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and smiled as if he were pleased.
+
+"No--really--!" he said.
+
+"Anyhow they're more demon than angel, I believe," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, no, Rawdon, but you always exaggerate," said Tanny.
+
+"Maybe," said Lilly.
+
+"I think Japanese are fascinating--fascinating--so quick, and such
+FORCE in them--"
+
+"Rather!--eh?" said Jim, looking with a quick smile at Tanny.
+
+"I think a Japanese lover would be marvellous," she laughed riskily.
+
+"I s'd think he would," said Jim, screwing up his eyes.
+
+"Do you hate the normal British as much as I do?" she asked him.
+
+"Hate them!  Hate them!" he said, with an intimate grin.
+
+"Their beastly virtue," said she.  "And I believe there's nobody more
+vicious underneath."
+
+"Nobody!" said Jim.
+
+"But you're British yourself," said Lilly to Jim.
+
+"No, I'm Irish.  Family's Irish--my mother was a Fitz-patrick."
+
+"Anyhow you live in England."
+
+"Because they won't let me go to Ireland."
+
+The talk drifted.  Jim finished up all the beer, and they prepared to
+go to bed.  Jim was a bit tipsy, grinning.  He asked for bread and
+cheese to take upstairs.
+
+"Will you have supper?" said Lilly.  He was surprised, because Jim had
+eaten strangely much at dinner.
+
+"No--where's the loaf?" And he cut himself about half of it. There was
+no cheese.
+
+"Bread'll do," said Jim.
+
+"Sit down and eat it.  Have cocoa with it," said Tanny.
+
+"No, I like to have it in my bedroom."
+
+"You don't eat bread in the night?" said Lilly.
+
+"I do."
+
+"What a funny thing to do."
+
+The cottage was in darkness.  The Lillys slept soundly.  Jim woke up
+and chewed bread and slept again.  In the morning at dawn he rose and
+went downstairs.  Lilly heard him roaming about--heard the woman come
+in to clean--heard them talking.  So he got up to look after his
+visitor, though it was not seven o'clock, and the woman was busy.--But
+before he went down, he heard Jim come upstairs again.
+
+Mrs. Short was busy in the kitchen when Lilly went down.
+
+"The other gentleman have been down, Sir," said Mrs. Short.  "He
+asked me where the bread and butter were, so I said should I cut him
+a piece.  But he wouldn't let me do it.  I gave him a knife and he
+took it for himself, in the pantry."
+
+"I say, Bricknell," said Lilly at breakfast time, "why do you eat so
+much bread?"
+
+"I've got to feed up.  I've been starved during this damned war."
+
+"But hunks of bread won't feed you up."
+
+"Gives the stomach something to work at, and prevents it grinding on
+the nerves," said Jim.
+
+"But surely you don't want to keep your stomach always full and heavy."
+
+"I do, my boy.  I do.  It needs keeping solid.  I'm losing life, if I
+don't.  I tell you I'm losing life.  Let me put something inside me."
+
+"I don't believe bread's any use."
+
+During breakfast Jim talked about the future of the world.
+
+"I reckon Christ's the finest thing time has ever produced," said he;
+"and will remain it."
+
+"But you don't want crucifixions _ad infinitum_," said Lilly.
+
+"What?  Why not?"
+
+"Once is enough--and have done."
+
+"Don't you think love and sacrifice are the finest things in life?"
+said Jim, over his bacon.
+
+"Depends WHAT love, and what sacrifice," said Lilly.  "If I really
+believe in an Almighty God, I am willing to sacrifice for Him.  That
+is, I'm willing to yield my own personal interest to the bigger
+creative interest.--But it's obvious Almighty God isn't mere Love."
+
+"I think it is.  Love and only love," said Jim.  "I think the greatest
+joy is sacrificing oneself to love."
+
+"To SOMEONE you love, you mean," said Tanny.
+
+"No I don't.  I don't mean someone at all.  I mean love--love--love.
+I sacrifice myself to love.  I reckon that's the highest man is
+capable of."
+
+"But you can't sacrifice yourself to an abstract principle," said
+Tanny.
+
+"That's just what you can do.  And that's the beauty of it.  Who
+represents the principle doesn't matter.  Christ is the principle
+of love," said Jim.
+
+"But no!" said Tanny.  "It MUST be more individual.  It must be
+SOMEBODY you love, not abstract love in itself.  How can you
+sacrifice yourself to an abstraction."
+
+"Ha, I think Love and your Christ detestable," said Lilly--"a sheer
+ignominy."
+
+"Finest thing the world has produced," said Jim.
+
+"No.  A thing which sets itself up to be betrayed!  No, it's foul.
+Don't you see it's the Judas principle you really worship.  Judas
+is the real hero.  But for Judas the whole show would have been
+_manque_."
+
+"Oh yes," said Jim.  "Judas was inevitable.  I'm not sure that Judas
+wasn't the greatest of the disciples--and Jesus knew it.  I'm not sure
+Judas wasn't the disciple Jesus loved."
+
+"Jesus certainly encouraged him in his Judas tricks," said Tanny.
+
+Jim grinned knowingly at Lilly.
+
+"Then it was a nasty combination.  And anything which turns on a Judas
+climax is a dirty show, to my thinking.  I think your Judas is a
+rotten, dirty worm, just a dirty little self-conscious sentimental
+twister.  And out of all Christianity he is the hero today.  When
+people say Christ they mean Judas.  They find him luscious on the
+palate.  And Jesus fostered him--" said Lilly.
+
+"He's a profound figure, is Judas.  It's taken two thousand years to
+begin to understand him," said Jim, pushing the bread and marmalade
+into his mouth.
+
+"A traitor is a traitor--no need to understand any further.  And a
+system which rests all its weight on a piece of treachery makes that
+treachery not only inevitable but sacred.  That's why I'm sick of
+Christianity.--At any rate this modern Christ-mongery."
+
+"The finest thing the world has produced, or ever will produce--Christ
+and Judas--" said Jim.
+
+"Not to me," said Lilly.  "Foul combination."
+
+It was a lovely morning in early March.  Violets were out, and the
+first wild anemones.  The sun was quite warm.  The three were about
+to take out a picnic lunch.  Lilly however was suffering from Jim's
+presence.
+
+"Jolly nice here," said Jim.  "Mind if I stay till Saturday?"
+
+There was a pause.  Lilly felt he was being bullied, almost obscenely
+bullied.  Was he going to agree?  Suddenly he looked up at Jim.
+
+"I'd rather you went tomorrow," he said.
+
+Tanny, who was sitting opposite Jim, dropped her head in confusion.
+
+"What's tomorrow?" said Jim.
+
+"Thursday," said Lilly.
+
+"Thursday," repeated Jim.  And he looked up and got Lilly's eye.  He
+wanted to say "Friday then?"
+
+"Yes, I'd rather you went Thursday," repeated Lilly.
+
+"But Rawdon--!" broke in Tanny, who was suffering.  She stopped,
+however.
+
+"We can walk across country with you some way if you like," said Lilly
+to Jim.  It was a sort of compromise.
+
+"Fine!" said Jim.  "We'll do that, then."
+
+It was lovely sunshine, and they wandered through the woods.  Between
+Jim and Tanny was a sort of growing _rapprochement_, which got on
+Lilly's nerves.
+
+"What the hell do you take that beastly personal tone for?" cried
+Lilly at Tanny, as the three sat under a leafless great beech-tree.
+
+"But I'm not personal at all, am I, Mr. Bricknell?" said Tanny.
+
+Jim watched Lilly, and grinned pleasedly.
+
+"Why shouldn't you be, anyhow?" he said.
+
+"Yes!" she retorted.  "Why not!"
+
+"Not while I'm here.  I loathe the slimy creepy personal intimacy.--
+'Don't you think, Mr. Bricknell, that it's lovely to be able to talk
+quite simply to somebody?  Oh, it's such a relief, after most people
+---'"  Lilly mimicked his wife's last speech savagely.
+
+"But I MEAN it," cried Tanny.  "It is lovely."
+
+"Dirty messing," said Lilly angrily.
+
+Jim watched the dark, irascible little man with amusement.  They rose,
+and went to look for an inn, and beer.  Tanny still clung rather
+stickily to Jim's side.
+
+But it was a lovely day, the first of all the days of spring, with
+crocuses and wall-flowers in the cottage gardens, and white cocks
+crowing in the quiet hamlet.
+
+When they got back in the afternoon to the cottage, they found a
+telegram for Jim.  He let the Lillys see it--"Meet you for a walk on
+your return journey Lois."  At once Tanny wanted to know all about
+Lois.  Lois was a nice girl, well-to-do middle-class, but also an
+actress, and she would do anything Jim wanted.
+
+"I must get a wire to her to meet me tomorrow," he said.  "Where shall
+I say?"
+
+Lilly produced the map, and they decided on time and station at which
+Lois coming out of London, should meet Jim.  Then the happy pair could
+walk along the Thames valley, spending a night perhaps at Marlowe, or
+some such place.
+
+Off went Jim and Lilly once more to the postoffice.  They were quite
+good friends.  Having so inhospitably fixed the hour of departure,
+Lilly wanted to be nice.  Arrived at the postoffice, they found it
+shut: half-day closing for the little shop.
+
+"Well," said Lilly.  "We'll go to the station."
+
+They proceeded to the station--found the station-master--were conducted
+down to the signal-box.  Lilly naturally hung back from people, but Jim
+was hob-nob with the station-master and the signal man, quite officer-
+and-my-men kind of thing.  Lilly sat out on the steps of the signal-
+box, rather ashamed, while the long telegram was shouted over the
+telephone to the junction town--first the young lady and her address,
+then the message "Meet me X. station 3:40 tomorrow walk back great
+pleasure Jim."
+
+Anyhow that was done.  They went home to tea.  After tea, as the
+evening fell, Lilly suggested a little stroll in the woods, while
+Tanny prepared the dinner.  Jim agreed, and they set out.  The two
+men wandered through the trees in the dusk, till they came to a bank
+on the farther edge of the wood.  There they sat down.
+
+And there Lilly said what he had to say.  "As a matter of fact," he
+said, "it's nothing but love and self-sacrifice which makes you feel
+yourself losing life."
+
+"You're wrong.  Only love brings it back--and wine.  If I drink a
+bottle of Burgundy I feel myself restored at the middle--right here!
+I feel the energy back again.  And if I can fall in love--But it's
+becoming so damned hard--"
+
+"What, to fall in love?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why not leave off trying!  What do you want to poke yourself and
+prod yourself into love, for?"
+
+"Because I'm DEAD without it.  I'm dead.  I'm dying."
+
+"Only because you force yourself.  If you drop working yourself up--"
+
+"I shall die.  I only live when I can fall in love.  Otherwise I'm
+dying by inches.  Why, man, you don't know what it was like.  I used
+to get the most grand feelings--like a great rush of force, or light--
+a great rush--right here, as I've said, at the solar plexus.  And it
+would come any time--anywhere--no matter where I was.  And then I was
+all right.
+
+"All right for what?--for making love?"
+
+"Yes, man, I was."
+
+"And now you aren't?--Oh, well, leave love alone, as any twopenny
+doctor would tell you."
+
+"No, you're off it there.  It's nothing technical.  Technically I can
+make love as much as you like.  It's nothing a doctor has any say in.
+It's what I feel inside me.  I feel the life going.  I know it's going.
+I never get those inrushes now, unless I drink a jolly lot, or if I
+possibly could fall in love.  Technically, I'm potent all right--oh,
+yes!"
+
+"You should leave yourself and your inrushes alone."
+
+"But you can't.  It's a sort of ache."
+
+"Then you should stiffen your backbone.  It's your backbone that
+matters.  You shouldn't want to abandon yourself.  You shouldn't want
+to fling yourself all loose into a woman's lap.  You should stand by
+yourself and learn to be by yourself.  Why don't you be more like the
+Japanese you talk about?  Quiet, aloof little devils.  They don't
+bother about being loved.  They keep themselves taut in their own
+selves--there, at the bottom of the spine--the devil's own power
+they've got there."
+
+Jim mused a bit.
+
+"Think they have?" he laughed.  It seemed comic to him.
+
+"Sure!  Look at them.  Why can't you gather yourself there?"
+
+"At the tail?"
+
+"Yes.  Hold yourself firm there."
+
+Jim broke into a cackle of a laugh, and rose.  The two went through
+the dark woods back to the cottage.  Jim staggered and stumbled like
+a drunken man: or worse, like a man with locomotor ataxia: as if he
+had no power in his lower limbs.
+
+"Walk there--!" said Lilly, finding him the smoothest bit of the dark
+path.  But Jim stumbled and shambled, in a state of nauseous weak
+relaxation.  However, they reached the cottage: and food and beer--
+and Tanny, piqued with curiosity to know what the men had been saying
+privately to each other.
+
+After dinner they sat once more talking round the fire.
+
+Lilly sat in a small chair facing the fire, the other two in the
+armchairs on either side the hearth.
+
+"How nice it will be for you, walking with Lois towards London
+tomorrow," gushed Tanny sentimentally.
+
+"Good God!" said Lilly.  "Why the dickens doesn't he walk by himself,
+without wanting a woman always there, to hold his hand."
+
+"Don't be so spiteful," said Tanny.  "YOU see that you have a woman
+always there, to hold YOUR hand."
+
+"My hand doesn't need holding," snapped Lilly.
+
+"Doesn't it!  More than most men's!  But you're so beastly ungrateful
+and mannish.  Because I hold you safe enough all the time you like to
+pretend you're doing it all yourself."
+
+"All right.  Don't drag yourself in," said Lilly, detesting his wife
+at that moment.  "Anyhow," and he turned to Jim, "it's time you'd done
+slobbering yourself over a lot of little women, one after the other."
+
+"Why shouldn't I, if I like it?" said Jim.
+
+"Yes, why not?" said Tanny.
+
+"Because it makes a fool of you.  Look at you, stumbling and staggering
+with no use in your legs.  I'd be ashamed if I were you."
+
+"Would you?" said Jim.
+
+"I would.  And it's nothing but your wanting to be loved which does it.
+A maudlin crying to be loved, which makes your knees all go rickety."
+
+"Think that's it?" said Jim.
+
+"What else is it.  You haven't been here a day, but you must telegraph
+for some female to be ready to hold your hand the moment you go away.
+And before she lets go, you'll be wiring for another.  YOU WANT TO BE
+LOVED, you want to be loved--a man of your years.  It's disgusting--"
+
+"I don't see it.  I believe in love--" said Jim, watching and grinning
+oddly.
+
+"Bah, love!  Messing, that's what it is.  It wouldn't matter if it
+did you no harm.  But when you stagger and stumble down a road, out
+of sheer sloppy relaxation of your will---"
+
+At this point Jim suddenly sprang from his chair at Lilly, and gave
+him two or three hard blows with his fists, upon the front of the
+body.  Then he sat down in his own chair again, saying sheepishly:
+
+"I knew I should have to do it, if he said any more."
+
+Lilly sat motionless as a statue, his face like paper.  One of the
+blows had caught him rather low, so that he was almost winded and
+could not breathe.  He sat rigid, paralysed as a winded man is.  But
+he wouldn't let it be seen.  With all his will he prevented himself
+from gasping.  Only through his parted lips he drew tiny gasps,
+controlled, nothing revealed to the other two.  He hated them both
+far too much.
+
+For some minutes there was dead silence, whilst Lilly silently and
+viciously fought for his breath.  Tanny opened her eyes wide in a
+sort of pleased bewilderment, and Jim turned his face aside, and
+hung his clasped hands between his knees.
+
+"There's a great silence, suddenly!" said Tanny.
+
+"What is there to say?" ejaculated Lilly rapidly, with a spoonful of
+breath which he managed to compress and control into speech.  Then he
+sat motionless again, concerned with the business of getting back his
+wind, and not letting the other two see.
+
+Jim jerked in his chair, and looked round.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like the man," he said, in a rather small
+voice.  "But I knew if he went on I should have to do it."
+
+To Lilly, rigid and physically preoccupied, there sounded a sort of
+self-consciousness in Jim's voice, as if the whole thing had been
+semi-deliberate.  He detected the sort of maudlin deliberateness
+which goes with hysterics, and he was colder, more icy than ever.
+
+Tanny looked at Lilly, puzzled, bewildered, but still rather pleased,
+as if she demanded an answer.  None being forthcoming, she said:
+
+"Of course, you mustn't expect to say all those things without rousing
+a man."
+
+Still Lilly did not answer.  Jim glanced at him, then looked at Tanny.
+
+"It isn't that I don't like him," he said, slowly.  "I like him better
+than any man I've ever known, I believe."  He clasped his hands and
+turned aside his face.
+
+"Judas!" flashed through Lilly's mind.
+
+Again Tanny looked for her husband's answer.
+
+"Yes, Rawdon," she said.  "You can't say the things you do without
+their having an effect.  You really ask for it, you know."
+
+"It's no matter."  Lilly squeezed the words out coldly.  "He wanted to
+do it, and he did it."
+
+A dead silence ensued now.  Tanny looked from man to man.
+
+"I could feel it coming on me," said Jim.
+
+"Of course!" said Tanny.  "Rawdon doesn't know the things he says."
+She was pleased that he had had to pay for them, for once.
+
+It takes a man a long time to get his breath back, after a sharp blow
+in the wind.  Lilly was managing by degrees.  The others no doubt
+attributed his silence to deep or fierce thoughts.  It was nothing
+of the kind, merely a cold struggle to get his wind back, without
+letting them know he was struggling: and a sheer, stock-stiff hatred
+of the pair of them.
+
+"I like the man," said Jim.  "Never liked a man more than I like him."
+He spoke as if with difficulty.
+
+"The man" stuck safely in Lilly's ears.
+
+"Oh, well," he managed to say.  "It's nothing.  I've done my talking
+and had an answer, for once."
+
+"Yes, Rawdy, you've had an answer, for once.  Usually you don't get an
+answer, you know--and that's why you go so far--in the things you say.
+Now you'll know how you make people feel."
+
+"Quite!" said Lilly.
+
+"_I_ don't feel anything.  I don't mind what he says," said Jim.
+
+"Yes, but he ought to know the things he DOES say," said Tanny.  "He
+goes on, without considering the person he's talking to.  This time
+it's come back on him.  He mustn't say such personal things, if he's
+not going to risk an answer."
+
+"I don't mind what he says.  I don't mind a bit," said Jim.
+
+"Nor do I mind," said Lilly indifferently.  "I say what I feel--You do
+as you feel--There's an end of it."
+
+A sheepish sort of silence followed this speech.  It was broken by a
+sudden laugh from Tanny.
+
+"The things that happen to us!" she said, laughing rather shrilly.
+"Suddenly, like a thunderbolt, we're all struck into silence!"
+
+"Rum game, eh!" said Jim, grinning.
+
+"Isn't it funny!  Isn't life too funny!"  She looked again at her
+husband.  "But, Rawdy, you must admit it was your own fault."
+
+Lilly's stiff face did not change.
+
+"Why FAULT!" he said, looking at her coldly.  "What is there to talk
+about?"
+
+"Usually there's so much," she said sarcastically.
+
+A few phrases dribbled out of the silence.  In vain Jim, tried to
+get Lilly to thaw, and in vain Tanny gave her digs at her husband.
+Lilly's stiff, inscrutable face did not change, he was polite and
+aloof.  So they all went to bed.
+
+In the morning, the walk was to take place, as arranged, Lilly and
+Tanny accompanying Jim to the third station across country.  The
+morning was lovely, the country beautiful.  Lilly liked the
+countryside and enjoyed the walk.  But a hardness inside himself
+never relaxed.  Jim talked a little again about the future of the
+world, and a higher state of Christlikeness in man.  But Lilly only
+laughed.  Then Tanny managed to get ahead with Jim, sticking to his
+side and talking sympathetic personalities.  But Lilly, feeling it
+from afar, ran after them and caught them up.  They were silent.
+
+"What was the interesting topic?" he said cuttingly.
+
+"Nothing at all!" said Tanny, nettled.  "Why must you interfere?"
+
+"Because I intend to," said Lilly.
+
+And the two others fell apart, as if severed with a knife.  Jim walked
+rather sheepishly, as if cut out.
+
+So they came at last past the canals to the wayside station: and at
+last Jim's train came.  They all said goodbye.  Jim and Tanny were
+both waiting for Lilly to show some sign of real reconciliation.  But
+none came.  He was cheerful and aloof.
+
+"Goodbye," he said to Jim.  "Hope Lois will be there all right.  Third
+station on.  Goodbye!  Goodbye!"
+
+"You'll come to Rackham?" said Jim, leaning out of the train.
+
+"We should love to," called Tanny, after the receding train.
+
+"All right," said Lilly, non-committal.
+
+But he and his wife never saw Jim again.  Lilly never intended to see
+him: a devil sat in the little man's breast.
+
+"You shouldn't play at little Jesus, coming so near to people, wanting
+to help them," was Tanny's last word.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+LOW-WATER MARK
+
+
+Tanny went away to Norway to visit her people, for the first time for
+three years.  Lilly did not go: he did not want to.  He came to London
+and settled in a room over Covent Garden market.  The room was high
+up, a fair size, and stood at the corner of one of the streets and
+the market itself, looking down on the stalls and the carts and the
+arcade.  Lilly would climb out of the window and sit for hours watching
+the behaviour of the great draught-horses which brought the mountains
+of boxes and vegetables.  Funny half-human creatures they seemed, so
+massive and fleshy, yet so Cockney.  There was one which could not
+bear donkeys, and which used to stretch out its great teeth like some
+massive serpent after every poor diminutive ass that came with a
+coster's barrow.  Another great horse could not endure standing.  It
+would shake itself and give little starts, and back into the heaps of
+carrots and broccoli, whilst the driver went into a frenzy of rage.
+
+There was always something to watch.  One minute it was two great
+loads of empty crates, which in passing had got entangled, and reeled,
+leaning to fall disastrously.  Then the drivers cursed and swore and
+dismounted and stared at their jeopardised loads: till a thin fellow
+was persuaded to scramble up the airy mountains of cages, like a
+monkey.  And he actually managed to put them to rights.  Great sigh
+of relief when the vans rocked out of the market.
+
+Again there was a particular page-boy in buttons, with a round and
+perky behind, who nimbly carried a tea-tray from somewhere to
+somewhere, under the arches beside the market.  The great brawny
+porters would tease him, and he would stop to give them cheek.  One
+afternoon a giant lunged after him: the boy darted gracefully among
+the heaps of vegetables, still bearing aloft his tea-tray, like some
+young blue-buttoned acolyte fleeing before a false god.  The giant
+rolled after him--when alas, the acolyte of the tea-tray slipped
+among the vegetables, and down came the tray.  Then tears, and a
+roar of unfeeling mirth from the giants.  Lilly felt they were going
+to make it up to him.
+
+Another afternoon a young swell sauntered persistently among the
+vegetables, and Lilly, seated in his high little balcony, wondered
+why.  But at last, a taxi, and a very expensive female, in a sort of
+silver brocade gown and a great fur shawl and ospreys in her bonnet.
+Evidently an assignation.  Yet what could be more conspicuous than
+this elegant pair, picking their way through the cabbage-leaves?
+
+And then, one cold grey afternoon in early April, a man in a black
+overcoat and a bowler hat, walking uncertainly.  Lilly had risen and
+was just retiring out of the chill, damp air.  For some reason he
+lingered to watch the figure.  The man was walking east.  He stepped
+rather insecurely off the pavement, and wavered across the setts
+between the wheels of the standing vans.  And suddenly he went down.
+Lilly could not see him on the ground, but he saw some van-men go
+forward, and he saw one of them pick up the man's hat.
+
+"I'd better go down," said Lilly to himself.
+
+So he began running down the four long flights of stone stairs, past
+the many doors of the multifarious business premises, and out into the
+market.  A little crowd had gathered, and a large policeman was just
+rowing into the centre of the interest.  Lilly, always a hoverer on
+the edge of public commotions, hung now hesitating on the outskirts
+of the crowd.
+
+"What is it?" he said, to a rather sniffy messenger boy.
+
+"Drunk," said the messenger boy: except that, in unblushing cockney,
+he pronounced it "Drank."
+
+Lilly hung further back on the edge of the little crowd.
+
+"Come on here.  Where d' you want to go?" he heard the hearty tones of
+the policeman.
+
+"I'm all right.  I'm all right," came the testy drunken answer.
+
+"All right, are yer!  All right, and then some,--come on, get on
+your pins."
+
+"I'm all right!  I'm all right."
+
+The voice made Lilly peer between the people.  And sitting on the
+granite setts, being hauled up by a burly policeman, he saw our
+acquaintance Aaron, very pale in the face and a little dishevelled.
+
+"Like me to tuck the sheets round you, shouldn't you?  Fancy yourself
+snug in bed, don't you?  You won't believe you're right in the way of
+traffic, will you now, in Covent Garden Market?  Come on, we'll see to
+you."  And the policeman hoisted the bitter and unwilling Aaron.
+
+Lilly was quickly at the centre of the affair, unobtrusive like a
+shadow, different from the other people.
+
+"Help him up to my room, will you?" he said to the constable.  "Friend
+of mine."
+
+The large constable looked down on the bare-headed wispy, unobtrusive
+Lilly with good-humoured suspicion and incredulity.  Lilly could not
+have borne it if the policeman had uttered any of this cockney
+suspicion, so he watched him.  There was a great gulf between the
+public official and the odd, quiet little individual--yet Lilly had
+his way.
+
+"Which room?" said the policeman, dubious.
+
+Lilly pointed quickly round.  Then he said to Aaron:
+
+"Were you coming to see me, Sisson?  You'll come in, won't you?"
+
+Aaron nodded rather stupidly and testily.  His eyes looked angry.
+Somebody stuck his hat on his head for him, and made him look a fool.
+Lilly took it off again, and carried it for him.  He turned and the
+crowd eased.  He watched Aaron sharply, and saw that it was with
+difficulty he could walk.  So he caught him by the arm on the other
+side from the policeman, and they crossed the road to the pavement.
+
+"Not so much of this sort of thing these days," said the policeman.
+
+"Not so much opportunity," said Lilly.
+
+"More than there was, though.  Coming back to the old days, like.
+Working round, bit by bit."
+
+They had arrived at the stairs.  Aaron stumbled up.
+
+"Steady now!  Steady does it!" said the policeman, steering his charge.
+There was a curious breach of distance between Lilly and the constable.
+
+At last Lilly opened his own door.  The room was pleasant.  The fire
+burned warm, the piano stood open, the sofa was untidy with cushions
+and papers.  Books and papers covered the big writing desk.  Beyond
+the screen made by the bookshelves and the piano were two beds, with
+washstand by one of the large windows, the one through which Lilly
+had climbed.
+
+The policeman looked round curiously.
+
+"More cosy here than in the lock-up, sir!" he said.
+
+Lilly laughed.  He was hastily clearing the sofa.
+
+"Sit on the sofa, Sisson," he said.
+
+The policeman lowered his charge, with a--
+
+"Right we are, then!"
+
+Lilly felt in his pocket, and gave the policeman half a crown.  But
+he was watching Aaron, who sat stupidly on the sofa, very pale and
+semi-conscious.
+
+"Do you feel ill, Sisson?" he said sharply.
+
+Aaron looked back at him with heavy eyes, and shook his head slightly.
+
+"I believe you are," said Lilly, taking his hand.
+
+"Might be a bit o' this flu, you know," said the policeman.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly.  "Where is there a doctor?" he added, on reflection.
+
+"The nearest?" said the policeman.  And he told him.  "Leave a message
+for you, Sir?"
+
+Lilly wrote his address on a card, then changed his mind.
+
+"No, I'll run round myself if necessary," he said.
+
+And the policeman departed.
+
+"You'll go to bed, won't you?" said Lilly to Aaron, when the door was
+shut.  Aaron shook his head sulkily.
+
+"I would if I were you.  You can stay here till you're all right.  I'm
+alone, so it doesn't matter."
+
+But Aaron had relapsed into semi-consciousness.  Lilly put the big
+kettle on the gas stove, the little kettle on the fire.  Then he
+hovered in front of the stupefied man.  He felt uneasy.  Again he
+took Aaron's hand and felt the pulse.
+
+"I'm sure you aren't well.  You must go to bed," he said.  And he
+kneeled and unfastened his visitor's boots.  Meanwhile the kettle
+began to boil, he put a hot-water bottle into the bed.
+
+"Let us get your overcoat off," he said to the stupefied man.  "Come
+along."  And with coaxing and pulling and pushing he got off the
+overcoat and coat and waistcoat.
+
+At last Aaron was undressed and in bed.  Lilly brought him tea.  With
+a dim kind of obedience he took the cup and would drink.  He looked at
+Lilly with heavy eyes.
+
+"I gave in, I gave in to her, else I should ha' been all right,"
+he said.
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"I gave in to her--and afterwards I cried, thinking of Lottie and the
+children.  I felt my heart break, you know.  And that's what did it.
+I should have been all right if I hadn't given in to her--"
+
+"To whom?" said Lilly.
+
+"Josephine.  I felt, the minute I was loving her, I'd done myself.
+And I had.  Everything came back on me.  If I hadn't given in to her,
+I should ha' kept all right."
+
+"Don't bother now.  Get warm and still--"
+
+"I felt it--I felt it go, inside me, the minute I gave in to her.
+It's perhaps killed me."
+
+"No, not it.  Never mind, be still.  Be still, and you'll be all right
+in the morning."
+
+"It's my own fault, for giving in to her.  If I'd kept myself back, my
+liver wouldn't have broken inside me, and I shouldn't have been sick.
+And I knew--"
+
+"Never mind now.  Have you drunk your tea?  Lie down.  Lie down, and
+go to sleep."
+
+Lilly pushed Aaron down in the bed, and covered him over.  Then he
+thrust his hands under the bedclothes and felt his feet--still cold.
+He arranged the water bottle.  Then he put another cover on the bed.
+
+Aaron lay still, rather grey and peaked-looking, in a stillness that
+was not healthy.  For some time Lilly went about stealthily, glancing
+at his patient from time to time.  Then he sat down to read.
+
+He was roused after a time by a moaning of troubled breathing and a
+fretful stirring in the bed.  He went across.  Aaron's eyes were open,
+and dark looking.
+
+"Have a little hot milk," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron shook his head faintly, not noticing.
+
+"A little Bovril?"
+
+The same faint shake.
+
+Then Lilly wrote a note for the doctor, went into the office on the
+same landing, and got a clerk, who would be leaving in a few minutes,
+to call with the note.  When he came back he found Aaron still
+watching.
+
+"Are you here by yourself?" asked the sick man.
+
+"Yes.  My wife's gone to Norway."
+
+"For good?"
+
+"No," laughed Lilly.  "For a couple of months or so.  She'll come back
+here: unless she joins me in Switzerland or somewhere."
+
+Aaron was still for a while.
+
+"You've not gone with her," he said at length.
+
+"To see her people?  No, I don't think they want me very badly--and I
+didn't want very badly to go.  Why should I?  It's better for married
+people to be separated sometimes."
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron, watching the other man with fever-darkened eyes.
+
+"I hate married people who are two in one--stuck together like two
+jujube lozenges," said Lilly.
+
+"Me an' all.  I hate 'em myself," said Aaron.
+
+"Everybody ought to stand by themselves, in the first place--men and
+women as well.  They can come together, in the second place, if they
+like.  But nothing is any good unless each one stands alone,
+intrinsically."
+
+"I'm with you there," said Aaron.  "If I'd kep' myself to myself I
+shouldn't be bad now--though I'm not very bad.  I s'll be all right
+in the morning.  But I did myself in when I went with another woman.
+I felt myself go--as if the bile broke inside me, and I was sick."
+
+"Josephine seduced you?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Ay, right enough," replied Aaron grimly.  "She won't be coming here,
+will she?"
+
+"Not unless I ask her."
+
+"You won't ask her, though?"
+
+"No, not if you don't want her."
+
+"I don't."
+
+The fever made Aaron naive and communicative, unlike himself.  And he
+knew he was being unlike himself, he knew that he was not in proper
+control of himself, so he was unhappy, uneasy.
+
+"I'll stop here the night then, if you don't mind," he said.
+
+"You'll have to," said Lilly.  "I've sent for the doctor.  I believe
+you've got the flu."
+
+"Think I have?" said Aaron frightened.
+
+"Don't be scared," laughed Lilly.
+
+There was a long pause.  Lilly stood at the window looking at the
+darkening market, beneath the street-lamps.
+
+"I s'll have to go to the hospital, if I have," came Aaron's voice.
+
+"No, if it's only going to be a week or a fortnight's business, you
+can stop here.  I've nothing to do," said Lilly.
+
+"There's no occasion for you to saddle yourself with me," said Aaron
+dejectedly.
+
+"You can go to your hospital if you like--or back to your lodging--if
+you wish to," said Lilly.  "You can make up your mind when you see how
+you are in the morning."
+
+"No use going back to my lodgings," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll send a telegram to your wife if you like," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron was silent, dead silent, for some time.
+
+"Nay," he said at length, in a decided voice.  "Not if I die for it."
+
+Lilly remained still, and the other man lapsed into a sort of semi-
+sleep, motionless and abandoned.  The darkness had fallen over London,
+and away below the lamps were white.
+
+Lilly lit the green-shaded reading lamp over the desk.  Then he stood
+and looked at Aaron, who lay still, looking sick.  Rather beautiful
+the bones of the countenance: but the skull too small for such a heavy
+jaw and rather coarse mouth.  Aaron half-opened his eyes, and writhed
+feverishly, as if his limbs could not be in the right place.  Lilly
+mended the fire, and sat down to write.  Then he got up and went
+downstairs to unfasten the street door, so that the doctor could walk
+up.  The business people had gone from their various holes, all the
+lower part of the tall house was in darkness.
+
+Lilly waited and waited.  He boiled an egg and made himself toast.
+Aaron said he might eat the same.  Lilly cooked another egg and took
+it to the sick man.  Aaron looked at it and pushed it away with
+nausea.  He would have some tea.  So Lilly gave him tea.
+
+"Not much fun for you, doing this for somebody who is nothing to you,"
+said Aaron.
+
+"I shouldn't if you were unsympathetic to me," said Lilly.  "As it is,
+it's happened so, and so we'll let be."
+
+"What time is it?"
+
+"Nearly eight o'clock."
+
+"Oh, my Lord, the opera."
+
+And Aaron got half out of bed.  But as he sat on the bedside he knew he
+could not safely get to his feet.  He remained a picture of dejection.
+
+"Perhaps we ought to let them know," said Lilly.
+
+But Aaron, blank with stupid misery, sat huddled there on the bedside
+without answering.
+
+"Ill run round with a note," said Lilly.  "I suppose others have had
+flu, besides you.  Lie down!"
+
+But Aaron stupidly and dejectedly sat huddled on the side of the bed,
+wearing old flannel pyjamas of Lilly's, rather small for him.  He felt
+too sick to move.
+
+"Lie down!  Lie down!" said Lilly.  "And keep still while I'm gone.  I
+shan't be more than ten minutes."
+
+"I don't care if I die," said Aaron.
+
+Lilly laughed.
+
+"You're a long way from dying," said he, "or you wouldn't say it."
+
+But Aaron only looked up at him with queer, far-off, haggard eyes,
+something like a criminal who is just being executed.
+
+"Lie down!" said Lilly, pushing him gently into the bed.  "You won't
+improve yourself sitting there, anyhow."
+
+Aaron lay down, turned away, and was quite still.  Lilly quietly left
+the room on his errand.
+
+The doctor did not come until ten o'clock: and worn out with work when
+he did come.
+
+"Isn't there a lift in this establishment?" he said, as he groped
+his way up the stone stairs.  Lilly had heard him, and run down to
+meet him.
+
+The doctor poked the thermometer under Aaron's tongue and felt the
+pulse.  Then he asked a few questions: listened to the heart and
+breathing.
+
+"Yes, it's the flu," he said curtly.  "Nothing to do but to keep warm
+in bed and not move, and take plenty of milk and liquid nourishment.
+I'll come round in the morning and give you an injection.  Lungs are
+all right so far."
+
+"How long shall I have to be in bed?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh--depends.  A week at least."
+
+Aaron watched him sullenly--and hated him.  Lilly laughed to himself.
+The sick man was like a dog that is ill but which growls from a deep
+corner, and will bite if you put your hand in.  He was in a state of
+black depression.
+
+Lilly settled him down for the night, and himself went to bed.  Aaron
+squirmed with heavy, pained limbs, the night through, and slept and
+had bad dreams.  Lilly got up to give him drinks.  The din in the
+market was terrific before dawn, and Aaron suffered bitterly.
+
+In the morning he was worse.  The doctor gave him injections against
+pneumonia.
+
+"You wouldn't like me to wire to your wife?" said Lilly.
+
+"No," said Aaron abruptly.  "You can send me to the hospital.  I'm
+nothing but a piece of carrion."
+
+"Carrion!" said Lilly.  "Why?"
+
+"I know it.  I feel like it."
+
+"Oh, that's only the sort of nauseated feeling you get with flu."
+
+"I'm only fit to be thrown underground, and made an end of.  I can't
+stand myself--"
+
+He had a ghastly, grey look of self-repulsion.
+
+"It's the germ that makes you feel like that," said Lilly.  "It poisons
+the system for a time.  But you'll work it off."
+
+At evening he was no better, the fever was still high.  Yet there were
+no complications--except that the heart was irregular.
+
+"The one thing I wonder," said Lilly, "is whether you hadn't better
+be moved out of the noise of the market.  It's fearful for you in the
+early morning."
+
+"It makes no difference to me," said Aaron.
+
+The next day he was a little worse, if anything.  The doctor knew
+there was nothing to be done.  At evening he gave the patient a
+calomel pill.  It was rather strong, and Aaron had a bad time.  His
+burning, parched, poisoned inside was twisted and torn.  Meanwhile
+carts banged, porters shouted, all the hell of the market went on
+outside, away down on the cobble setts.  But this time the two men
+did not hear.
+
+"You'll feel better now," said Lilly, "after the operation."
+
+"It's done me harm," cried Aaron fretfully.  "Send me to the hospital,
+or you'll repent it.  Get rid of me in time."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly.  "You get better.  Damn it, you're only one among
+a million."
+
+Again over Aaron's face went the ghastly grimace of self-repulsion.
+
+"My soul's gone rotten," he said.
+
+"No," said Lilly.  "Only toxin in the blood."
+
+Next day the patient seemed worse, and the heart more irregular.  He
+rested badly.  So far, Lilly had got a fair night's rest.  Now Aaron
+was not sleeping, and he seemed to struggle in the bed.
+
+"Keep your courage up, man," said the doctor sharply.  "You give way."
+
+Aaron looked at him blackly, and did not answer.
+
+In the night Lilly was up time after time.  Aaron would slip down
+on his back, and go semi-conscious.  And then he would awake, as if
+drowning, struggling to move, mentally shouting aloud, yet making no
+sound for some moments, mentally shouting in frenzy, but unable to
+stir or make a sound.  When at last he got some sort of physical
+control he cried: "Lift me up!  Lift me up!"
+
+Lilly hurried and lifted him up, and he sat panting with a sobbing
+motion, his eyes gloomy and terrified, more than ever like a criminal
+who is just being executed.  He drank brandy, and was laid down on
+his side.
+
+"Don't let me lie on my back," he said, terrified.  "No, I won't,"
+said Lilly.  Aaron frowned curiously on his nurse.  "Mind you don't
+let me," he said, exacting and really terrified.
+
+"No, I won't let you."
+
+And now Lilly was continually crossing over and pulling Aaron on to
+his side, whenever he found him slipped down on his back.
+
+In the morning the doctor was puzzled.  Probably it was the toxin in
+the blood which poisoned the heart.  There was no pneumonia.  And yet
+Aaron was clearly growing worse.  The doctor agreed to send in a nurse
+for the coming night.
+
+"What's the matter with you, man!" he said sharply to his patient.
+"You give way!  You give way!  Can't you pull yourself together?"
+
+But Aaron only became more gloomily withheld, retracting from life.
+And Lilly began to be really troubled.  He got a friend to sit with
+the patient in the afternoon, whilst he himself went out and arranged
+to sleep in Aaron's room, at his lodging.
+
+The next morning, when he came in, he found the patient lying as ever,
+in a sort of heap in the bed.  Nurse had had to lift him up and hold
+him up again.  And now Aaron lay in a sort of semi-stupor of fear,
+frustrated anger, misery and self-repulsion: a sort of interlocked
+depression.
+
+The doctor frowned when he came.  He talked with the nurse, and wrote
+another prescription.  Then he drew Lilly away to the door.
+
+"What's the matter with the fellow?" he said.  "Can't you rouse his
+spirit?  He seems to be sulking himself out of life.  He'll drop out
+quite suddenly, you know, if he goes on like this.  Can't you rouse
+him up?"
+
+"I think it depresses him partly that his bowels won't work.  It
+frightens him.  He's never been ill in his life before," said Lilly.
+
+"His bowels won't work if he lets all his spirit go, like an animal
+dying of the sulks," said the doctor impatiently.  "He might go off
+quite suddenly--dead before you can turn round--"
+
+Lilly was properly troubled.  Yet he did not quite know what to do.
+It was early afternoon, and the sun was shining into the room.  There
+were daffodils and anemones in a jar, and freezias and violets.  Down
+below in the market were two stalls of golden and blue flowers, gay.
+
+"The flowers are lovely in the spring sunshine," said Lilly.  "I wish
+I were in the country, don't you?  As soon as you are better we'll go.
+It's been a terrible cold, wet spring.  But now it's going to be nice.
+Do you like being in the country?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+He was thinking of his garden.  He loved it.  Never in his life had he
+been away from a garden before.
+
+"Make haste and get better, and we'll go."
+
+"Where?" said Aaron.
+
+"Hampshire.  Or Berkshire.  Or perhaps you'd like to go home?  Would
+you?"
+
+Aaron lay still, and did not answer.
+
+"Perhaps you want to, and you don't want to," said Lilly.  "You can
+please yourself, anyhow."
+
+There was no getting anything definite out of the sick man--his soul
+seemed stuck, as if it would not move.
+
+Suddenly Lilly rose and went to the dressing-table.
+
+"I'm going to rub you with oil," he said.  "I'm going to rub you as
+mothers do their babies whose bowels don't work."
+
+Aaron frowned slightly as he glanced at the dark, self-possessed face
+of the little man.
+
+"What's the good of that?" he said irritably.  "I'd rather be left
+alone."
+
+"Then you won't be."
+
+Quickly he uncovered the blond lower body of his patient, and began to
+rub the abdomen with oil, using a slow, rhythmic, circulating motion,
+a sort of massage.  For a long time he rubbed finely and steadily,
+then went over the whole of the lower body, mindless, as if in a sort
+of incantation.  He rubbed every speck of the man's lower body--the
+abdomen, the buttocks, the thighs and knees, down to the feet, rubbed
+it all warm and glowing with camphorated oil, every bit of it, chafing
+the toes swiftly, till he was almost exhausted.  Then Aaron was covered
+up again, and Lilly sat down in fatigue to look at his patient.
+
+He saw a change.  The spark had come back into the sick eyes, and the
+faint trace of a smile, faintly luminous, into the face.  Aaron was
+regaining himself.  But Lilly said nothing.  He watched his patient
+fall into a proper sleep.
+
+And he sat and watched him sleep.  And he thought to himself: "I wonder
+why I do it.  I wonder why I bother with him. . . . Jim ought to have
+taught me my lesson.  As soon as this man's really better he'll punch
+me in the wind, metaphorically if not actually, for having interfered
+with him.  And Tanny would say, he was quite right to do it.  She says
+I want power over them.  What if I do?  They don't care how much power
+the mob has over them, the nation, Lloyd George and Northcliffe and
+the police and money.  They'll yield themselves up to that sort of
+power quickly enough, and immolate themselves _pro bono publico_ by
+the million.  And what's the bonum publicum but a mob power?  Why
+can't they submit to a bit of healthy individual authority?  The fool
+would die, without me: just as that fool Jim will die in hysterics one
+day.  Why does he last so long!
+
+"Tanny's the same.  She does nothing really but resist me: my
+authority, or my influence, or just ME.  At the bottom of her heart
+she just blindly and persistently opposes me.  God knows what it is
+she opposes: just me myself.  She thinks I want her to submit to me.
+So I do, in a measure natural to our two selves.  Somewhere, she
+ought to submit to me.  But they all prefer to kick against the
+pricks.  Not that THEY get many pricks.  I get them.  Damn them all,
+why don't I leave them alone?  They only grin and feel triumphant when
+they've insulted one and punched one in the wind.
+
+"This Aaron will do just the same.  I like him, and he ought to like
+me.  And he'll be another Jim: he WILL like me, if he can knock the
+wind out of me.  A lot of little Stavrogins coming up to whisper
+affectionately, and biting one's ear.
+
+"But anyhow I can soon see the last of this chap: and him the last of
+all the rest.  I'll be damned for ever if I see their Jims and Roberts
+and Julias and Scotts any more.  Let them dance round their insipid
+hell-broth.  Thin tack it is.
+
+"There's a whole world besides this little gang of Europeans.  Except,
+dear God, that they've exterminated all the peoples worth knowing.  I
+can't do with folk who teem by the billion, like the Chinese and Japs
+and orientals altogether.  Only vermin teem by the billion.  Higher
+types breed slower.  I would have loved the Aztecs and the Red Indians.
+I KNOW they hold the element in life which I am looking for--they had
+living pride.  Not like the flea-bitten Asiatics--even niggers are
+better than Asiatics, though they are wallowers--the American races--
+and the South Sea Islanders--the Marquesans, the Maori blood.  That
+was the true blood.  It wasn't frightened.  All the rest are craven--
+Europeans, Asiatics, Africans--everyone at his own individual quick
+craven and cringing: only conceited in the mass, the mob.  How I hate
+them: the mass-bullies, the individual Judases.
+
+"Well, if one will be a Jesus he must expect his Judas.  That's why
+Abraham Lincoln gets shot.  A Jesus makes a Judas inevitable.  A man
+should remain himself, not try to spread himself over humanity.  He
+should pivot himself on his own pride.
+
+"I suppose really I ought to have packed this Aaron off to the
+hospital.  Instead of which here am I rubbing him with oil to rub the
+life into him.  And I KNOW he'll bite me, like a warmed snake, the
+moment he recovers.  And Tanny will say 'Quite right, too,' I shouldn't
+have been so intimate.  No, I should have left it to mechanical doctors
+and nurses.
+
+"So I should.  Everything to its own.  And Aaron belongs to this little
+system, and Jim is waiting to be psychoanalysed, and Tanny is waiting
+for her own glorification.
+
+"All right, Aaron.  Last time I break my bread for anybody, this is.
+So get better, my flautist, so that I can go away.
+
+"It was easy for the Red Indians and the Others to take their hook
+into death.  They might have stayed a bit longer to help one to defy
+the white masses.
+
+"I'll make some tea--"
+
+Lilly rose softly and went across to the fire.  He had to cross a
+landing to a sort of little lavatory, with a sink and a tap, for
+water.  The clerks peeped out at him from an adjoining office and
+nodded.  He nodded, and disappeared from their sight as quickly as
+possible, with his kettle.  His dark eyes were quick, his dark hair
+was untidy, there was something silent and withheld about him.
+People could never approach him quite ordinarily.
+
+He put on the kettle, and quietly set cups and plates on a tray.  The
+room was clean and cosy and pleasant.  He did the cleaning himself, and
+was as efficient and inobtrusive a housewife as any woman.  While the
+kettle boiled, he sat darning the socks which he had taken off Aaron's
+feet when the flautist arrived, and which he had washed.  He preferred
+that no outsider should see him doing these things.  Yet he preferred
+also to do them himself, so that he should be independent of outside
+aid.
+
+His face was dark and hollow, he seemed frail, sitting there in the
+London afternoon darning the black woollen socks.  His full brow was
+knitted slightly, there was a tension.  At the same time, there was
+an indomitable stillness about him, as it were in the atmosphere about
+him.  His hands, though small, were not very thin.  He bit off the
+wool as he finished his darn.
+
+As he was making the tea he saw Aaron rouse up in bed.
+
+"I've been to sleep.  I feel better," said the patient, turning round
+to look what the other man was doing.  And the sight of the water
+steaming in a jet from the teapot seemed attractive.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly.  "You've slept for a good two hours."
+
+"I believe I have," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you like a little tea?"
+
+"Ay--and a bit of toast."
+
+"You're not supposed to have solid food.  Let me take your
+temperature."
+
+The temperature was down to a hundred, and Lilly, in spite of the
+doctor, gave Aaron a piece of toast with his tea, enjoining him not
+to mention it to the nurse.
+
+In the evening the two men talked.
+
+"You do everything for yourself, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I prefer it."
+
+"You like living all alone?"
+
+"I don't know about that.  I never have lived alone.  Tanny and I have
+been very much alone in various countries: but that's two, not one."
+
+"You miss her then?"
+
+"Yes, of course.  I missed her horribly in the cottage, when she'd
+first gone.  I felt my heart was broken.  But here, where we've never
+been together, I don't notice it so much."
+
+"She'll come back," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, she'll come back.  But I'd rather meet her abroad than here--and
+get on a different footing."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know.  There's something with marriage altogether, I
+think.  _Egoisme a deux_--"
+
+"What's that mean?"
+
+"_Egoisme a deux_?  Two people, one egoism.  Marriage is a self-
+conscious egoistic state, it seems to me."
+
+"You've got no children?" said Aaron.
+
+"No.  Tanny wants children badly.  I don't.  I'm thankful we have
+none."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I can't quite say.  I think of them as a burden.  Besides, there ARE
+such millions and billions of children in the world.  And we know well
+enough what sort of millions and billions of people they'll grow up
+into.  I don't want to add my quota to the mass--it's against my
+instinct--"
+
+"Ay!" laughed Aaron, with a curt acquiescence.
+
+"Tanny's furious.  But then, when a woman has got children, she thinks
+the world wags only for them and her.  Nothing else.  The whole world
+wags for the sake of the children--and their sacred mother."
+
+"Ay, that's DAMNED true," said Aaron.
+
+"And myself, I'm sick of the children stunt.  Children are all right,
+so long as you just take them for what they are: young immature things
+like kittens and half-grown dogs, nuisances, sometimes very charming.
+But I'll be hanged if I can see anything high and holy about children.
+I should be sorry, too, it would be so bad for the children.  Young
+brats, tiresome and amusing in turns."
+
+"When they don't give themselves airs," said Aaron,
+
+"Yes, indeed.  Which they do half the time.  Sacred children, and
+sacred motherhood, I'm absolutely fed stiff by it.  That's why I'm
+thankful I have no children.  Tanny can't come it over me there."
+
+"It's a fact.  When a woman's got her children, by God, she's a bitch
+in the manger.  You can starve while she sits on the hay.  It's useful
+to keep her pups warm."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Why, you know," Aaron turned excitedly in the bed, "they look on a
+man as if he was nothing but an instrument to get and rear children.
+If you have anything to do with a woman, she thinks it's because you
+want to get children by her.  And I'm damned if it is.  I want my own
+pleasure, or nothing: and children be damned."
+
+"Ah, women--THEY must be loved, at any price!" said Lilly.  "And if
+you just don't want to love them--and tell them so--what a crime."
+
+"A crime!" said Aaron.  "They make a criminal of you.  Them and their
+children be cursed.  Is my life given me for nothing but to get
+children, and work to bring them up?  See them all in hell first.
+They'd better die while they're children, if childhood's all that
+important."
+
+"I quite agree," said Lilly.  "If childhood is more important than
+manhood, then why live to be a man at all?  Why not remain an infant?"
+
+"Be damned and blasted to women and all their importances," cried
+Aaron.  "They want to get you under, and children is their chief
+weapon."
+
+"Men have got to stand up to the fact that manhood is more than
+childhood--and then force women to admit it," said Lilly.  "But the
+rotten whiners, they're all grovelling before a baby's napkin and a
+woman's petticoat."
+
+"It's a fact," said Aaron.  But he glanced at Lilly oddly, as if
+suspiciously.  And Lilly caught the look.  But he continued:
+
+"And if they think you try to stand on your legs and walk with the
+feet of manhood, why, there isn't a blooming father and lover among
+them but will do his best to get you down and suffocate you--either
+with a baby's napkin or a woman's petticoat."
+
+Lilly's lips were curling; he was dark and bitter.
+
+"Ay, it is like that," said Aaron, rather subduedly.
+
+"The man's spirit has gone out of the world.  Men can't move an inch
+unless they can grovel humbly at the end of the journey."
+
+"No," said Aaron, watching with keen, half-amused eyes.
+
+"That's why marriage wants readjusting--or extending--to get men on to
+their own legs once more, and to give them the adventure again.  But
+men won't stick together and fight for it.  Because once a woman has
+climbed up with her children, she'll find plenty of grovellers ready
+to support her and suffocate any defiant spirit.  And women will
+sacrifice eleven men, fathers, husbands, brothers and lovers, for one
+baby--or for her own female self-conceit--"
+
+"She will that," said Aaron.
+
+"And can you find two men to stick together, without feeling criminal,
+and without cringing, and without betraying one another?  You can't.
+One is sure to go fawning round some female, then they both enjoy
+giving each other away, and doing a new grovel before a woman again."
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+After which Lilly was silent.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+THE WAR AGAIN
+
+
+"One is a fool," said Lilly, "to be lachrymose.  The thing to do is to
+get a move on."
+
+Aaron looked up with a glimpse of a smile.  The two men were sitting
+before the fire at the end of a cold, wet April day: Aaron
+convalescent, somewhat chastened in appearance.
+
+"Ay," he said rather sourly.  "A move back to Guilford Street."
+
+"Oh, I meant to tell you," said Lilly.  "I was reading an old Baden
+history.  They made a law in 1528--not a law, but a regulation--that:
+if a man forsakes his wife and children, as now so often happens, the
+said wife and children are at once to be dispatched after him.  I
+thought that would please you.  Does it?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron briefly.
+
+"They would have arrived the next day, like a forwarded letter."
+
+"I should have had to get a considerable move on, at that rate,"
+grinned Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no.  You might quite like them here."  But Lilly saw the white
+frown of determined revulsion on the convalescent's face.
+
+"Wouldn't you?" he asked.
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"No," he said.  And it was obvious he objected to the topic.  "What
+are you going to do about your move on?"
+
+"Me!" said Lilly.  "I'm going to sail away next week--or steam dirtily
+away on a tramp called the _Maud Allen Wing_."
+
+"Where to?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Where from?"
+
+"London Dock.  I fixed up my passage this morning for ten pounds.  I
+am cook's assistant, signed on."
+
+Aaron looked at him with a little admiration.
+
+"You can take a sudden jump, can't you?" he said.
+
+"The difficulty is to refrain from jumping: overboard or anywhere."
+
+Aaron smoked his pipe slowly.
+
+"And what good will Malta do you?" he asked, envious.
+
+"Heaven knows.  I shall cross to Syracuse, and move up Italy."
+
+"Sounds as if you were a millionaire."
+
+"I've got thirty-five pounds in all the world.  But something will
+come along."
+
+"I've got more than that," said Aaron.
+
+"Good for you," replied Lilly.
+
+He rose and went to the cupboard, taking out a bowl and a basket of
+potatoes.  He sat down again, paring the potatoes.  His busy activity
+annoyed Aaron.
+
+"But what's the good of going to Malta?  Shall YOU be any different in
+yourself, in another place?  You'll be the same there as you are here."
+
+"How am I here?"
+
+"Why, you're all the time grinding yourself against something inside
+you.  You're never free.  You're never content.  You never stop
+chafing."
+
+Lilly dipped his potato into the water, and cut out the eyes carefully.
+Then he cut it in two, and dropped it in the clean water of the second
+bowl.  He had not expected this criticism.
+
+"Perhaps I don't," said he.
+
+"Then what's the use of going somewhere else?  You won't change
+yourself."
+
+"I may in the end," said Lilly.
+
+"You'll be yourself, whether it's Malta or London," said Aaron.
+
+"There's a doom for me," laughed Lilly.  The water on the fire was
+boiling.  He rose and threw in salt, then dropped in the potatoes with
+little plops.  "There there are lots of mes.  I'm not only just one
+proposition.  A new place brings out a new thing in a man.  Otherwise
+you'd have stayed in your old place with your family."
+
+"The man in the middle of you doesn't change," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it so?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay.  Every time."
+
+"Then what's to be done?"
+
+"Nothing, as far as I can see.  You get as much amusement out of life
+as possible, and there's the end of it."
+
+"All right then, I'll get the amusement."
+
+"Ay, all right then," said Aaron.  "But there isn't anything wonderful
+about it.  You talk as if you were doing something special.  You
+aren't.  You're no more than a man who drops into a pub for a drink,
+to liven himself up a bit.  Only you give it a lot of names, and make
+out as if you were looking for the philosopher's stone, or something
+like that.  When you're only killing time like the rest of folks,
+before time kills you."
+
+Lilly did not answer.  It was not yet seven o'clock, but the sky was
+dark.  Aaron sat in the firelight.  Even the saucepan on the fire was
+silent.  Darkness, silence, the firelight in the upper room, and the
+two men together.
+
+"It isn't quite true," said Lilly, leaning on the mantelpiece and
+staring down into the fire.
+
+"Where isn't it?  You talk, and you make a man believe you've got
+something he hasn't got?  But where is it, when it comes to?  What
+have you got, more than me or Jim Bricknell!  Only a bigger choice
+of words, it seems to me."
+
+Lilly was motionless and inscrutable like a shadow.
+
+"Does it, Aaron!" he said, in a colorless voice.
+
+"Yes.  What else is there to it?" Aaron sounded testy.
+
+"Why," said Lilly at last, "there's something.  I agree, it's true
+what you say about me.  But there's a bit of something else.  There's
+just a bit of something in me, I think, which ISN'T a man running into
+a pub for a drink--"
+
+"And what--?"
+
+The question fell into the twilight like a drop of water falling down
+a deep shaft into a well.
+
+"I think a man may come into possession of his own soul at last--as
+the Buddhists teach--but without ceasing to love, or even to hate.
+One loves, one hates--but somewhere beyond it all, one understands,
+and possesses one's soul in patience and in peace--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron slowly, "while you only stand and talk about it.
+But when you've got no chance to talk about it--and when you've got
+to live--you don't possess your soul, neither in patience nor in peace,
+but any devil that likes possesses you and does what it likes with
+you, while you fridge yourself and fray yourself out like a worn rag."
+
+"I don't care," said Lilly, "I'm learning to possess my soul in
+patience and in peace, and I know it.  And it isn't a negative Nirvana
+either.  And if Tanny possesses her own soul in patience and peace as
+well--and if in this we understand each other at last--then there we
+are, together and apart at the same time, and free of each other, and
+eternally inseparable.  I have my Nirvana--and I have it all to myself.
+But more than that.  It coincides with her Nirvana."
+
+"Ah, yes," said Aaron.  "But I don't understand all that word-
+splitting."
+
+"I do, though.  You learn to be quite alone, and possess your own soul
+in isolation--and at the same time, to be perfectly WITH someone else--
+that's all I ask."
+
+"Sort of sit on a mountain top, back to back with somebody else, like
+a couple of idols."
+
+"No--because it isn't a case of sitting--or a case of back to back.
+It's what you get to after a lot of fighting and a lot of sensual
+fulfilment.  And it never does away with the fighting and with the
+sensual passion.  It flowers on top of them, and it would never
+flower save on top of them."
+
+"What wouldn't?"
+
+"The possessing one's own soul--and the being together with someone
+else in silence, beyond speech."
+
+"And you've got them?"
+
+"I've got a BIT of the real quietness inside me."
+
+"So has a dog on a mat."
+
+"So I believe, too."
+
+"Or a man in a pub."
+
+"Which I don't believe."
+
+"You prefer the dog?"
+
+"Maybe."
+
+There was silence for a few moments.
+
+"And I'm the man in the pub," said Aaron.
+
+"You aren't the dog on the mat, anyhow,"
+
+"And you're the idol on the mountain top, worshipping yourself."
+
+"You talk to me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+"How do you talk to ME, do you think?"
+
+"How do I?"
+
+"Are the potatoes done?"
+
+Lilly turned quickly aside, and switched on the electric light.
+Everything changed.  Aaron sat still before the fire, irritated.
+Lilly went about preparing the supper.
+
+The room was pleasant at night.  Two tall, dark screens hid the two
+beds.  In front, the piano was littered with music, the desk littered
+with papers.  Lilly went out on to the landing, and set the chops to
+grill on the gas stove.  Hastily he put a small table on the hearth-
+rug, spread it with a blue-and-white cloth, set plates and glasses.
+Aaron did not move.  It was not his nature to concern himself with
+domestic matters--and Lilly did it best alone.
+
+The two men had an almost uncanny understanding of one another--like
+brothers.  They came from the same district, from the same class.  Each
+might have been born into the other's circumstance.   Like brothers,
+there was a profound hostility between them.  But hostility is not
+antipathy.
+
+Lilly's skilful housewifery always irritated Aaron: it was so self-
+sufficient.  But most irritating of all was the little man's
+unconscious assumption of priority.  Lilly was actually unaware
+that he assumed this quiet predominance over others.  He mashed
+the potatoes, he heated the plates, he warmed the red wine, he whisked
+eggs into the milk pudding, and served his visitor like a housemaid.
+But none of this detracted from the silent assurance with which he bore
+himself, and with which he seemed to domineer over his acquaintance.
+
+At last the meal was ready.  Lilly drew the curtains, switched off the
+central light, put the green-shaded electric lamp on the table, and
+the two men drew up to the meal.  It was good food, well cooked and
+hot.  Certainly Lilly's hands were no longer clean: but it was clean
+dirt, as he said.
+
+Aaron sat in the low arm-chair at table.  So his face was below, in
+the full light.  Lilly sat high on a small chair, so that his face was
+in the green shadow.  Aaron was handsome, and always had that peculiar
+well-dressed look of his type.  Lilly was indifferent to his own
+appearance, and his collar was a rag.
+
+So the two men ate in silence.  They had been together alone for a
+fortnight only: but it was like a small eternity.  Aaron was well
+now--only he suffered from the depression and the sort of fear that
+follows influenza.
+
+"When are you going?" he asked irritably, looking up at Lilly, whose
+face hovered in that green shadow above, and worried him.
+
+"One day next week.  They'll send me a telegram.  Not later than
+Thursday."
+
+"You're looking forward to going?" The question was half bitter.
+
+"Yes.  I want to get a new tune out of myself."
+
+"Had enough of this?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+A flush of anger came on Aaron's face.
+
+"You're easily on, and easily off," he said, rather insulting.
+
+"Am I?" said Lilly.  "What makes you think so?"
+
+"Circumstances," replied Aaron sourly.
+
+To which there was no answer.  The host cleared away the plates, and
+put the pudding on the table.  He pushed the bowl to Aaron.
+
+"I suppose I shall never see you again, once you've gone," said Aaron.
+
+"It's your choice.  I will leave you an address."
+
+After this, the pudding was eaten in silence.
+
+"Besides, Aaron," said Lilly, drinking his last sip of wine, "what do
+you care whether you see me again or not?  What do you care whether
+you see anybody again or not?  You want to be amused.  And now you're
+irritated because you think I am not going to amuse you any more: and
+you don't know who is going to amuse you.  I admit it's a dilemma.
+But it's a hedonistic dilemma of the commonest sort."
+
+"I don't know hedonistic.  And supposing I am as you say--are you any
+different?"
+
+"No, I'm not very different.  But I always persuade myself there's a
+bit of difference.  Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me?
+She's had her lovers enough.  'There isn't any such thing as love,
+Lilly,' she said.  'Men are simply afraid to be alone.  That is
+absolutely all there is in it: fear of being alone.'"
+
+"What by that?" said Aaron.
+
+"You agree?"
+
+"Yes, on the whole."
+
+"So do I--on the whole.  And then I asked her what about woman.  And
+then she said with a woman it wasn't fear, it was just boredom.  A
+woman is like a violinist: any fiddle, any instrument rather than
+empty hands and no tune going."
+
+"Yes--what I said before: getting as much amusement out of life as
+possible," said Aaron.
+
+"You amuse me--and I'll amuse you."
+
+"Yes--just about that."
+
+"All right, Aaron," said Lilly.  "I'm not going to amuse you, or try
+to amuse you any more."
+
+"Going to try somebody else; and Malta."
+
+"Malta, anyhow."
+
+"Oh, and somebody else--in the next five minutes."
+
+"Yes--that also."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you."
+
+"Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron."
+
+With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes.  Aaron sat alone under
+the zone of light, turning over a score of _Pelleas_.  Though the noise
+of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep
+silence.  Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.
+
+Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from
+the opera on his knee.  He had not played since his illness.  The noise
+came out a little tremulous, but low and sweet.  Lilly came forward
+with a plate and a cloth in his hand.
+
+"Aaron's rod is putting forth again," he said, smiling.
+
+"What?" said Aaron, looking up.
+
+"I said Aaron's rod is putting forth again."
+
+"What rod?"
+
+"Your flute, for the moment."
+
+"It's got to put forth my bread and butter."
+
+"Is that all the buds it's going to have?"
+
+"What else!"
+
+"Nay--that's for you to show.  What flowers do you imagine came out of
+the rod of Moses's brother?"
+
+"Scarlet runners, I should think if he'd got to live on them."
+
+"Scarlet enough, I'll bet."
+
+Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music.  Lilly finished the wiping
+of the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.
+
+"It's all one to you, then," said Aaron suddenly, "whether we ever see
+one another again?"
+
+"Not a bit," said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles.  "I very much
+wish there might be something that held us together."
+
+"Then if you wish it, why isn't there?"
+
+"You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the
+joints."
+
+"Ay--I might.  And it would be all the same."
+
+The moment of silence that followed was extraordinary in its hostility.
+
+"Oh, we shall run across one another again some time," said Aaron.
+
+"Sure," said Lilly.  "More than that:  I'll write you an address that
+will always find me.  And when you write I will answer you."
+
+He took a bit of paper and scribbled an address.  Aaron folded it and
+put it into his waistcoat pocket.  It was an Italian address.
+
+"But how can I live in Italy?" he said.  "You can shift about.  I'm
+tied to a job."
+
+"You--with your budding rod, your flute--and your charm--you can always
+do as you like."
+
+"My what?"
+
+"Your flute and your charm."
+
+"What charm?"
+
+"Just your own.  Don't pretend you don't know you've got it.  I don't
+really like charm myself; too much of a trick about it.  But whether
+or not, you've got it."
+
+"It's news to me."
+
+"Not it."
+
+"Fact, it is."
+
+"Ha!  Somebody will always take a fancy to you.  And you can live on
+that, as well as on anything else."
+
+"Why do you always speak so despisingly?"
+
+"Why shouldn't I?"
+
+"Have you any right to despise another man?"
+
+"When did it go by rights?"
+
+"No, not with you."
+
+"You answer me like a woman, Aaron."
+
+Again there was a space of silence.  And again it was Aaron who at
+last broke it.
+
+"We're in different positions, you and me," he said.
+
+"How?"
+
+"You can live by your writing--but I've got to have a job."
+
+"Is that all?" said Lilly.
+
+"Ay.  And plenty.  You've got the advantage of me."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly.  "But why?  I was a dirty-nosed little boy when
+you were a clean-nosed little boy.  And I always had more patches on
+my breeches than you: neat patches, too, my poor mother!  So what's
+the good of talking about advantages?  You had the start.  And at this
+very moment you could buy me up, lock, stock, and barrel.  So don't
+feel hard done by.  It's a lie."
+
+"You've got your freedom."
+
+"I make it and I take it."
+
+"Circumstances make it for you."
+
+"As you like."
+
+"You don't do a man justice," said Aaron.
+
+"Does a man care?"
+
+"He might."
+
+"Then he's no man."
+
+"Thanks again, old fellow."
+
+"Welcome," said Lilly, grimacing.
+
+Again Aaron looked at him, baffled, almost with hatred.  Lilly grimaced
+at the blank wall opposite, and seemed to ruminate.  Then he went back
+to his book.  And no sooner had he forgotten Aaron, reading the
+fantasies of a certain Leo Frobenius, than Aaron must stride in again.
+
+"You can't say there isn't a difference between your position and
+mine," he said pertinently.
+
+Lilly looked darkly over his spectacles.
+
+"No, by God," he said.  "I should be in a poor way otherwise."
+
+"You can't say you haven't the advantage--your JOB gives you the
+advantage."
+
+"All right.  Then leave it out with my job, and leave me alone."
+
+"That's your way of dodging it."
+
+"My dear Aaron, I agree with you perfectly.  There is no difference
+between us, save the fictitious advantage given to me by my job.
+Save for my job--which is to write lies--Aaron and I are two identical
+little men in one and the same little boat.  Shall we leave it at that,
+now?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.  "That's about it."
+
+"Let us shake hands on it--and go to bed, my dear chap.  You are just
+recovering from influenza, and look paler than I like."
+
+"You mean you want to be rid of me," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, I do mean that," said Lilly.
+
+"Ay," said Aaron.
+
+And after a few minutes more staring at the score of _Pelleas_, he
+rose, put the score away on the piano, laid his flute beside it, and
+retired behind the screen.  In silence, the strange dim noise of
+London sounding from below, Lilly read on about the Kabyles.  His soul
+had the faculty of divesting itself of the moment, and seeking further,
+deeper interests.  These old Africans!  And Atlantis!  Strange, strange
+wisdom of the Kabyles!  Old, old dark Africa, and the world before the
+flood!  How jealous Aaron seemed!  The child of a jealous God.  A
+jealous God!  Could any race be anything but despicable, with such
+an antecedent?
+
+But no, persistent as a jealous God himself, Aaron reappeared in his
+pyjamas, and seated himself in his chair.
+
+"What is the difference then between you and me, Lilly?" he said.
+
+"Haven't we shaken hands on it--a difference of jobs."
+
+"You don't believe that, though, do you?"
+
+"Nay, now I reckon you're trespassing."
+
+"Why am I?  I know you don't believe it."
+
+"What do I believe then?" said Lilly.
+
+"You believe you know something better than me--and that you are
+something better than me.  Don't you?"
+
+"Do YOU believe it?"
+
+"What?"
+
+"That I AM something better than you, and that I KNOW something
+better?"
+
+"No, because I don't see it," said Aaron.
+
+"Then if you don't see it, it isn't there.  So go to bed and sleep
+the sleep of the just and the convalescent.  I am not to be badgered
+any more."
+
+"Am I badgering you?" said Aaron.
+
+"Indeed you are."
+
+"So I'm in the wrong again?"
+
+"Once more, my dear."
+
+"You're a God-Almighty in your way, you know."
+
+"So long as I'm not in anybody else's way--Anyhow, you'd be much
+better sleeping the sleep of the just.  And I'm going out for a
+minute or two.  Don't catch cold there with nothing on--
+
+"I want to catch the post," he added, rising.
+
+Aaron looked up at him quickly.  But almost before there was time to
+speak, Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters,
+and gone.
+
+It was a rainy night.  Lilly turned down King Street to walk to
+Charing Cross.  He liked being out of doors.  He liked to post his
+letters at Charing Cross post office.  He did not want to talk to
+Aaron any more.  He was glad to be alone.
+
+He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing
+blackly towards the sea.  It had an endless fascination for him: never
+failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty.  He liked the
+night, the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic.  He enjoyed
+the sense of friction he got from the streaming of people who meant
+nothing to him.  It was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting
+cattle.
+
+When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi
+standing outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping
+and hallooing.  He hurried forward.
+
+It was a man called Herbertson.
+
+"Oh, why, there you are!" exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near.
+"Can I come up and have a chat?"
+
+"I've got that man who's had flu.  I should think he is gone to bed."
+
+"Oh!"  The disappointment was plain.  "Well, look here I'll just come
+up for a couple of minutes."  He laid his hand on Lilly's arm.  "I
+heard you were going away.  Where are you going?"
+
+"Malta."
+
+"Malta!  Oh, I know Malta very well.  Well now, it'll be all right
+if I come up for a minute?  I'm not going to see much more of you,
+apparently."  He turned quickly to the taxi.  "What is it on the
+clock?"
+
+The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs.  Aaron was in bed, but
+he called as Lilly entered the room.
+
+"Hullo!" said Lilly.  "Not asleep?  Captain Herbertson has come in for
+a minute."
+
+"Hope I shan't disturb you," said Captain Herbertson, laying down his
+stick and gloves, and his cap.  He was in uniform.  He was one of the
+few surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty-five, good-
+looking, getting rather stout.  He settled himself in the chair where
+Aaron had sat, hitching up his trousers.  The gold identity plate, with
+its gold chain, fell conspicuously over his wrist.
+
+"Been to 'Rosemary,'" he said.  "Rotten play, you know--but passes the
+time awfully well.  Oh, I quite enjoyed it."
+
+Lilly offered him Sauterne--the only thing in the house.
+
+"Oh, yes!  How awfully nice!  Yes, thanks, I shall love it.  Can I
+have it with soda?  Thanks!  Do you know, I think that's the very best
+drink in the tropics: sweet white wine, with soda?  Yes--well!--  Well
+--now, why are you going away?"
+
+"For a change," said Lilly.
+
+"You're quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all
+over.  As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off.  Malta!  Yes!
+I've been in Malta several times.  I think Valletta is quite enjoyable,
+particularly in winter, with the opera.  Oh--er--how's your wife?  All
+right?  Yes!--glad to see her people again.  Bound to be--  Oh, by the
+way, I met Jim Bricknell.  Sends you a message hoping you'll go down
+and stay--down at Captain Bingham's place in Surrey, you know.  Awfully
+queer lot down there.  Not my sort, no.  You won't go down?  No, I
+shouldn't.  Not the right sort of people."
+
+Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic.  He had been through the
+very front hell of the war--and like every man who had, he had the war
+at the back of his mind, like an obsession.  But in the meantime, he
+skirmished.
+
+"Yes.  I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea-
+parties to the blind.  Awful affair.  But the children are awfully
+nice children.  Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice.  Prince
+Henry smart boy, too--oh, a smart boy.  Queen Mary poured the tea,
+and I handed round bread and butter.  She told me I made a very good
+waiter.  I said, Thank you, Madam.  But I like the children.  Very
+different from the Battenbergs.  Oh!--" he wrinkled his nose.  "I
+can't stand the Battenbergs."
+
+"Mount Battens," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes!  Awful mistake, changing the royal name.  They were Guelfs, why
+not remain it?  Why, I'll tell you what Battenberg did.  He was in the
+Guards, too--"
+
+The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace
+and St. James.
+
+"Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria.  Man named Joyce, something
+or other, often used to dine at the Palace.  And he was an awfully good
+imitator--really clever, you know.  Used to imitate the Queen.  'Mr.
+Joyce,' she said, 'I hear your imitation is very amusing.  Will you do
+it for us now, and let us see what it is like?'  'Oh, no, Madam!  I'm
+afraid I couldn't do it now.  I'm afraid I'm not in the humour.'  But
+she would have him do it.  And it was really awfully funny.  He had to
+do it.  You know what he did.  He used to take a table-napkin, and put
+it on with one corner over his forehead, and the rest hanging down
+behind, like her veil thing.  And then he sent for the kettle-lid.  He
+always had the kettle-lid, for that little crown of hers.  And then he
+impersonated her.  But he was awfully good--so clever.  'Mr. Joyce,'
+she said.  'We are not amused.  Please leave the room.'  Yes, that is
+exactly what she said: 'WE are not amused--please leave the room.'  I
+like the WE, don't you?  And he a man of sixty or so.  However, he
+left the room and for a fortnight or so he wasn't invited--Wasn't she
+wonderful--Queen Victoria?"
+
+And so, by light transitions, to the Prince of Wales at the front, and
+thus into the trenches.  And then Herbertson was on the subject he was
+obsessed by.  He had come, unconsciously, for this and this only, to
+talk war to Lilly: or at Lilly.  For the latter listened and watched,
+and said nothing.  As a man at night helplessly takes a taxi to find
+some woman, some prostitute, Herbertson had almost unthinkingly got
+into a taxi and come battering at the door in Covent Garden, only to
+talk war to Lilly, whom he knew very little.  But it was a driving
+instinct--to come and get it off his chest.
+
+And on and on he talked, over his wine and soda.  He was not conceited
+--he was not showing off--far from it.  It was the same thing here in
+this officer as it was with the privates, and the same with this
+Englishman as with a Frenchman or a German or an Italian.  Lilly had
+sat in a cowshed listening to a youth in the north country: he had
+sat on the corn-straw that the oxen had been treading out, in
+Calabria, under the moon: he had sat in a farm-kitchen with a German
+prisoner: and every time it was the same thing, the same hot, blind,
+anguished voice of a man who has seen too much, experienced too much,
+and doesn't know where to turn.  None of the glamour of returned
+heroes, none of the romance of war: only a hot, blind, mesmerised
+voice, going on and on, mesmerised by a vision that the soul cannot
+bear.
+
+In this officer, of course, there was a lightness and an appearance
+of bright diffidence and humour.  But underneath it all was the same
+as in the common men of all the combatant nations: the hot, seared
+burn of unbearable experience, which did not heal nor cool, and whose
+irritation was not to be relieved.  The experience gradually cooled on
+top: but only with a surface crust.  The soul did not heal, did not
+recover.
+
+"I used to be awfully frightened," laughed Herbertson.  "Now you say,
+Lilly, you'd never have stood it.  But you would.  You're nervous--and
+it was just the nervous ones that did stand it.  When nearly all our
+officers were gone, we had a man come out--a man called Margeritson,
+from India--big merchant people out there.  They all said he was no
+good--not a bit of good--nervous chap.  No good at all.  But when you
+had to get out of the trench and go for the Germans he was perfect--
+perfect--It all came to him then, at the crisis, and he was perfect.
+
+"Some things frighten one man, and some another.  Now shells would
+never frighten me.  But I couldn't stand bombs.  You could tell the
+difference between our machines and the Germans.  Ours was a steady
+noise--drrrrrrrr!--but their's was heavy, drrrrRURUrrrrRURU!--  My
+word, that got on my nerves. . . .
+
+"No I was never hit.  The nearest thing was when I was knocked down
+by an exploding shell--several times that--you know.  When you shout
+like mad for the men to come and dig you out, under all the earth.
+And my word, you do feel frightened then."  Herbertson laughed with a
+twinkling motion to Lilly.  But between his brows there was a tension
+like madness.
+
+"And a funny thing you know--how you don't notice things.  In--let me
+see--1916, the German guns were a lot better than ours.  Ours were old,
+and when they're old you can't tell where they'll hit: whether they'll
+go beyond the mark, or whether they'll fall short.  Well, this day our
+guns were firing short, and killing our own men.  We'd had the order
+to charge, and were running forward, and I suddenly felt hot water
+spurting on my neck--"  He put his hand to the back of his neck and
+glanced round apprehensively.  "It was a chap called Innes--Oh, an
+awfully decent sort--people were in the Argentine.  He'd been calling
+out to me as we were running, and I was just answering.  When I felt
+this hot water on my neck and saw him running past me with no head--
+he'd got no head, and he went running past me.  I don't know how far,
+but a long way. . . . Blood, you know--Yes--well--
+
+"Oh, I hated Chelsea--I loathed Chelsea--Chelsea was purgatory to me.
+I had a corporal called Wallace--he was a fine chap--oh, he was a fine
+chap--six foot two--and about twenty-four years old.  He was my stand-
+back.  Oh, I hated Chelsea, and parades, and drills.  You know, when
+it's drill, and you're giving orders, you forget what order you've
+just given--in front of the Palace there the crowd don't notice--but
+it's AWFUL for you.  And you know you daren't look round to see what
+the men are doing.  But Wallace was splendid.  He was just behind me,
+and I'd hear him, quite quiet you know, 'It's right wheel, sir.'
+Always perfect, always perfect--yes--well. . . .
+
+"You know you don't get killed if you don't think you will.  Now I
+never thought I should get killed.  And I never knew a man get killed
+if he hadn't been thinking he would.  I said to Wallace I'd rather be
+out here, at the front, than at Chelsea.  I hated Chelsea--I can't
+tell you how much.  'Oh no, sir!' he said.  'I'd rather be at Chelsea
+than here.  I'd rather be at Chelsea.  There isn't hell like this at
+Chelsea.'  We'd had orders that we were to go back to the real camp
+the next day.  'Never mind, Wallace,' I said.  'We shall be out of
+this hell-on-earth tomorrow.'  And he took my hand.  We weren't much
+for showing feeling or anything in the guards.  But he took my hand.
+And we climbed out to charge--Poor fellow, he was killed--"  Herbertson
+dropped his head, and for some moments seemed to go unconscious, as if
+struck.  Then he lifted his face, and went on in the same animated
+chatty fashion: "You see, he had a presentiment.  I'm sure he had a
+presentiment.  None of the men got killed unless they had a
+presentiment--like that, you know. . . ."
+
+Herbertson nodded keenly at Lilly, with his sharp, twinkling, yet
+obsessed eyes.  Lilly wondered why he made the presentiment responsible
+for the death--which he obviously did--and not vice versa.  Herbertson
+implied every time, that you'd never get killed if you could keep
+yourself from having a presentiment.  Perhaps there was something in
+it.  Perhaps the soul issues its own ticket of death, when it can
+stand no more.  Surely life controls life: and not accident.
+
+"It's a funny thing what shock will do.  We had a sergeant and he
+shouted to me.  Both his feet were off--both his feet, clean at the
+ankle.  I gave him morphia.  You know officers aren't allowed to use
+the needle--might give the man blood poisoning.  You give those
+tabloids.  They say they act in a few minutes, but they DON'T.  It's
+a quarter of an hour.  And nothing is more demoralising than when you
+have a man, wounded, you know, and crying out.  Well, this man I gave
+him the morphia before he got over the stunning, you know.  So he
+didn't feel the pain.  Well, they carried him in.  I always used to
+like to look after my men.  So I went next morning and I found he
+hadn't been removed to the Clearing Station.  I got hold of the doctor
+and I said, 'Look here!  Why hasn't this man been taken to the Clearing
+Station?'  I used to get excited.  But after some years they'd got used
+to me.  'Don't get excited, Herbertson, the man's dying.'  'But,' I
+said, 'he's just been talking to me as strong as you are.'  And he had
+--he'd talk as strong and well as you or me, then go quiet for a bit.
+I said I gave him the morphia before he came round from the stunning.
+So he'd felt nothing.  But in two hours he was dead.  The doctor says
+that the shock does it like that sometimes.  You can do nothing for
+them.  Nothing vital is injured--and yet the life is broken in them.
+Nothing can be done--funny thing--Must be something in the brain--"
+
+"It's obviously not the brain," said Lilly.  "It's deeper than the
+brain."
+
+"Deeper," said Herbertson, nodding.
+
+"Funny thing where life is.  We had a lieutenant.  You know we all
+buried our own dead.  Well, he looked as if he was asleep.  Most of
+the chaps looked like that."  Herbertson closed his eyes and laid his
+face aside, like a man asleep and dead peacefully.  "You very rarely
+see a man dead with any other look on his face--you know the other
+look.--"  And he clenched his teeth with a sudden, momentaneous,
+ghastly distortion.--"Well, you'd never have known this chap was dead.
+He had a wound here--in the back of the head--and a bit of blood on
+his hand--and nothing else, nothing.  Well, I said we'd give him a
+decent burial.  He lay there waiting--and they'd wrapped him in a
+filthy blanket--you know.  Well, I said he should have a proper
+blanket.  He'd been dead lying there a day and a half you know.  So
+I went and got a blanket, a beautiful blanket, out of his private kit
+--his people were Scotch, well-known family--and I got the pins, you
+know, ready to pin him up properly, for the Scots Guards to bury him.
+And I thought he'd be stiff, you see.  But when I took him by the
+arms, to lift him on, he sat up.  It gave me an awful shock.  'Why
+he's alive!' I said.  But they said he was dead.  I couldn't believe
+it.  It gave me an awful shock.  He was as flexible as you or me, and
+looked as if he was asleep.  You couldn't believe he was dead.  But we
+pinned him up in his blanket.  It was an awful shock to me.  I couldn't
+believe a man could be like that after he'd been dead two days. . . .
+
+"The Germans were wonderful with the machine guns--it's a wicked thing,
+a machine gun.  But they couldn't touch us with the bayonet.  Every
+time the men came back they had bayonet practice, and they got awfully
+good.  You know when you thrust at the Germans--so--if you miss him,
+you bring your rifle back sharp, with a round swing, so that the butt
+comes up and hits up under the jaw.  It's one movement, following on
+with the stab, you see, if you miss him.  It was too quick for them--
+But bayonet charge was worst, you know.  Because your man cries out
+when you catch him, when you get him, you know.  That's what does
+you. . . .
+
+"No, oh no, this was no war like other wars.  All the machinery of it.
+No, you couldn't stand it, but for the men.  The men are wonderful,
+you know.  They'll be wiped out. . . . No, it's your men who keep you
+going, if you're an officer. . . . But there'll never be another war
+like this.  Because the Germans are the only people who could make a
+war like this--and I don't think they'll ever do it again, do you?
+
+"Oh, they were wonderful, the Germans.  They were amazing.  It was
+incredible, what they invented and did.  We had to learn from them,
+in the first two years.  But they were too methodical.  That's why
+they lost the war.  They were too methodical.  They'd fire their guns
+every ten minutes--regular.  Think of it.  Of course we knew when to
+run, and when to lie down.  You got so that you knew almost exactly
+what they'd do--if you'd been out long enough.  And then you could
+time what you wanted to do yourselves.
+
+"They were a lot more nervous than we were, at the last.  They sent up
+enough light at night from their trenches--you know, those things that
+burst in the air like electric light--we had none of that to do--they
+did it all for us--lit up everything.  They were more nervous than we
+were. . . ."
+
+It was nearly two o'clock when Herbertson left.  Lilly, depressed,
+remained before the fire.  Aaron got out of bed and came uneasily to
+the fire.
+
+"It gives me the bellyache, that damned war," he said.
+
+"So it does me," said Lilly.  "All unreal."
+
+"Real enough for those that had to go through it."
+
+"No, least of all for them," said Lilly sullenly.  "Not as real as a
+bad dream.  Why the hell don't they wake up and realise it!"
+
+"That's a fact," said Aaron.  "They're hypnotised by it."
+
+"And they want to hypnotise me.  And I won't be hypnotised.  The
+war was a lie and is a lie and will go on being a lie till somebody
+busts it."
+
+"It was a fact--you can't bust that.  You can't bust the fact that it
+happened."
+
+"Yes you can.  It never happened.  It never happened to me.  No more
+than my dreams happen.  My dreams don't happen: they only seem."
+
+"But the war did happen, right enough," smiled Aaron palely.
+
+"No, it didn't.  Not to me or to any man, in his own self.  It took
+place in the automatic sphere, like dreams do.  But the ACTUAL MAN in
+every man was just absent--asleep--or drugged--inert--dream-logged.
+That's it."
+
+"You tell 'em so," said Aaron.
+
+"I do.  But it's no good.  Because they won't wake up now even--perhaps
+never.  They'll all kill themselves in their sleep."
+
+"They wouldn't be any better if they did wake up and be themselves--
+that is, supposing they are asleep, which I can't see.  They are what
+they are--and they're all alike--and never very different from what
+they are now."
+
+Lilly stared at Aaron with black eyes.
+
+"Do you believe in them less than I do, Aaron?" he asked slowly.
+
+"I don't even want to believe in them."
+
+"But in yourself?"  Lilly was almost wistful--and Aaron uneasy.
+
+"I don't know that I've any more right to believe in myself than in
+them," he replied.  Lilly watched and pondered.
+
+"No," he said.  "That's not true--I KNEW the war was false: humanly
+quite false.  I always knew it was false.  The Germans were false, we
+were false, everybody was false."
+
+"And not you?" asked Aaron shrewishly.
+
+"There was a wakeful, self-possessed bit of me which knew that the war
+and all that horrible movement was false for me.  And so I wasn't going
+to be dragged in.  The Germans could have shot my mother or me or what
+they liked: I wouldn't have joined the WAR.  I would like to kill my
+enemy.  But become a bit of that huge obscene machine they called the
+war, that I never would, no, not if I died ten deaths and had eleven
+mothers violated.  But I would like to kill my enemy: Oh, yes, more
+than one enemy.  But not as a unit in a vast obscene mechanism.  That
+never: no, never."
+
+Poor Lilly was too earnest and vehement.  Aaron made a fine nose.
+It seemed to him like a lot of words and a bit of wriggling out of
+a hole.
+
+"Well," he said, "you've got men and nations, and you've got the
+machines of war--so how are you going to get out of it?  League of
+Nations?"
+
+"Damn all leagues.  Damn all masses and groups, anyhow.  All I want
+is to get MYSELF out of their horrible heap: to get out of the swarm.
+The swarm to me is nightmare and nullity--horrible helpless writhing
+in a dream.  I want to get myself awake, out of it all--all that mass-
+consciousness, all that mass-activity--it's the most horrible nightmare
+to me.  No man is awake and himself.  No man who was awake and in
+possession of himself would use poison gases: no man.  His own awake
+self would scorn such a thing.  It's only when the ghastly mob-sleep,
+the dream helplessness of the mass-psyche overcomes him, that he
+becomes completely base and obscene."
+
+"Ha--well," said Aaron.  "It's the wide-awake ones that invent the
+poison gas, and use it.  Where should we be without it?"
+
+Lilly started, went stiff and hostile.
+
+"Do you mean that, Aaron?" he said, looking into Aaron's face with a
+hard, inflexible look.
+
+Aaron turned aside half sheepishly.
+
+"That's how it looks on the face of it, isn't it?" he said.
+
+"Look here, my friend, it's too late for you to be talking to me about
+the face of things.  If that's how you feel, put your things on and
+follow Herbertson.  Yes--go out of my room.  I don't put up with the
+face of things here."
+
+Aaron looked at him in cold amazement.
+
+"It'll do tomorrow morning, won't it?" he asked rather mocking.
+
+"Yes," said Lilly coldly.  "But please go tomorrow morning."
+
+"Oh, I'll go all right," said Aaron.  "Everybody's got to agree with
+you--that's your price."
+
+But Lilly did not answer.  Aaron turned into bed, his satirical smile
+under his nose.  Somewhat surprised, however, at this sudden turn of
+affairs.
+
+As he was just going to sleep, dismissing the matter, Lilly came once
+more to his bedside, and said, in a hard voice:
+
+"I'm NOT going to pretend to have friends on the face of things.  No,
+and I don't have friends who don't fundamentally agree with me.  A
+friend means one who is at one with me in matters of life and death.
+And if you're at one with all the rest, then you're THEIR friend, not
+mine.  So be their friend.  And please leave me in the morning.  You
+owe me nothing, you have nothing more to do with me.  I have had enough
+of these friendships where I pay the piper and the mob calls the tune.
+
+"Let me tell you, moreover, your heroic Herbertsons lost us more than
+ever they won.  A brave ant is a damned cowardly individual.  Your
+heroic officers are a sad sight AFTERWARDS, when they come home.
+Bah, your Herbertson!  The only justification for war is what we
+learn from it.  And what have they learnt?--Why did so many of them
+have presentiments, as he called it?  Because they could feel inside
+them, there was nothing to come after.  There was no life-courage:
+only death-courage.  Nothing beyond this hell--only death or love--
+languishing--"
+
+"What could they have seen, anyhow?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's not what you see, actually.  It's the kind of spirit you keep
+inside you: the life spirit.  When Wallace had presentiments,
+Herbertson, being officer, should have said: 'None of that, Wallace.
+You and I, we've got to live and make life smoke.'--Instead of which
+he let Wallace be killed and his own heart be broken.  Always the
+death-choice--  And we won't, we simply will not face the world as
+we've made it, and our own souls as we find them, and take the
+responsibility.  We'll never get anywhere till we stand up man to
+man and face EVERYTHING out, and break the old forms, but never let
+our own pride and courage of life be broken."
+
+Lilly broke off, and went silently to bed.  Aaron turned over to sleep,
+rather resenting the sound of so many words.  What difference did it
+make, anyhow?  In the morning, however, when he saw the other man's
+pale, closed, rather haughty face, he realised that something _had_
+happened.  Lilly was courteous and even affable: but with a curious
+cold space between him and Aaron.  Breakfast passed, and Aaron knew
+that he must leave.  There was something in Lilly's bearing which just
+showed him the door.  In some surprise and confusion, and in some
+anger, not unmingled with humorous irony, he put his things in his
+bag.  He put on his hat and coat.  Lilly was seated rather stiffly
+writing.
+
+"Well," said Aaron.  "I suppose we shall meet again."
+
+"Oh, sure to," said Lilly, rising from his chair.  "We are sure to run
+across one another."
+
+"When are you going?" asked Aaron.
+
+"In a few days' time."
+
+"Oh, well, I'll run in and see you before you go, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+Lilly escorted his guest to the top of the stairs, shook hands, and
+then returned into his own room, closing the door on himself.
+
+Aaron did not find his friend at home when he called.  He took it
+rather as a slap in the face.  But then he knew quite well that Lilly
+had made a certain call on his, Aaron's soul: a call which he, Aaron,
+did not at all intend to obey.  If in return the soul-caller chose to
+shut his street-door in the face of the world-friend--well, let it be
+quits.  He was not sure whether he felt superior to his unworldly
+enemy or not.  He rather thought he did.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+MORE PILLAR OF SALT
+
+
+The opera season ended, Aaron was invited by Cyril Scott to join a
+group of musical people in a village by the sea.  He accepted, and
+spent a pleasant month.  It pleased the young men musically-inclined
+and bohemian by profession to patronise the flautist, whom they
+declared marvellous.  Bohemians with well-to-do parents, they could
+already afford to squander a little spasmodic and self-gratifying
+patronage.  And Aaron did not mind being patronised.  He had nothing
+else to do.
+
+But the party broke up early in September.  The flautist was detained
+a few days at a country house, for the amusement of the guests.  Then
+he left for London.
+
+In London he found himself at a loose end.  A certain fretful dislike
+of the patronage of indifferent young men, younger than himself, and
+a certain distaste for regular work in the orchestra made him look
+round.  He wanted something else.  He wanted to disappear again.
+Qualms and emotions concerning his abandoned family overcame him.
+The early, delicate autumn affected him.  He took a train to the
+Midlands.
+
+And again, just after dark, he strolled with his little bag across the
+field which lay at the end of his garden.  It had been mown, and the
+grass was already growing long.  He stood and looked at the line of
+back windows, lighted once more.  He smelled the scents of autumn,
+phlox and moist old vegetation and corn in sheaf.  A nostalgia which
+was half at least revulsion affected him.  The place, the home, at
+once fascinated and revolted him.
+
+Sitting in his shed, he scrutinised his garden carefully, in the
+starlight.  There were two rows of beans, rather disshevelled.  Near
+at hand the marrow plants sprawled from their old bed.  He could detect
+the perfume of a few carnations.  He wondered who it was had planted
+the garden, during his long absence.  Anyhow, there it was, planted
+and fruited and waning into autumn.
+
+The blind was not drawn.  It was eight o'clock.  The children were
+going to bed.  Aaron waited in his shed, his bowels stirred with
+violent but only half-admitted emotions.  There was his wife, slim and
+graceful, holding a little mug to the baby's mouth.  And the baby was
+drinking.  She looked lonely.  Wild emotions attacked his heart.  There
+was going to be a wild and emotional reconciliation.
+
+Was there?  It seemed like something fearful and imminent.  A passion
+arose in him, a craving for the violent emotional reconciliation.  He
+waited impatiently for the children to be gone to bed, gnawed with
+restless desire.
+
+He heard the clock strike nine, then half-past, from the village
+behind.  The children would be asleep.  His wife was sitting sewing
+some little frock.  He went lingering down the garden path, stooping
+to lift the fallen carnations, to see how they were.  There were many
+flowers, but small.  He broke one off, then threw it away.  The golden
+rod was out.  Even in the little lawn there were asters, as of old.
+
+His wife started to listen, hearing his step.  He was filled with a
+violent conflict of tenderness, like a sickness.  He hesitated, tapping
+at the door, and entered.  His wife started to her feet, at bay.
+
+"What have you come for!" was her involuntary ejaculation.
+
+But he, with the familiar odd jerk of his head towards the garden,
+asked with a faint smile:
+
+"Who planted the garden?"
+
+And he felt himself dropping into the twang of the vernacular, which
+he had discarded.
+
+Lottie only stood and stared at him, objectively.  She did not think
+to answer.  He took his hat off, and put it on the dresser.  Again
+the familiar act maddened her.
+
+"What have you come for?" she cried again, with a voice full of hate.
+Or perhaps it was fear and doubt and even hope as well.  He heard
+only hate.
+
+This time he turned to look at her.  The old dagger was drawn in her.
+
+"I wonder," he said, "myself."
+
+Then she recovered herself, and with trembling hand picked up her
+sewing again.  But she still stood at bay, beyond the table.  She
+said nothing.  He, feeling tired, sat down on the chair nearest the
+door.  But he reached for his hat, and kept it on his knee.  She,
+as she stood there unnaturally, went on with her sewing.  There was
+silence for some time.  Curious sensations and emotions went through
+the man's frame seeming to destroy him.  They were like electric
+shocks, which he felt she emitted against him.  And an old sickness
+came in him again.  He had forgotten it.  It was the sickness of the
+unrecognised and incomprehensible strain between him and her.
+
+After a time she put down her sewing, and sat again in her chair.
+
+"Do you know how vilely you've treated me?" she said, staring across
+the space at him.  He averted his face.
+
+Yet he answered, not without irony.
+
+"I suppose so."
+
+"And why?" she cried.  "I should like to know why."
+
+He did not answer.  The way she rushed in made him go vague.
+
+"Justify yourself.  Say why you've been so vile to me.  Say what you
+had against me," she demanded.
+
+"What I HAD against her," he mused to himself: and he wondered that
+she used the past tense.  He made no answer.
+
+"Accuse me," she insisted.  "Say what I've done to make you treat me
+like this.  Say it.  You must THINK it hard enough."
+
+"Nay," he said.  "I don't think it."
+
+This speech, by which he merely meant that he did not trouble to
+formulate any injuries he had against her, puzzled her.
+
+"Don't come pretending you love me, NOW.  It's too late," she said
+with contempt.  Yet perhaps also hope.
+
+"You might wait till I start pretending," he said.
+
+This enraged her.
+
+"You vile creature!" she exclaimed.  "Go!  What have you come for?"
+
+"To look at YOU," he said sarcastically.
+
+After a few minutes she began to cry, sobbing violently into her apron.
+And again his bowels stirred and boiled.
+
+"What have I done!  What have I done!  I don't know what I've done
+that he should be like this to me," she sobbed, into her apron.  It
+was childish, and perhaps true.  At least it was true from the childish
+part of her nature.  He sat gloomy and uneasy.
+
+She took the apron from her tear-stained face, and looked at him.  It
+was true, in her moments of roused exposure she was a beautiful woman--
+a beautiful woman.  At this moment, with her flushed, tear-stained,
+wilful distress, she was beautiful.
+
+"Tell me," she challenged.  "Tell me!  Tell me what I've done.  Tell
+me what you have against me.  Tell me."
+
+Watching like a lynx, she saw the puzzled, hurt look in his face.
+Telling isn't so easy--especially when the trouble goes too deep for
+conscious comprehension.  He couldn't _tell_ what he had against her.
+And he had not the slightest intention of doing what she would have
+liked him to do, starting to pile up detailed grievances.  He knew
+the detailed grievances were nothing in themselves.
+
+"You CAN'T," she cried vindictively.  "You CAN'T.  You CAN'T find
+anything real to bring against me, though you'd like to.  You'd like
+to be able to accuse me of something, but you CAN'T, because you know
+there isn't anything."
+
+She watched him, watched.  And he sat in the chair near the door,
+without moving.
+
+"You're unnatural, that's what you are," she cried.  "You're
+unnatural.  You're not a man.  You haven't got a man's feelings.
+You're nasty, and cold, and unnatural.  And you're a coward.  You're
+a coward.  You run away from me, without telling me what you've got
+against me."
+
+"When you've had enough, you go away and you don't care what you do,"
+he said, epigrammatic.
+
+She paused a moment.
+
+"Enough of what?" she said.  "What have you had enough of?  Of me and
+your children?  It's a nice manly thing to say.  Haven't I loved you?
+Haven't I loved you for twelve years, and worked and slaved for you
+and tried to keep you right?  Heaven knows where you'd have been but
+for me, evil as you are at the bottom.  You're evil, that's what it
+is--and weak.  You're too weak to love a woman and give her what she
+wants: too weak.  Unmanly and cowardly, he runs away."
+
+"No wonder," he said.
+
+"No," she cried.  "It IS no wonder, with a nature like yours: weak and
+unnatural and evil.  It IS no wonder."
+
+She became quiet--and then started to cry again, into her apron.  Aaron
+waited.  He felt physically weak.
+
+"And who knows what you've been doing all these months?" she wept.
+"Who knows all the vile things you've been doing?  And you're the
+father of my children--the father of my little girls--and who knows
+what vile things he's guilty of, all these months?"
+
+"I shouldn't let my imagination run away with me," he answered.  "I've
+been playing the flute in the orchestra of one of the theatres in
+London."
+
+"Ha!" she cried.  "It's more than that.  Don't think I'm going to
+believe you.  I know you, with your smooth-sounding lies.  You're a
+liar, as you know.  And I know you've been doing other things besides
+play a flute in an orchestra.  You!--as if I don't know you.  And then
+coming crawling back to me with your lies and your pretense.  Don't
+think I'm taken in."
+
+"I should be sorry," he said.
+
+"Coming crawling back to me, and expecting to be forgiven," she went
+on.  "But no--I don't forgive--and I can't forgive--never--not as long
+as I live shall I forgive what you've done to me."
+
+"You can wait till you're asked, anyhow," he said.
+
+"And you can wait," she said.  "And you shall wait."  She took up her
+sewing, and stitched steadily, as if calmly.  Anyone glancing in would
+have imagined a quiet domestic hearth at that moment.  He, too, feeling
+physically weak, remained silent, feeling his soul absent from the
+scene.
+
+Again she suddenly burst into tears, weeping bitterly.
+
+"And the children," she sobbed, rocking herself with grief and chagrin.
+"What have I been able to say to the children--what have I been able
+to tell them?"
+
+"What HAVE you told them?" he asked coldly.
+
+"I told them you'd gone away to work," she sobbed, laying her head on
+her arms on the table.  "What else could I tell them?  I couldn't tell
+them the vile truth about their father.  I couldn't tell THEM how evil
+you are."  She sobbed and moaned.
+
+He wondered what exactly the vile truth would have been, had she
+_started_ to tell it.  And he began to feel, coldly and cynically,
+that among all her distress there was a luxuriating in the violent
+emotions of the scene in hand, and the situation altogether.
+
+Then again she became quiet, and picked up her sewing.  She stitched
+quietly, wistfully, for some time.  Then she looked up at him--a long
+look of reproach, and sombre accusation, and wifely tenderness.  He
+turned his face aside.
+
+"You know you've been wrong to me, don't you?" she said, half
+wistfully, half menacing.
+
+He felt her wistfulness and her menace tearing him in his bowels
+and loins.
+
+"You do know, don't you?" she insisted, still with the wistful appeal,
+and the veiled threat.
+
+"You do, or you would answer," she said.  "You've still got enough
+that's right in you, for you to know."
+
+She waited.  He sat still, as if drawn by hot wires.
+
+Then she slipped across to him, put her arms round him, sank on her
+knees at his side, and sank her face against his thigh.
+
+"Say you know how wrong you are.  Say you know how cruel you've been
+to me," she pleaded.  But under her female pleading and appeal he felt
+the iron of her threat.
+
+"You DO know it," she murmured, looking up into his face as she
+crouched by his knee.  "You DO know it.  I can see in your eyes that
+you know it.  And why have you come back to me, if you don't know it!
+Why have you come back to me?  Tell me!"  Her arms gave him a sharp,
+compulsory little clutch round the waist.  "Tell me!  Tell me!" she
+murmured, with all her appeal liquid in her throat.
+
+But him, it half overcame, and at the same time, horrified.  He had a
+certain horror of her.  The strange liquid sound of her appeal seemed
+to him like the swaying of a serpent which mesmerises the fated,
+fluttering, helpless bird.  She clasped her arms round him, she drew
+him to her, she half roused his passion.  At the same time she coldly
+horrified and repelled him.  He had not the faintest feeling, at the
+moment, of his own wrong.  But she wanted to win his own self-betrayal
+out of him.  He could see himself as the fascinated victim, falling to
+this cajoling, awful woman, the wife of his bosom.  But as well, he
+had a soul outside himself, which looked on the whole scene with cold
+revulsion, and which was as unchangeable as time.
+
+"No," he said.  "I don't feel wrong."
+
+"You DO!" she said, giving him a sharp, admonitory clutch.  "You DO.
+Only you're silly, and obstinate, babyish and silly and obstinate.
+An obstinate little boy--you DO feel wrong.  And you ARE wrong.  And
+you've got to say it."
+
+But quietly he disengaged himself and got to his feet, his face pale
+and set, obstinate as she said.  He put his hat on, and took his little
+bag.  She watched him curiously, still crouching by his chair.
+
+"I'll go," he said, putting his hand on the latch.
+
+Suddenly she sprang to her feet and clutched him by the shirt-neck,
+her hand inside his soft collar, half strangling him.
+
+"You villain," she said, and her face was transfigured with passion
+as he had never seen it before, horrible.  "You villain!" she said
+thickly.  "What have you come here for?"
+
+His soul went black as he looked at her.   He broke her hand away from
+his shirt collar, bursting the stud-holes.  She recoiled in silence.
+And in one black, unconscious movement he was gone, down the garden
+and over the fence and across the country, swallowed in a black
+unconsciousness.
+
+She, realising, sank upon the hearth-rug and lay there curled upon
+herself.  She was defeated.  But she, too, would never yield.  She
+lay quite motionless for some time.  Then she got up, feeling the
+draught on the floor.  She closed the door, and drew down the blind.
+Then she looked at her wrist, which he had gripped, and which pained
+her.  Then she went to the mirror and looked for a long time at her
+white, strained, determined face.  Come life, come death, she, too
+would never yield.  And she realised now that he would never yield.
+
+She was faint with weariness, and would be glad to get to bed and
+sleep.
+
+Aaron meanwhile had walked across the country and was looking for a
+place to rest.  He found a cornfield with a half-built stack, and
+sheaves in stook.  Ten to one some tramp would have found the stack.
+He threw a dozen sheaves together and lay down, looking at the stars
+in the September sky.  He, too, would never yield.  The illusion of
+love was gone for ever.  Love was a battle in which each party strove
+for the mastery of the other's soul.  So far, man had yielded the
+mastery to woman.  Now he was fighting for it back again.  And too
+late, for the woman would never yield.
+
+But whether woman yielded or not, he would keep the mastery of his
+own soul and conscience and actions.  He would never yield himself
+up to her judgment again.  He would hold himself forever beyond her
+jurisdiction.
+
+Henceforth, life single, not life double.
+
+He looked at the sky, and thanked the universe for the blessedness of
+being alone in the universe.  To be alone, to be oneself, not to be
+driven or violated into something which is not oneself, surely it is
+better than anything.  He thought of Lottie, and knew how much more
+truly herself she was when she was alone, with no man to distort her.
+And he was thankful for the division between them.  Such scenes as the
+last were too horrible and unreal.
+
+As for future unions, too soon to think about it.  Let there be clean
+and pure division first, perfected singleness.  That is the only way
+to final, living unison: through sheer, finished singleness.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+NOVARA
+
+
+Having no job for the autumn, Aaron fidgetted in London.  He played at
+some concerts and some private shows.  He was one of an odd quartette,
+for example, which went to play to Lady Artemis Hooper,  when she lay
+in bed after her famous escapade of falling through the window of her
+taxi-cab.  Aaron had that curious knack, which belongs to some people,
+of getting into the swim without knowing he was doing it.  Lady Artemis
+thought his flute lovely, and had him again to play for her.  Aaron
+looked at her and she at him.  She, as she reclined there in bed in a
+sort of half-light, well made-up, smoking her cigarettes and talking
+in a rather raucous voice, making her slightly rasping witty comments
+to the other men in the room--of course there were other men, the
+audience--was a shock to the flautist.  This was the bride of the
+moment!  Curious how raucous her voice sounded out of the cigarette
+smoke.  Yet he liked her--the reckless note of the modern, social
+freebooter.  In himself was a touch of the same quality.
+
+"Do you love playing?" she asked him.
+
+"Yes," he said, with that shadow of irony which seemed like a smile on
+his face.
+
+"Live for it, so to speak," she said.
+
+"I make my living by it," he said.
+
+"But that's not really how you take it?" she said.  He eyed her.  She
+watched him over her cigarette.  It was a personal moment.
+
+"I don't think about it," he said.
+
+"I'm sure you don't.  You wouldn't be so good if you did.  You're
+awfully lucky, you know, to be able to pour yourself down your flute."
+
+"You think I go down easy?" he laughed.
+
+"Ah!" she replied, flicking her cigarette broadcast.  "That's the
+point.  What should you say, Jimmy?" she turned to one of the men.
+He screwed his eyeglass nervously and stiffened himself to look
+at her.
+
+"I--I shouldn't like to say, off-hand," came the small-voiced, self-
+conscious answer.  And Jimmy bridled himself and glanced at Aaron.
+
+"Do you find it a tight squeeze, then?" she said, turning to Aaron
+once more.
+
+"No, I can't say that," he answered.  "What of me goes down goes down
+easy enough.  It's what doesn't go down."
+
+"And how much is that?" she asked, eying him.
+
+"A good bit, maybe," he said.
+
+"Slops over, so to speak," she retorted sarcastically.  "And which do
+you enjoy more, trickling down your flute or slopping over on to the
+lap of Mother Earth--of Miss, more probably!"
+
+"Depends," he said.
+
+Having got him a few steps too far upon the personal ground, she left
+him to get off by himself.
+
+So he found London got on his nerves.  He felt it rubbed him the
+wrong way.  He was flattered, of course, by his own success--and
+felt at the same time irritated by it.  This state of mind was by
+no means acceptable.  Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly,
+the first place--or a place among the first.  Among the musical
+people he frequented, he found himself on a callow kind of equality
+with everybody, even the stars and aristocrats, at one moment, and a
+backstairs outsider the next.  It was all just as the moment demanded.
+There was a certain excitement in slithering up and down the social
+scale, one minute chatting in a personal tete-a-tete with the most
+famous, or notorious, of the society beauties: and the next walking
+in the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby lodging in
+Bloomsbury.  Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm
+that lay at the bottom of his soul, and which burned there like
+an unhealthy bile.
+
+Therefore he determined to clear out--to disappear.  He had a letter
+from Lilly, from Novara.  Lilly was drifting about.  Aaron wrote to
+Novara, and asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak
+of.  "Come if you want to.  Bring your flute.  And if you've no money,
+put on a good suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside
+the best cafe in any Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get
+on with."
+
+It was a sporting chance.  Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
+wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
+Franks'.  He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London.
+But it didn't.
+
+Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a
+wet, dark evening.  He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody.  With
+some slight dismay he faced the big, crowded station.  The stream of
+people carried him automatically through the barrier, a porter having
+seized his bag, and volleyed various unintelligible questions at him.
+Aaron understood not one word.  So he just wandered after the blue
+blouse of the porter.
+
+The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired
+off more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space
+of darkness outside the station.  Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he
+nodded and said "Yes."  But there were no cabs.  So once more the blue-
+bloused porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over
+his shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and
+a sort of theatre place.
+
+One carriage stood there in the rain--yes, and it was free.
+
+"Keb?  Yes--orright--sir.  Whe'to?  Where you go?  Sir William Franks?
+Yes, I know.  Long way go--go long way.  Sir William Franks."
+
+The cabman spattered his few words of English.  Aaron gave the porter
+an English shilling.  The porter let the coin lie in the middle of
+his palm, as if it were a live beetle, and darted to the light of the
+carriage to examine the beast, exclaiming volubly.  The cabman, wild
+with interest, peered down from the box into the palm of the porter,
+and carried on an impassioned dialogue.  Aaron stood with one foot on
+the step.
+
+"What you give--he?  One franc?" asked the driver.
+
+"A shilling," said Aaron.
+
+"One sheeling.  Yes.  I know that.  One sheeling English"--and the
+driver went off into impassioned exclamations in Torinese.  The
+porter, still muttering and holding his hand as if the coin might
+sting him, filtered away.
+
+"Orright.  He know--sheeling--orright.  English moneys, eh?  Yes, he
+know.  You get up, sir."
+
+And away went Aaron, under the hood of the carriage, clattering down
+the wide darkness of Novara, over a bridge apparently, past huge rain-
+wet statues, and through more rainy, half-lit streets.
+
+They stopped at last outside a sort of park wall with trees above.
+The big gates were just beyond.
+
+"Sir William Franks--there."  In a mixture of Italian and English the
+driver told Aaron to get down and ring the bell on the right.  Aaron
+got down and in the darkness was able to read the name on the plate.
+
+"How much?" said Aaron to the driver.
+
+"Ten franc," said the fat driver.
+
+But it was his turn now to screw down and scrutinise the pink ten-
+shilling note.  He waved it in his hand.
+
+"Not good, eh?  Not good moneys?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, rather indignantly.  "Good English money.  Ten
+shillings.  Better than ten francs, a good deal.  Better--better--"
+
+"Good--you say?  Ten sheeling--" The driver muttered and muttered, as
+if dissatisfied.  But as a matter of fact he stowed the note in his
+waistcoat pocket with considerable satisfaction, looked at Aaron
+curiously, and drove away.
+
+Aaron stood there in the dark outside the big gates, and wished
+himself somewhere else.  However, he rang the bell.  There was a huge
+barking of dogs on the other side.  Presently a light switched on,
+and a woman, followed by a man, appeared cautiously, in the half-
+opened doorway.
+
+"Sir William Franks?" said Aaron.
+
+"Si, signore."
+
+And Aaron stepped with his two bags inside the gate.  Huge dogs jumped
+round.  He stood in the darkness under the trees at the foot of the
+park.  The woman fastened the gate--Aaron saw a door--and through an
+uncurtained window a man writing at a desk--rather like the clerk in
+an hotel office.  He was going with his two bags to the open door,
+when the woman stopped him, and began talking to him in Italian.  It
+was evident he must not go on.  So he put down the bags.  The man
+stood a few yards away, watchfully.
+
+Aaron looked down at the woman and tried to make out something of what
+she was saying, but could not.  The dogs still barked spasmodically,
+drops fell from the tall, dark trees that rose overhead.
+
+"Is Mr. Lilly here?  Mr. Lilly?" he asked.
+
+"Signor Lillee.  No, Signore--"
+
+And off the woman went in Italian.  But it was evident Lilly was not
+at the house.  Aaron wished more than ever he had not come, but had
+gone to an hotel.
+
+He made out that the woman was asking him for his name--"Meester--?
+Meester--?" she kept saying, with a note of interrogation.
+
+"Sisson.  Mr. Sisson," said Aaron, who was becoming impatient.  And he
+found a visiting card to give her.  She seemed appeased--said something
+about telephone--and left him standing.
+
+The rain had ceased, but big drops were shaken from the dark, high
+trees.  Through the uncurtained window he saw the man at the desk
+reach the telephone.  There was a long pause.  At length the woman
+came back and motioned to him to go up--up the drive which curved
+and disappeared under the dark trees.
+
+"Go up there?" said Aaron, pointing.
+
+That was evidently the intention.  So he picked up his bags and strode
+forward, from out of the circle of electric light, up the curved drive
+in the darkness.  It was a steep incline.  He saw trees and the grass
+slopes.  There was a tang of snow in the air.
+
+Suddenly, up ahead, a brilliant light switched on.  He continued uphill
+through the trees along the path, towards it, and at length, emerged
+at the foot of a great flight of steps, above which was a wide glass
+entrance, and an Italian manservant in white gloves hovering as if on
+the brink.
+
+Aaron emerged from the drive and climbed the steps.  The manservant
+came down two steps and took the little bag.  Then he ushered Aaron
+and the big bag into a large, pillared hall, with thick Turkish carpet
+on the floor, and handsome appointments.  It was spacious, comfortable
+and warm; but somewhat pretentious; rather like the imposing hall into
+which the heroine suddenly enters on the film.
+
+Aaron dropped his heavy bag, with relief, and stood there, hat in
+hand, in his damp overcoat in the circle of light, looking vaguely
+at the yellow marble pillars, the gilded arches above, the shadowy
+distances and the great stairs.  The butler disappeared--reappeared
+in another moment--and through an open doorway came the host.  Sir
+William was a small, clean old man with a thin, white beard and a
+courtly deportment, wearing a black velvet dinner jacket faced with
+purple silk.
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Sisson.  You come straight from England?"
+
+Sir William held out his hand courteously and benevolently, smiling an
+old man's smile of hospitality.
+
+"Mr. Lilly has gone away?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes.  He left us several days ago."
+
+Aaron hesitated.
+
+"You didn't expect me, then?"
+
+"Yes, oh, yes.  Yes, oh, yes.  Very glad to see you--well, now, come
+in and have some dinner--"
+
+At this moment Lady Franks appeared--short, rather plump, but erect
+and definite, in a black silk dress and pearls round her throat.
+
+"How do you do?  We are just at dinner," she said.  "You haven't eaten?
+No--well, then--would you like a bath now, or--?"
+
+It was evident the Franks had dispensed much hospitality: much of it
+charitable.  Aaron felt it.
+
+"No," he said.  "I'll wash my hands and come straight in, shall I?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps that would be better--"
+
+"I'm afraid I am a nuisance."
+
+"Not at all--Beppe--" and she gave instructions in Italian.
+
+Another footman appeared, and took the big bag.  Aaron took the little
+one this time.  They climbed the broad, turning stairs, crossed another
+handsome lounge, gilt and ormolu and yellow silk chairs and scattered
+copies of _The Graphic_ or of _Country Life_, then they disappeared
+through a doorway into a much narrower flight of stairs.  Man can so
+rarely keep it up all the way, the grandeur.
+
+Two black and white chamber-maids appeared.  Aaron found himself in
+a blue silk bedroom, and a footman unstrapping his bag, which he did
+not want unstrapped.  Next minute he was beckoned and allured by the
+Italian servants down the corridor, and presented to the handsome,
+spacious bathroom, which was warm and creamy-coloured and glittering
+with massive silver and mysterious with up-to-date conveniences.  There
+he was left to his own devices, and felt like a small boy finding out
+how it works.  For even the mere turning on of the taps was a problem
+in silver mechanics.
+
+In spite of all the splendours and the elaborated convenience, he
+washed himself in good hot water, and wished he were having a bath,
+chiefly because of the wardrobe of marvellous Turkish towels.  Then he
+clicked his way back to his bedroom, changed his shirt and combed his
+hair in the blue silk bedroom with the Greuze picture, and felt a
+little dim and superficial surprise.  He had fallen into country house
+parties before, but never into quite such a plushy sense of riches.
+He felt he ought to have his breath taken away.  But alas, the cinema
+has taken our breath away so often, investing us in all the splendours
+of the splendidest American millionaire, or all the heroics and marvels
+of the Somme or the North Pole, that life has now no magnate richer
+than we, no hero nobler than we have been, on the film.  _Connu_!
+_Connu_!  Everything life has to offer is known to us, couldn't be
+known better, from the film.
+
+So Aaron tied his tie in front of a big Venice mirror, and nothing was
+a surprise to him.  He found a footman hovering to escort him to the
+dining-room--a real Italian footman, uneasy because milady's dinner
+was unsettled.  He entered the rather small dining-room, and saw the
+people at table.
+
+He was told various names: bowed to a young, slim woman with big
+blue eyes and dark hair like a photograph, then to a smaller rather
+colourless young woman with a large nose: then to a stout, rubicund,
+bald colonel, and to a tall, thin, Oxford-looking major with a black
+patch over his eye--both these men in khaki: finally to a good-
+looking, well-nourished young man in a dinner-jacket, and he sat down
+to his soup, on his hostess' left hand.  The colonel sat on her right,
+and was confidential.  Little Sir William, with his hair and his beard
+white like spun glass, his manner very courteous and animated, the
+purple facings of his velvet jacket very impressive, sat at the far
+end of the table jesting with the ladies and showing his teeth in an
+old man's smile, a little bit affected, but pleasant, wishing everybody
+to be happy.
+
+Aaron ate his soup, trying to catch up.  Milady's own confidential
+Italian butler, fidelity itself, hovered quivering near, spiritually
+helping the newcomer to catch up.  Two nice little entree dishes,
+specially prepared for Aaron to take the place of the bygone fish
+and vol au-vents of the proper dinner, testified to the courtesy
+and charity of his hostess.
+
+Well, eating rapidly, he had more or less caught up by the time the
+sweets came.  So he swallowed a glass of wine and looked round.  His
+hostess with her pearls, and her diamond star in her grey hair, was
+speaking of Lilly and then of music to him.
+
+"I hear you are a musician.  That's what I should have been if I had
+had my way."
+
+"What instrument?" asked Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the piano.  Yours is the flute, Mr. Lilly says.  I think the flute
+can be so attractive.  But I feel, of course you have more range with
+the piano.  I love the piano--and orchestra."
+
+At that moment, the colonel and hostess-duties distracted her.  But
+she came back in snatches.  She was a woman who reminded him a little
+of Queen Victoria; so assured in her own room, a large part of her
+attention always given to the successful issue of her duties, the
+remainder at the disposal of her guests.  It was an old-fashioned,
+not unpleasant feeling: like retrospect.  But she had beautiful, big,
+smooth emeralds and sapphires on her fingers.  Money!  What a curious
+thing it is!  Aaron noticed the deference of all the guests at table:
+a touch of obsequiousness: before the money!  And the host and hostess
+accepted the deference, nay, expected it, as their due.  Yet both Sir
+William and Lady Franks knew that it was only money and success.  They
+had both a certain afterthought, knowing dimly that the game was but
+a game, and that they were the helpless leaders in the game.  They
+had a certain basic ordinariness which prevented their making any
+great hits, and which kept them disillusioned all the while.  They
+remembered their poor and insignificant days.
+
+"And I hear you were playing in the orchestra at Covent Garden.  We
+came back from London last week.  I enjoyed Beecham's operas so much."
+
+"Which do you like best?" said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, the Russian.  I think _Ivan_.  It is such fine music."
+
+"I find _Ivan_ artificial."
+
+"Do you?  Oh, I don't think so.  No, I don't think you can say that."
+
+Aaron wondered at her assurance.  She seemed to put him just a tiny
+bit in his place, even in an opinion on music.  Money gave her that
+right, too.  Curious--the only authority left.  And he deferred to her
+opinion: that is, to her money.  He did it almost deliberately.  Yes--
+what did he believe in, besides money?  What does any man?  He looked
+at the black patch over the major's eye.  What had he given his eye
+for?--the nation's money.  Well, and very necessary, too; otherwise
+we might be where the wretched Austrians are.  Instead of which--how
+smooth his hostess' sapphires!
+
+"Of course I myself prefer Moussorgsky," said Aaron.  "I think he is a
+greater artist.  But perhaps it is just personal preference."
+
+"Yes.  _Boris_ is wonderful.  Oh, some of the scenes in _Boris_!"
+
+"And even more _Kovantchina_," said Aaron.  "I wish we could go back
+to melody pure and simple.  Yet I find _Kovantchina_, which is all
+mass music practically, gives me more satisfaction than any other
+opera."
+
+"Do you really?  I shouldn't say so: oh, no--but you can't mean that
+you would like all music to go back to melody pure and simple!  Just
+a flute--just a pipe!  Oh, Mr. Sisson, you are bigoted for your
+instrument.  I just LIVE in harmony--chords, chords!"  She struck
+imaginary chords on the white damask, and her sapphires swam blue.
+But at the same time she was watching to see if Sir William had still
+got beside his plate the white medicine _cachet_ which he must swallow
+at every meal.  Because if so, she must remind him to swallow it.
+However, at that very moment, he put it on his tongue.  So that she
+could turn her attention again to Aaron and the imaginary chord on
+the white damask; the thing she just lived in.  But the rubicund bald
+colonel, more rubicund after wine, most rubicund now the Marsala was
+going, snatched her attention with a burly homage to her femininity,
+and shared his fear with her with a boyish gallantry.
+
+When the women had gone up, Sir William came near and put his hand on
+Aaron's shoulder.  It was evident the charm was beginning to work.  Sir
+William was a self-made man, and not in the least a snob.  He liked the
+fundamental ordinariness in Aaron, the commonness of the common man.
+
+"Well now, Mr. Sisson, we are very glad to see you!  Very glad, indeed.
+I count Mr. Lilly one of the most interesting men it has ever been my
+good fortune to know.  And so for your own sake, and for Mr. Lilly's
+sake, we are very glad to see you.  Arthur, my boy, give Mr. Sisson
+some Marsala--and take some yourself."
+
+"Thank you, Sir," said the well-nourished young man in nice evening
+clothes.  "You'll take another glass yourself, Sir?"
+
+"Yes, I will, I will.  I will drink a glass with Mr. Sisson.  Major,
+where are you wandering off to?  Come and take a glass with us, my
+boy."
+
+"Thanks, Sir William," drawled the young major with the black patch.
+
+"Now, Colonel--I hope you are in good health and spirits."
+
+"Never better, Sir William, never better."
+
+"I'm very glad to hear it; very glad indeed.  Try my Marsala--I think
+it is quite good.  Port is beyond us for the moment--for the moment--"
+
+And the old man sipped his brown wine, and smiled again.  He made quite
+a handsome picture: but he was frail.
+
+"And where are you bound, Mr. Sisson?  Towards Rome?"
+
+"I came to meet Lilly," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah!  But Lilly has fled over the borders by this time.  Never was such
+a man for crossing frontiers.  Wonderful person, to be able to do it."
+
+"Where has he gone?" said Aaron.
+
+"I think to Geneva for the moment.  But he certainly talked of Venice.
+You yourself have no definite goal?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Ah!  You have not come to Italy to practice your art?"
+
+"I shall HAVE to practice it: or else--no, I haven't come for that."
+
+"Ah, you will HAVE to practice it.  Ah, yes!  We are all under the
+necessity to eat.  And you have a family in England?  Am I not right?"
+
+"Quite.  I've got a family depending on me."
+
+"Yes, then you must practice your art: you must practice your art.
+Well--shall we join the ladies?  Coffee will no doubt be served."
+
+"Will you take my arm, Sir?" said the well-nourished Arthur.
+
+"Thank you, thank you," the old man motioned him away.
+
+So they went upstairs to where the three women were sitting in the
+library round the fire, chattering not very interested.  The entry
+of Sir William at once made a stir.
+
+The girl in white, with the biggish nose, fluttered round him.  She
+was Arthur's wife.  The girl in soft blue spread herself on the couch:
+she was the young Major's wife, and she had a blue band round her
+hair.  The Colonel hovered stout and fidgetty round Lady Franks and
+the liqueur stand.  He and the Major were both in khaki--belonging to
+the service on duty in Italy still.
+
+Coffee appeared--and Sir William doled out _creme de menthe_.  There
+was no conversation--only tedious words.  The little party was just
+commonplace and dull--boring.  Yet Sir William, the self-made man, was
+a study.  And the young, Oxford-like Major, with his English diffidence
+and his one dark, pensive, baffled eye was only waiting to be earnest,
+poor devil.
+
+The girl in white had been a sort of companion to Lady Franks, so that
+Arthur was more or less a son-in-law.  In this capacity, he acted.
+Aaron strayed round uneasily looking at the books, bought but not
+read, and at the big pictures above.  It was Arthur who fetched out
+the little boxes containing the orders conferred on Sir William for
+his war-work: and perhaps more, for the many thousands of pounds he
+had spent on his war-work.
+
+There were three orders: one British, and quite important, a large
+silver star for the breast: one Italian, smaller, and silver and
+gold; and one from the State of Ruritania, in silver and red-and-
+green enamel, smaller than the others.
+
+"Come now, William," said Lady Franks, "you must try them all on.
+You must try them all on together, and let us see how you look."
+
+The little, frail old man, with his strange old man's blue eyes and
+his old man's perpetual laugh, swelled out his chest and said:
+
+"What, am I to appear in all my vanities?"  And he laughed shortly.
+
+"Of course you are.  We want to see you," said the white girl.
+
+"Indeed we do!  We shouldn't mind all appearing in such vanities--what,
+Lady Franks!" boomed the Colonel.
+
+"I should think not," replied his hostess.  "When a man has honours
+conferred on him, it shows a poor spirit if he isn't proud of them."
+
+"Of course I am proud of them!" said Sir William.  "Well then, come
+and have them pinned on.  I think it's wonderful to have got so much
+in one life-time--wonderful," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, Sir William is a wonderful man," said the Colonel.  "Well--we
+won't say so before him.  But let us look at him in his orders."
+
+Arthur, always ready on these occasions, had taken the large and
+shining British star from its box, and drew near to Sir William, who
+stood swelling his chest, pleased, proud, and a little wistful.
+
+"This one first, Sir," said Arthur.
+
+Sir William stood very still, half tremulous, like a man undergoing
+an operation.
+
+"And it goes just here--the level of the heart.  This is where it
+goes."  And carefully he pinned the large, radiating ornament on
+the black velvet dinner-jacket of the old man.
+
+"That is the first--and very becoming," said Lady Franks.
+
+"Oh, very becoming!  Very becoming!" said the tall wife of the Major--
+she was a handsome young woman of the tall, frail type.
+
+"Do you think so, my dear?" said the old man, with his eternal smile:
+the curious smile of old people when they are dead.
+
+"Not only becoming, Sir," said the Major, bending his tall, slim
+figure forwards.  "But a reassuring sign that a nation knows how
+to distinguish her valuable men."
+
+"Quite!" said Lady Franks.  "I think it is a very great honour to
+have got it.  The king was most gracious, too--  Now the other.
+That goes beside it--the Italian--"
+
+Sir William stood there undergoing the operation of the pinning-on.
+The Italian star being somewhat smaller than the British, there was
+a slight question as to where exactly it should be placed.  However,
+Arthur decided it: and the old man stood before the company with his
+two stars on his breast.
+
+"And now the Ruritanian," said Lady Franks eagerly.
+
+"That doesn't go on the same level with the others, Lady Franks," said
+Arthur.  "That goes much lower down--about here."
+
+"Are you sure?" said Lady Franks.  "Doesn't it go more here?"
+
+"No no, no no, not at all.  Here!  Isn't it so, Sybil?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," said Sybil.
+
+Old Sir William stood quite silent, his breast prepared, peering over
+the facings of his coat to see where the star was going.  The Colonel
+was called in, and though he knew nothing about it, he agreed with
+Arthur, who apparently did know something.  So the star was pinned
+quite low down.  Sir William, peeping down, exclaimed:
+
+"Well, that is most curious now!  I wear an order over the pit of my
+stomach!  I think that is very curious: a curious place to wear an
+order."
+
+"Stand up!  Stand up and let us look!" said Lady Franks.  "There now,
+isn't it handsome?  And isn't it a great deal of honour for one man?
+Could he have expected so much, in one life-time?  I call it wonderful.
+Come and look at yourself, dear"--and she led him to a mirror.
+
+"What's more, all thoroughly deserved," said Arthur.
+
+"I should think so," said the Colonel, fidgetting.
+
+"Ah, yes, nobody has deserved them better," cooed Sybil.
+
+"Nor on more humane and generous grounds," said the Major, _sotto
+voce._
+
+"The effort to save life, indeed," returned the Major's young wife:
+"splendid!"
+
+Sir William stood naively before the mirror and looked at his three
+stars on his black velvet dinner-jacket.
+
+"Almost directly over the pit of my stomach," he said.  "I hope that
+is not a decoration for my greedy APPETITE."  And he laughed at the
+young women.
+
+"I assure you it is in position, Sir," said Arthur.  "Absolutely
+correct.  I will read it out to you later."
+
+"Aren't you satisfied?  Aren't you a proud man!  Isn't it wonderful?"
+said Lady Franks.  "Why, what more could a man want from life?  He
+could never EXPECT so much."
+
+"Yes, my dear.  I AM a proud man.  Three countries have honoured me--"
+There was a little, breathless pause.
+
+"And not more than they ought to have done," said Sybil.
+
+"Well!  Well!  I shall have my head turned.  Let me return to my own
+humble self.  I am too much in the stars at the moment."
+
+Sir William turned to Arthur to have his decorations removed.  Aaron,
+standing in the background, felt the whole scene strange, childish, a
+little touching.  And Lady Franks was so obviously trying to _console_
+her husband: to console the frail, excitable old man with his honours.
+But why console him?  Did he need consolation?  And did she?  It was
+evident that only the hard-money woman in her put any price on the
+decorations.
+
+Aaron came forward and examined the orders, one after the other.  Just
+metal playthings of curious shiny silver and gilt and enamel.  Heavy
+the British one--but only like some heavy buckle, a piece of metal
+merely when one turned it over.  Somebody dropped the Italian cross,
+and there was a moment of horror.  But the lump of metal took no hurt.
+Queer to see the things stowed in their boxes again.  Aaron had always
+imagined these mysterious decorations as shining by nature on the
+breasts of heroes.  Pinned-on pieces of metal were a considerable
+come-down.
+
+The orders were put away, the party sat round the fire in the
+comfortable library, the men sipping more _creme de menthe_, since
+nothing else offered, and the couple of hours in front promising the
+tedium of small-talk of tedious people who had really nothing to say
+and no particular originality in saying it.
+
+Aaron, however, had reckoned without his host.  Sir William sat upright
+in his chair, with all the determination of a frail old man who insists
+on being level with the young.  The new guest sat in a lower chair,
+smoking, that curious glimmer on his face which made him so attractive,
+and which only meant that he was looking on the whole scene from the
+outside, as it were, from beyond a fence.  Sir William came almost
+directly to the attack.
+
+"And so, Mr. Sisson, you have no definite purpose in coming to Italy?"
+
+"No, none," said Aaron.  "I wanted to join Lilly."
+
+"But when you had joined him--?"
+
+"Oh, nothing--stay here a time, in this country, if I could earn my
+keep."
+
+"Ah!--earn your keep?  So you hope to earn your keep here?  May I
+ask how?"
+
+"By my flute."
+
+"Italy is a poor country."
+
+"I don't want much."
+
+"You have a family to provide for."
+
+"They are provided for--for a couple of years."
+
+"Oh, indeed!  Is that so?"
+
+The old man got out of Aaron the detailed account of his circumstances
+--how he had left so much money to be paid over to his wife, and had
+received only a small amount for himself.
+
+"I see you are like Lilly--you trust to Providence," said Sir William.
+
+"Providence or fate," said Aaron.
+
+"Lilly calls it Providence," said Sir William.  "For my own part, I
+always advise Providence plus a banking account.  I have every belief
+in Providence, plus a banking account.  Providence and no banking
+account I have observed to be almost invariably fatal.  Lilly and I
+have argued it.  He believes in casting his bread upon the waters.
+I sincerely hope he won't have to cast himself after his bread, one of
+these days.  Providence with a banking account.  Believe in Providence
+once you have secured enough to live on.  I should consider it
+disastrous to believe in Providence BEFORE.  One can never be SURE
+of Providence."
+
+"What can you be sure of, then?" said Aaron.
+
+"Well, in moderation, I can believe in a little hard cash, and in my
+own ability to earn a little hard cash."
+
+"Perhaps Lilly believes in his own ability, too."
+
+"No.  Not so.  Because he will never directly work to earn money.  He
+works--and works quite well, I am told: but only as the spirit moves
+him, and never with any eye to the market.  Now I call that TEMPTING
+Providence, myself.  The spirit may move him in quite an opposite
+direction to the market--then where is Lilly?  I have put it to him
+more than once."
+
+"The spirit generally does move him dead against the market," said
+Aaron.  "But he manages to scrape along."
+
+"In a state of jeopardy: all the time in a state of jeopardy," said
+the old man.  "His whole existence, and that of his wife, is completely
+precarious.  I found, in my youth, the spirit moved me to various
+things which would have left me and my wife starving.  So I realised
+in time, this was no good.  I took my spirit in hand, therefore, and
+made him pull the cart which mankind is riding in.  I harnessed him
+to the work of productive labour.  And so he brought me my reward."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.  "But every man according to his belief."
+
+"I don't see," said Sir William, "how a man can BELIEVE in a
+Providence unless he sets himself definitely to the work of earning
+his daily bread, and making provision for future needs.  That's what
+Providence means to me--making provision for oneself and one's family.
+Now, Mr. Lilly--and you yourself--you say you believe in a Providence
+that does NOT compel you to earn your daily bread, and make provision.
+I confess myself I cannot see it: and Lilly has never been able to
+convince me."
+
+"I don't believe in a kind-hearted Providence," said Aaron, "and I
+don't believe Lilly does.  But I believe in chance.  I believe, if
+I go my own way, without tying my nose to a job, chance will always
+throw something in my way: enough to get along with."
+
+"But on what do you base such a very unwarrantable belief?"
+
+"I just feel like that."
+
+"And if you are ever quite without success--and nothing to fall
+back on?"
+
+"I can work at something."
+
+"In case of illness, for example?"
+
+"I can go to a hospital--or die."
+
+"Dear me!  However, you are more logical than Lilly.  He seems to
+believe that he has the Invisible--call it Providence if you will--on
+his side, and that this Invisible will never leave him in the lurch,
+or let him down, so long as he sticks to his own side of the bargain,
+and NEVER works for his own ends.  I don't quite see how he works.
+Certainly he seems to me a man who squanders a great deal of talent
+unworthily.  Yet for some reason or other he calls this true, genuine
+activity, and has a contempt for actual work by which a man makes
+provision for his years and for his family.  In the end, he will have
+to fall back on charity.  But when I say so, he denies it, and says
+that in the end we, the men who work and make provision, will have to
+fall back on him.  Well, all I can say is, that SO FAR he is in far
+greater danger of having to fall back on me, than I on him."
+
+The old man sat back in his chair with a little laugh of triumph.  But
+it smote almost devilishly on Aaron's ears, and for the first time in
+his life he felt that there existed a necessity for taking sides.
+
+"I don't suppose he will do much falling back," he said.
+
+"Well, he is young yet.  You are both young.  You are squandering your
+youth.  I am an old man, and I see the end."
+
+"What end, Sir William?"
+
+"Charity--and poverty--and some not very congenial 'job,' as you call
+it, to put bread in your mouth.  No, no, I would not like to trust
+myself to your Providence, or to your Chance.  Though I admit your
+Chance is a sounder proposition than Lilly's Providence.  You speculate
+with your life and your talent.  I admit the nature which is a born
+speculator.  After all, with your flute, you will speculate in other
+people's taste for luxury, as a man may speculate in theatres or
+_trains de luxe_.  You are the speculator.  That may be your way of
+wisdom.  But Lilly does not even speculate.  I cannot see his point.
+I cannot see his point.  I cannot see his point.  Yet I have the
+greatest admiration for his mentality."
+
+The old man had fired up during this conversation--and all the others
+in the room had gone silent.  Lady Franks was palpably uneasy.  She
+alone knew how frail the old man was--frailer by far than his years.
+She alone knew what fear of his own age, what fear of death haunted
+him now: fear of his own non-existence.  His own old age was an agony
+to him; worse than an agony, a horror.  He wanted to be young--to live,
+to live.  And he was old, he was breaking up.  The glistening youth of
+Aaron, the impetuousness of Lilly fascinated him.  And both these men
+seemed calmly to contradict his own wealth and honours.
+
+Lady Franks tried to turn off the conversation to the trickles of
+normal chit-chat.  The Colonel was horribly bored--so were all the
+women--Arthur was indifferent.  Only the young Major was implicated,
+troubled in his earnest and philosophic spirit.
+
+"What I can't see," he said, "is the place that others have in your
+scheme."
+
+"Is isn't a scheme," said Aaron.
+
+"Well then, your way of life.  Isn't it pretty selfish, to marry a
+woman and then expect her to live on very little indeed, and that
+always precarious, just because you happen to believe in Providence or
+in Chance: which I think worse?  What I don't see is where others come
+in.  What would the world be like if everybody lived that way?"
+
+"Other people can please themselves," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they can't--because you take first choice, it seems to me.
+Supposing your wife--or Lilly's wife--asks for security and for
+provision, as Sir William says.  Surely she has a right to it."
+
+"If I've no right to it myself--and I HAVE no right to it, if I don't
+want it--then what right has she?"
+
+"Every right, I should say.  All the more since you are improvident."
+
+"Then she must manage her rights for herself.  It's no good her
+foisting her rights on to me."
+
+"Isn't that pure selfishness?"
+
+"It may be.  I shall send my wife money as long as I've money to send."
+
+"And supposing you have none?"
+
+"Then I can't send it--and she must look out for herself."
+
+"I call that almost criminal selfishness."
+
+"I can't help it."
+
+The conversation with the young Major broke off.
+
+"It is certainly a good thing for society that men like you and Mr.
+Lilly are not common," said Sir William, laughing.
+
+"Becoming commoner every day, you'll find," interjaculated the
+Colonel.
+
+"Indeed!  Indeed!  Well.  May we ask you another question, Mr. Sisson?
+I hope you don't object to our catechism?"
+
+"No.  Nor your judgment afterwards," said Aaron, grinning.
+
+"Then upon what grounds did you abandon your family?  I know it is a
+tender subject.  But Lilly spoke of it to us, and as far I could see.
+. . ."
+
+"There were no grounds," said Aaron.  "No, there weren't I just left
+them."
+
+"Mere caprice?"
+
+"If it's a caprice to be begotten--and a caprice to be born--and a
+caprice to die--then that was a caprice, for it was the same."
+
+"Like birth or death?   I don't follow."
+
+"It happened to me: as birth happened to me once--and death will
+happen.  It was a sort of death, too: or a sort of birth.  But as
+undeniable as either.  And without any more grounds."
+
+The old, tremulous man, and the young man were watching one another.
+
+"A natural event," said Sir William.
+
+"A natural event," said Aaron.
+
+"Not that you loved any other woman?"
+
+"God save me from it."
+
+"You just left off loving?"
+
+"Not even that.  I went away."
+
+"What from?"
+
+"From it all."
+
+"From the woman in particular?"
+
+"Oh, yes.  Yes.  Yes, that."
+
+"And you couldn't go back?"
+
+Aaron shook his head.
+
+"Yet you can give no reasons?"
+
+"Not any reasons that would be any good.  It wasn't a question of
+reasons.  It was a question of her and me and what must be.  What
+makes a child be born out of its mother to the pain and trouble of
+both of them?  I don't know."
+
+"But that is a natural process."
+
+"So is this--or nothing."
+
+"No," interposed the Major.  "Because birth is a universal process--
+and yours is a specific, almost unique event."
+
+"Well, unique or not, it so came about.  I didn't ever leave off loving
+her--not as far as I know.  I left her as I shall leave the earth when
+I die--because it has to be."
+
+"Do you know what I think it is, Mr. Sisson?" put in Lady Franks.  "I
+think you are just in a wicked state of mind: just that.  Mr. Lilly,
+too.  And you must be very careful, or some great misfortune will
+happen to you."
+
+"It may," said Aaron.
+
+"And it will, mark my word, it will."
+
+"You almost wish it might, as a judgment on me," smiled Aaron.
+
+"Oh, no, indeed.  I should only be too sorry.  But I feel it will,
+unless you are careful."
+
+"I'll be careful, then."
+
+"Yes, and you can't be too careful."
+
+"You make me frightened."
+
+"I would like to make you very frightened indeed, so that you went
+back humbly to your wife and family."
+
+"It would HAVE to be a big fright then, I assure you."
+
+"Ah, you are really heartless.  It makes me angry."
+
+She turned angrily aside.
+
+"Well, well!  Well, well!  Life!  Life!  Young men are a new thing to
+me!"  said Sir William, shaking his head.  "Well, well!  What do you
+say to whiskey and soda, Colonel?"
+
+"Why, delighted, Sir William," said the Colonel, bouncing up.
+
+"A night-cap, and then we retire," said Lady Franks.
+
+Aaron sat thinking.  He knew Sir William liked him: and that Lady
+Franks didn't.  One day he might have to seek help from Sir William.
+So he had better placate milady.  Wrinkling the fine, half mischievous
+smile on his face, and trading on his charm, he turned to his hostess.
+
+"You wouldn't mind, Lady Franks, if I said nasty things about my wife
+and found a lot of fault with her.  What makes you angry is that I know
+it is not a bit more her fault than mine, that we come apart.  It can't
+be helped."
+
+"Oh, yes, indeed.  I disapprove of your way of looking at things
+altogether.  It seems to me altogether cold and unmanly and inhuman.
+Thank goodness my experience of a man has been different."
+
+"We can't all be alike, can we?  And if I don't choose to let you see
+me crying, that doesn't prove I've never had a bad half hour, does it?
+I've had many--ay, and a many."
+
+"Then why are you so WRONG, so wrong in your behaviour?"
+
+"I suppose I've got to have my bout out: and when it's out, I can
+alter."
+
+"Then I hope you've almost had your bout out," she said.
+
+"So do I," said he, with a half-repentant, half-depressed look on his
+attractive face.  The corners of his mouth grimaced slightly under his
+moustache.
+
+"The best thing you can do is to go straight back to England, and
+to her."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better ask her if she wants me, first," he said drily.
+
+"Yes, you might do that, too."  And Lady Franks felt she was quite
+getting on with her work of reform, and the restoring of woman to
+her natural throne.  Best not go too fast, either.
+
+"Say when," shouted the Colonel, who was manipulating the syphon.
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+The men stood up to their drinks.
+
+"Will you be leaving in the morning, Mr. Sisson?" asked Lady Franks.
+
+"May I stay till Monday morning?" said Aaron.  They were at Saturday
+evening.
+
+"Certainly.  And you will take breakfast in your room: we all do.  At
+what time?  Half past eight?"
+
+"Thank you very much."
+
+"Then at half past eight the man will bring it in.  Goodnight."
+
+Once more in his blue silk bedroom, Aaron grimaced to himself and
+stood in the middle of the room grimacing.  His hostess' admonitions
+were like vitriol in his ears.  He looked out of the window.  Through
+the darkness of trees, the lights of a city below.  Italy!  The air
+was cold with snow.  He came back into his soft, warm room.  Luxurious
+it was.  And luxurious the deep, warm bed.
+
+He was still asleep when the man came noiselessly in with the tray:
+and it was morning.  Aaron woke and sat up.  He felt that the deep,
+warm bed, and the soft, warm room had made him sleep too well: robbed
+him of his night, like a narcotic.  He preferred to be more
+uncomfortable and more aware of the flight of the dark hours.  It
+seemed numbing.
+
+The footman in his grey house-jacket was neat and Italian and
+sympathising.  He gave good-morning in Italian--then softly arranged
+the little table by the bedside, and put out the toast and coffee and
+butter and boiled egg and honey, with silver and delicate china.  Aaron
+watched the soft, catlike motions of the man.  The dark eyes glanced
+once at the blond man, leaning on his elbow on the pillow.  Aaron's
+face had that watchful, half-amused expression.  The man said something
+in Italian.  Aaron shook his head, laughed, and said:
+
+"Tell me in English."
+
+The man went softly to the window curtains, and motioned them with
+his hand.
+
+"Yes, do," said Aaron.
+
+So the man drew the buff-coloured silk curtains: and Aaron, sitting
+in bed, could see away beyond red roofs of a town, and in the further
+heaven great snowy mountains.
+
+"The Alps," he said in surprise.
+
+"Gli Alpi--si, signore."  The man bowed, gathered up Aaron's clothes,
+and silently retired.
+
+Aaron watched through the window.  It was a frosty morning at the end
+of September, with a clear blue morning-sky, Alpine, and the watchful,
+snow-streaked mountain tops bunched in the distance, as if waiting.
+There they were, hovering round, circling, waiting.  They reminded him
+of marvellous striped sky-panthers circling round a great camp: the
+red-roofed city.  Aaron looked, and looked again.  In the near distance,
+under the house elm-tree tops were yellowing.  He felt himself changing
+inside his skin.
+
+So he turned away to his coffee and eggs.  A little silver egg-cup with
+a curious little frill round it: honey in a frail, iridescent glass
+bowl, gold-iridescent: the charm of delicate and fine things.  He
+smiled half mockingly to himself.  Two instincts played in him: the
+one, an instinct for fine, delicate things: he had attractive hands;
+the other, an inclination to throw the dainty little table with all
+its niceties out of the window.  It evoked a sort of devil in him.
+
+He took his bath: the man had brought back his things: he dressed and
+went downstairs.  No one in the lounge: he went down to the ground
+floor: no one in the big hall with its pillars of yellow marble and
+its gold arches, its enormous, dark, bluey-red carpet.  He stood
+before the great glass doors.  Some red flowers still were blooming in
+the tubs, on the steps, handsome: and beautiful chrysanthemums in the
+wide portico.  Beyond, yellow leaves were already falling on the green
+grass and the neat drive.  Everywhere was silent and empty.  He climbed
+the wide stairs, sat in the long, upper lounge where the papers were.
+He wanted his hat and coat, and did not know where to find them.  The
+windows looked on to a terraced garden, the hill rising steeply behind
+the house.  He wanted to go out.
+
+So he opened more doors, and in a long drawing-room came upon five
+or six manservants, all in the grey house-jackets, all clean-shaven,
+neat, with neat black hair, all with dusters or brushes or feather
+brooms, and all frolicking, chattering, playing like so many monkeys.
+They were all of the same neat, smallish size.  They were all laughing.
+They rolled back a great rug as if it were some football game, one
+flew at the curtains.  And they merely looked at Aaron and went on
+chattering, and laughing and dusting.
+
+Surprised, and feeling that he trespassed, he stood at the window a
+moment looking out.  The noise went on behind him.  So he turned,
+smiling, and asked for his hat, pointing to his head.  They knew at
+once what he wanted.  One of the fellows beckoned him away, down to
+the hall and to the long cupboard place where hats and coats and
+sticks were hung.  There was his hat; he put it on, while the man
+chattered to him pleasantly and unintelligibly, and opened for him
+the back door, into the garden.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+WIE ES IHNEN GEFAELLT
+
+
+The fresh morning air comes startling after a central heated house.
+So Aaron found it.  He felt himself dashing up the steps into the
+garden like a bird dashing out of a trap where it has been caught:
+that warm and luxurious house.  Heaven bless us, we who want to save
+civilisation.  We had better make up our minds what of it we want to
+save.  The kernel may be all well and good.  But there is precious
+little kernel, to a lot of woolly stuffing and poisonous rind.
+
+The gardens to Sir William's place were not imposing, and still rather
+war-neglected.  But the pools of water lay smooth in the bright air,
+the flowers showed their colour beside the walks.  Many birds dashed
+about, rather bewildered, having crossed the Alps in their migration
+southwards.  Aaron noted with gratification a certain big magnificence,
+a certain reckless powerfulness in the still-blossoming, harsh-
+coloured, autumn flowers.  Distinct satisfaction he derived from it.
+
+He wandered upwards, up the succeeding flights of step; till he came
+to the upper rough hedge, and saw the wild copse on the hill-crest just
+above.  Passing through a space in the hedge, he climbed the steep last
+bit of Sir William's lane.  It was a little vineyard, with small vines
+and yellowing leaves.  Everywhere the place looked neglected--but as
+if man had just begun to tackle it once more.
+
+At the very top, by the wild hedge where spindle-berries hung pink,
+seats were placed, and from here the view was very beautiful.  The hill
+dropped steep beneath him.  A river wound on the near side of the city,
+crossed by a white bridge.  The city lay close clustered, ruddy on the
+plains, glittering in the clear air with its flat roofs and domes and
+square towers, strangely naked-seeming in the clear, clean air.  And
+massive in the further nearness, snow-streaked mountains, the tiger-
+like Alps.  Tigers prowling between the north and the south.  And this
+beautiful city lying nearest exposed.  The snow-wind brushed her this
+morning like the icy whiskers of a tiger.  And clear in the light lay
+Novara, wide, fearless, violent Novara. Beautiful the perfect air, the
+perfect and unblemished Alp-sky.  And like the first southern flower,
+Novara.
+
+Aaron sat watching in silence.  Only the uneasy birds rustled.  He
+watched the city and the winding river, the bridges, and the imminent
+Alps. He was on the south side.  On the other side of the time
+barrier.  His old, sleepy English nature was startled in its sleep.
+He felt like a man who knows it is time to wake up, and who doesn't
+want to wake up, to face the responsibility of another sort of day.
+
+To open his darkest eyes and wake up to a new responsibility.  Wake up
+and enter on the responsibility of a new self in himself.  Ach, the
+horror of responsibility!  He had all his life slept and shelved the
+burden.  And he wanted to go on sleeping.  It was so hateful to have
+to get a new grip on his own bowels, a new hard recklessness into his
+heart, a new and responsible consciousness into his mind and soul.  He
+felt some finger prodding, prodding, prodding him awake out of the
+sleep of pathos and tragedy and spasmodic passion, and he wriggled,
+unwilling, oh, most unwilling to undertake the new business.
+
+In fact he ran away again.  He gave a last look at the town and its
+white-fanged mountains, and descended through the garden, round the
+way of the kitchen garden and garage and stables and pecking chickens,
+back to the house again.  In the hall still no one.  He went upstairs
+to the long lounge.  There sat the rubicund, bald, boy-like Colonel
+reading the _Graphic_.  Aaron sat down opposite him, and made a feeble
+attempt at conversation.  But the Colonel wasn't having any.  It was
+evident he didn't care for the fellow--Mr. Aaron, that is.  Aaron
+therefore dried up, and began to sit him out, with the aid of _The
+Queen_.  Came a servant, however, and said that the Signor Colonello
+was called up from the hospital, on the telephone.  The Colonel once
+departed, Aaron fled again, this time out of the front doors, and down
+the steep little park to the gates.
+
+Huge dogs and little dogs came bounding forward.  Out of the lodge came
+the woman with the keys, smiling very pleasantly this morning.  So, he
+was in the street.  The wide road led him inevitably to the big bridge,
+with the violent, physical stone statue-groups.  Men and women were
+moving about, and he noticed for the first time the littleness and the
+momentaneousness of the Italians in the street.  Perhaps it was the
+wideness of the bridge and the subsequent big, open boulevard.  But
+there it was: the people seemed little, upright brisk figures moving
+in a certain isolation, like tiny figures on a big stage.  And he felt
+himself moving in the space between.  All the northern cosiness gone.
+He was set down with a space round him.
+
+Little trams flitted down the boulevard in the bright, sweet light.
+The barbers' shops were all busy, half the Novarese at that moment
+ambushed in lather, full in the public gaze.  A shave is nothing if not
+a public act, in the south.  At the little outdoor tables of the cafes
+a very few drinkers sat before empty coffee-cups.  Most of the shops
+were shut.  It was too soon after the war for life to be flowing very
+fast.  The feeling of emptiness, of neglect, of lack of supplies was
+evident everywhere.
+
+Aaron strolled on, surprised himself at his gallant feeling of liberty:
+a feeling of bravado and almost swaggering carelessness which is
+Italy's best gift to an Englishman.  He had crossed the dividing line,
+and the values of life, though ostensibly and verbally the same, were
+dynamically different.  Alas, however, the verbal and the ostensible,
+the accursed mechanical ideal gains day by day over the spontaneous
+life-dynamic, so that Italy becomes as idea-bound and as automatic as
+England: just a business proposition.
+
+Coming to the station, he went inside.  There he saw a money-changing
+window which was open, so he planked down a five-pound note and got
+two-hundred-and-ten lire.  Here was a start.  At a bookstall he saw a
+man buy a big timetable with a large railway map in it.  He immediately
+bought the same. Then he retired to a corner to get his whereabouts.
+
+In the morning he must move: where?  He looked on the map.  The map
+seemed to offer two alternatives, Milan and Genoa.  He chose Milan,
+because of its musical associations and its cathedral.  Milano then.
+Strolling and still strolling, he found the boards announcing Arrivals
+and Departures.  As far as he could make out, the train for Milan left
+at 9:00 in the morning.
+
+So much achieved, he left the big desolating caravanserai of the
+station.  Soldiers were camped in every corner, lying in heaps asleep.
+In their grey-green uniform, he was surprised at their sturdy limbs
+and uniformly short stature.  For the first time, he saw the cock-
+feathers of the Bersaglieri.  There seemed a new life-quality
+everywhere.  Many worlds, not one world.  But alas, the one world
+triumphing more and more over the many worlds, the big oneness
+swallowing up the many small diversities in its insatiable gnawing
+appetite, leaving a dreary sameness throughout the world, that means
+at last complete sterility.
+
+Aaron, however, was too new to the strangeness, he had no eye for the
+horrible sameness that was spreading like a disease over Italy from
+England and the north.  He plunged into the space in front of the
+station, and took a new, wide boulevard.  To his surprise he ran
+towards a big and over-animated statue that stood resolutely with its
+back to the magnificent snow-domes of the wild Alps.  Wolves in the
+street could not have startled him more than those magnificent fierce-
+gleaming mountains of snow at the street-end, beyond the statue.  He
+stood and wondered, and never thought to look who the gentleman was.
+Then he turned right round, and began to walk home.
+
+Luncheon was at one o'clock.  It was half-past twelve when he rang at
+the lodge gates.  He climbed through the leaves of the little park, on
+a side-path, rather reluctantly towards the house.  In the hall Lady
+Franks was discussing with Arthur a fat Pekinese who did not seem very
+well.  She was sure the servants did not obey her orders concerning the
+Pekinese bitch.  Arthur, who was more than indifferent, assured her they
+did.  But she seemed to think that the whole of the male human race was
+in league against the miserable specimen of a she-dog.  She almost cried,
+thinking her Queenie _might_ by some chance meet with, perhaps, a harsh
+word or look.  Queenie apparently fattened on the secret detestation
+of the male human species.
+
+"I can't bear to think that a dumb creature might be ill-treated," she
+said to Aaron.  "Thank goodness the Italians are better than they used
+to be."
+
+"Are they better than they used to be?"
+
+"Oh, much.  They have learnt it from us."
+
+She then enquired if her guest had slept, and if he were rested from
+his journey.  Aaron, into whose face the faint snow-wind and the sun
+had brought a glow, replied that he had slept well and enjoyed the
+morning, thank you.  Whereupon Lady Franks knitted her brows and said
+Sir William had had such a bad night.  He had not been able to sleep,
+and had got up and walked about the room.  The least excitement, and
+she dreaded a break-down.  He must have absolute calm and restfulness.
+
+"There's one for you and your jawing last night, Aaron, my boy!" said
+our hero to himself.
+
+"I thought Sir William seemed so full of life and energy," he said,
+aloud.
+
+"Ah, did you!  No, he WANTS to be.  But he can't do it.  He's very
+much upset this morning.  I have been very anxious about him."
+
+"I am sorry to hear that."
+
+Lady Franks departed to some duty.  Aaron sat alone before the fire.
+It was a huge fireplace, like a dark chamber shut in by tall, finely-
+wrought iron gates.  Behind these iron gates of curly iron the logs
+burned and flickered like leopards slumbering and lifting their heads
+within their cage.  Aaron wondered who was the keeper of the savage
+element, who it was that would open the iron grille and throw on
+another log, like meat to the lions.  To be sure the fire was only to
+be looked at: like wild beasts in the Zoo.  For the house was warm from
+roof to floor.  It was strange to see the blue air of sunlight outside,
+the yellow-edged leaves falling in the wind, the red flowers shaking.
+
+The gong sounded softly through the house.  The Colonel came in
+heartily from the garden, but did not speak to Aaron.  The Major and
+his wife came pallid down the stairs.  Lady Franks appeared, talking
+domestic-secretarial business with the wife of Arthur.  Arthur, well-
+nourished and half at home, called down the stairs.  And then Sir
+William descended, old and frail now in the morning, shaken: still
+he approached Aaron heartily, and asked him how he did, and how he
+had spent his morning.  The old man who had made a fortune: how he
+expected homage: and how he got it!  Homage, like most things, is just
+a convention and a social trick.  Aaron found himself paying homage,
+too, to the old man who had made a fortune.  But also, exacting a
+certain deference in return, from the old man who had made a fortune.
+Getting it, too.  On what grounds?  Youth, maybe.  But mostly, scorn
+for fortunes and fortune-making.  Did he scorn fortunes and fortune-
+making?  Not he, otherwise whence this homage for the old man with
+much money?  Aaron, like everybody else, was rather paralysed by a
+million sterling, personified in one old man.  Paralysed, fascinated,
+overcome.  All those three.  Only having no final control over his own
+make-up, he could not drive himself into the money-making or even into
+the money-having habit.  And he had just wit enough to threaten Sir
+William's golden king with his own ivory queen and knights of wilful
+life.  And Sir William quaked.
+
+"Well, and how have you spent your morning?" asked the host.
+
+"I went first to look at the garden."
+
+"Ah, not much to see now.  They have been beautiful with flowers,
+once.  But for two and a half years the house has been a hospital
+for officers--and even tents in the park and garden--as many as two
+hundred wounded and sick at a time.  We are only just returning to
+civil life.  And flowers need time.  Yes--yes--British officers--for
+two and a half years.  But did you go up, now, to the belvedere?"
+
+"To the top--where the vines are?  I never expected the mountains."
+
+"You never expected the mountains?  Pray, why not?  They are always
+there!"
+
+"But I was never there before.  I never knew they were there, round
+the town.  I didn't expect it like that."
+
+"Ah!  So you found our city impressive?"
+
+"Very!  Ah, very!  A new world to me.  I feel I've come out of myself."
+
+"Yes, it is a wonderful sight--a wonderful sight--  But you have not
+been INTO the town?"
+
+"Yes.  I saw the men being shaved, and all the soldiers at the station:
+and a statue, and mountains behind it.  Oh, I've had a full morning."
+
+"A full morning!  That is good, that is good!"  The old man looked
+again at the younger man, and seemed to get life from him, to live
+in him vicariously.
+
+"Come," said the hostess.  "Luncheon."
+
+Aaron sat again on his hostess' left hand.  The Colonel was more
+affable now it was meal-time.  Sir William was again in a good humour,
+chaffing the young ladies with an old man's gallantry.  But now he
+insisted on drawing Aaron into the play.  And Aaron did not want to be
+drawn.  He did not one bit want to chaffer gallantries with the young
+women.  Between him and Sir William there was a curious rivalry--
+unconscious on both sides.  The old knight had devoted an energetic,
+adventurous, almost an artistic nature to the making of his fortune
+and the developing of later philanthropies.  He had no children.
+Aaron was devoting a similar nature to anything but fortune-making and
+philanthropy.  The one held life to be a storing-up of produce and a
+conservation of energy: the other held life to be a sheer spending of
+energy and a storing-up of nothing but experience.  There they were,
+in opposition, the old man and the young.  Sir William kept calling
+Aaron into the chaffer at the other end of the table: and Aaron kept
+on refusing to join.  He hated long distance answers, anyhow.  And in
+his mood of the moment he hated the young women.  He had a conversation
+with Arthur about statues: concerning which Aaron knew nothing, and
+Arthur less than nothing.  Then Lady Franks turned the conversation to
+the soldiers at the station, and said how Sir William had equipped
+rest-huts for the Italian privates, near the station: but that such
+was the jealousy and spite of the Italian Red Cross--or some such body,
+locally--that Sir William's huts had been left empty--standing unused--
+while the men had slept on the stone floor of the station, night after
+night, in icy winter.  There was evidently much bitter feeling as a
+result of Sir William's philanthropy.  Apparently even the honey of
+lavish charity had turned to gall in the Italian mouth: at least the
+official mouth.  Which gall had been spat back at the charitable, much
+to his pain.  It is in truth a difficult world, particularly when you
+have another race to deal with.  After which came the beef-olives.
+
+"Oh," said Lady Franks, "I had such a dreadful dream last night, such
+a dreadful dream.  It upset me so much.  I have not been able to get
+over it all day."
+
+"What was it?" said Aaron.  "Tell it, and break it."
+
+"Why," said his hostess, "I dreamed I was asleep in my room--just as I
+actually was--and that it was night, yet with a terrible sort of light,
+like the dead light before dawn, so that one could see.  And my maid
+Giuseppina came running into my room, saying: 'Signora!  Signora!  Si
+alza!  Subito!  Signora!  Vengono su!'--and I said, 'Chi?  Chi sono chi
+vengono?  Chi?'--'I Novaresi!  I Novaresi vengono su.  Vengono qui!'--
+I got out of bed and went to the window.  And there they were, in the
+dead light, rushing up to the house, through the trees.  It was so
+awful, I haven't been able to forget it all day."
+
+"Tell me what the words are in English," said Aaron.
+
+"Why," she said, "get up, get up--the Novaresi, the people of Novara
+are coming up--vengono su--they are coming up--the Novara people--work-
+people.  I can't forget it.  It was so real, I can't believe it didn't
+actually happen."
+
+"Ah," said Aaron.  "It will never happen.  I know, that whatever one
+foresees, and FEELS has happened, never happens in real life.  It
+sort of works itself off through the imagining of it."
+
+"Well, it was almost more real to me than real life," said his hostess.
+
+"Then it will never happen in real life," he said.
+
+Luncheon passed, and coffee.  The party began to disperse--Lady Franks
+to answer more letters, with the aid of Arthur's wife--some to sleep,
+some to walk.  Aaron escaped once more through the big gates.  This
+time he turned his back on the town and the mountains, and climbed
+up the hill into the country.  So he went between the banks and the
+bushes, watching for unknown plants and shrubs, hearing the birds,
+feeling the influence of a new soil.  At the top of the hill he saw
+over into vineyards, and a new strange valley with a winding river,
+and jumbled, entangled hills.  Strange wild country so near the town.
+It seemed to keep an almost virgin wildness--yet he saw the white
+houses dotted here and there.
+
+Just below him was a peasant house: and on a little loggia in the sun
+two peasants in white shirtsleeves and black Sunday suits were sitting
+drinking wine, and talking, talking.  Peasant youths in black hats,
+their sweethearts in dark stuff dresses, wearing no hat, but a black
+silk or a white silk scarf, passed slowly along the little road just
+below the ridge.  None looked up to see Aaron sitting there alone.
+From some hidden place somebody was playing an accordion, a jerky
+sound in the still afternoon.  And away beyond lay the unchanging,
+mysterious valley, and the infolding, mysterious hills of Italy.
+
+Returning back again another way, he lost himself at the foot of
+the hill in new and deserted suburb streets--unfinished streets of
+seemingly unfinished houses.  Then a sort of boulevard where bourgeois
+families were taking the Sunday afternoon walk: stout papas, stout,
+pallid mamas in rather cheap black fur, little girls very much dressed,
+and long lads in short socks and round sailor caps, ribbons fluttering.
+Alien they felt, alien, alien, as a bourgeois crowd always does, but
+particularly a foreign, Sunday-best bourgeois crowd.  Aaron wandered
+and wandered, finding the tram terminus and trying blank, unfinished
+street after street.  He had a great disinclination to ask his way.
+
+At last he recognised the bank and the little stream of water that
+ran along the street side.  So he was back in time for tea.  A hospital
+nurse was there, and two other strange women.  Arthur played the part
+of host.  Sir William came in from a walk with the dogs, but retired
+to his room without taking tea.
+
+And so the evening fell.  Aaron sat in the hall at some distance from
+the fire, which burned behind its wrought iron gates.  He was tired now
+with all his impressions, and dispirited.  He thought of his wife and
+children at home: of the church-bells ringing so loudly across the
+field beyond his garden end: of the dark-clad people trailing unevenly
+across the two paths, one to the left, one to the right, forking their
+way towards the houses of the town, to church or to chapel: mostly to
+chapel.  At this hour he himself would be dressed in his best clothes,
+tying his bow, ready to go out to the public house.  And his wife would
+be resenting his holiday departure, whilst she was left fastened to
+the children.
+
+Rather tired and dispirited in this alien place, he wondered if he
+wished himself back.  But the moment he actually _realised_ himself
+at home, and felt the tension of barrenness which it meant, felt the
+curious and deadly opposition of his wife's will against his own
+nature, the almost nauseating ache which it amounted to, he pulled
+himself together and rejoiced again in his new surroundings.  Her will,
+her will, her terrible, implacable, cunning will!  What was there in
+the female will so diabolical, he asked himself, that it could press
+like a flat sheet of iron against a man all the time?  The female will!
+He realised now that he had a horror of it.  It was flat and inflexible
+as a sheet of iron.  But also it was cunning as a snake that could sing
+treacherous songs.
+
+Of two people at a deadlock, he always reminded himself, there is not
+one only wholly at fault.  Both must be at fault.  Having a detached
+and logical soul, he never let himself forget this truth.  Take Lottie!
+He had loved her.  He had never loved any other woman.  If he had had
+his other affairs--it was out of spite or defiance or curiosity.  They
+meant nothing.  He and Lottie had loved one another.  And the love had
+developed almost at once into a kind of combat.  Lottie had been the
+only child of headstrong, well-to-do parents.  He also had been the
+only child of his widowed mother.  Well then, both he and Lottie had
+been brought up to consider themselves the first in whatsoever company
+they found themselves.  During the early months of the marriage he had,
+of course, continued the spoiling of the young wife.  But this never
+altered the fact that, by his very nature, he considered himself as
+first and almost as single in any relationship.  First and single he
+felt, and as such he bore himself.  It had taken him years to realise
+that Lottie also felt herself first and single: under all her
+whimsicalness and fretfulness was a conviction as firm as steel: that
+she, as woman, was the centre of creation, the man was but an adjunct.
+She, as woman, and particularly as mother, was the first great source
+of life and being, and also of culture.  The man was but the
+instrument and the finisher.  She was the source and the substance.
+
+Sure enough, Lottie had never formulated this belief inside herself.
+But it was formulated for her in the whole world.  It is the
+substantial and professed belief of the whole white world.  She did
+but inevitably represent what the whole world around her asserted:
+the life-centrality of woman.  Woman, the life-bearer, the life-source.
+
+Nearly all men agree to the assertion.  Practically all men, even while
+demanding their selfish rights as superior males, tacitly agree to the
+fact of the sacred life-bearing priority of woman.  Tacitly, they yield
+the worship to that which is female.  Tacitly, they conspire to agree
+that all that is productive, all that is fine and sensitive and most
+essentially noble, is woman.  This, in their productive and religious
+souls, they believe.  And however much they may react against the
+belief, loathing their women, running to prostitutes, or beer or
+_anything_, out of reaction against this great and ignominious dogma
+of the sacred priority of women, still they do but profane the god
+they worship.  Profaning woman, they still inversely worship her.
+
+But in Aaron was planted another seed.  He did not know it.  He started
+off on the good old tack of worshipping his woman while his heart was
+honest, and profaning her in his fits of temper and revolt.  But he
+made a bad show.  Born in him was a spirit which could not worship
+woman: no, and would not.  Could not and would not.  It was not in him.
+In early days, he tried to pretend it was in him.  But through his
+plaintive and homage-rendering love of a young husband was always,
+for the woman, discernible the arrogance of self-unyielding male.
+He never yielded himself: never.  All his mad loving was only an
+effort.  Afterwards, he was as devilishly unyielded as ever.  And it
+was an instinct in her, that her man must yield to her, so that she
+should envelop him yielding, in her all-beneficent love.  She was
+quite sure that her love was all-beneficent.  Of this no shadow of
+doubt.  She was quite sure that the highest her man could ever know
+or ever reach, was to be perfectly enveloped in her all-beneficent
+love.  This was her idea of marriage.  She held it not as an idea, but
+as a profound impulse and instinct: an instinct developed in her by the
+age in which she lived.  All that was deepest and most sacred in he
+feeling centred in this belief.
+
+And he outraged her!  Oh, from the first day and the first night, she
+felt he outraged her.  True, for some time she had been taken in by
+his manifest love.  But though you can deceive the conscious mind,
+you can never deceive the deep, unconscious instinct.  She could never
+understand whence arose in her, almost from the first days of marriage
+with him, her terrible paroxysms of hatred for him.  She was in love
+with him: ah, heaven, how maddeningly she was in love with him: a
+certain unseizable beauty that was his, and which fascinated her as a
+snake a bird.  But in revulsion, how she hated him!  How she abhorred
+him!  How she despised and shuddered at him!  He seemed a horrible
+thing to her.
+
+And then again, oh, God, the agony of her desire for him.  The agony
+of her long, long desire for him.  He was a passionate lover.  He gave
+her, ostensibly, all she asked for.  He withheld from her nothing, no
+experience, no degree of intimacy.  She was his initiate, or he hers.
+
+And yet, oh, horror for a woman, he withheld everything from her.
+He withheld the very centre of himself.  For a long time, she never
+realised.  She was dazed and maddened only.  But as months of married
+experience passed into years of married torment, she began to
+understand.  It was that, after their most tremendous, and, it seemed
+to her, heaven-rending passion--yea, when for her every veil seemed
+rent and a terrible and sacred creative darkness covered the earth--
+then--after all this wonder and miracle--in crept a poisonous grey
+snake of disillusionment, a poisonous grey snake of disillusion that
+bit her to madness, so that she really was a mad woman, demented.
+
+Why?  Why?  He never gave himself.  He never came to her, _really_.
+He withheld himself.  Yes, in those supreme and sacred times which
+for her were the whole culmination of life and being, the ecstasy
+of unspeakable passional conjunction, he was not really hers.  He
+was withheld.  He withheld the central core of himself, like the
+devil and hell-fiend he was.  He cheated and made play with her
+tremendous passional soul, her sacred sex passion, most sacred of
+all things for a woman.  All the time, some central part of him
+stood apart from her, aside, looking on.
+
+Oh, agony and horror for a passionate, fierce-hearted woman!  She who
+loved him.  She who loved him to madness.  She who would have died for
+him.  She who did die with him, many terrible and magnificent connubial
+deaths, in his arms, her husband.
+
+Her husband!  How bitter the word grew to her!  Her husband! and him
+never once given, given wholly to her!  Her husband--and in all the
+frenzied finality of desire, she never _fully_ possessed him, not once.
+No, not once.  As time went on, she learned it for inevitable.  Not
+once!
+
+And then, how she hated him!  Cheated, foiled, betrayed, forced to love
+him or to hate him: never able to be at peace near him nor away from
+him: poor Lottie, no wonder she was as a mad woman.  She was strictly
+as a woman demented, after the birth of her second child.  For all
+her instinct, all her impulse, all her desire, and above all, all her
+_will_, was to possess her man in very fulness once: just once: and
+once and for all.  Once, just once: and it would be once and for all.
+
+But never!  Never!  Not once!  Never!  Not for one single solitary
+second!  Was it not enough to send a woman mad!  Was it not enough to
+make her demented!  Yes, and mad she was.  She made his life a hell
+for him.  She bit him to the bone with her frenzy of rage, chagrin,
+and agony.  She drove him mad, too: mad, so that he beat her: mad so
+that he longed to kill her.  But even in his greatest rages it was
+the same: he never finally lost himself: he remained, somewhere in
+the centre, in possession of himself.  She sometimes wished he would
+kill her: or that she would kill him.  Neither event happened.
+
+And neither of them understood what was happening.  How should they?
+They were both dazed, horrified, and mortified.  He took to leaving her
+alone as much as was possible.  But when he _had_ to come home, there
+was her terrible will, like a flat, cold snake coiled round his soul
+and squeezing him to death.  Yes, she did not relent.  She was a good
+wife and mother.  All her duties she fulfilled.  But she was not one
+to yield.  _He_ must yield.  That was written in eternal letters, on
+the iron tablet of her will.  _He_ must yield.  She the woman, the
+mother of his children, how should she ever even think to yield?  It
+was unthinkable.  He, the man, the weak, the false, the treacherous,
+the half-hearted, it was he who must yield.  Was not hers the divine
+will and the divine right?  Ha, she would be less than woman if she
+ever capitulated, abandoned her divine responsibility as woman!  No,
+_he_ must yield.
+
+So, he was unfaithful to her.  Piling reproach after reproach upon
+himself, he added adultery to his brutality.  And this was the
+beginning of the end.  She was more than maddened: but he began to grow
+silent, unresponsive, as if he did not hear her.  He was unfaithful to
+her: and oh, in such a low way.  Such shame, such shame!  But he only
+smiled carelessly now, and asked her what she wanted.  She had asked
+for all she got.  That he reiterated.  And that was all he would do.
+
+Terrible was, that she found even his smile of insolent indifference
+half-beautiful.  Oh, bitter chain to bear!  But she summoned up all
+her strange woman's will.  She fought against his fascination, the
+fascination he exerted over her.  With fearful efforts of will she
+fought against it, and mastered it.  And then, suddenly, horror and
+agony of it, up it would rush in her again, her unbearable desire
+for him, the longing for his contact, his quality of beauty.
+
+That was a cross hard to bear.  Yet even that she bore.  And schooled
+herself into a fretful, petulant manner of indifference.  Her odd,
+whimsical petulance hid a will which he, and he alone, knew to be
+stronger than steel, strong as a diabolical, cold, grey snake that
+presses and presses and cannot-relax: nay, cannot relax.  She became
+the same as he.  Even in her moments of most passionate desire for
+him, the cold and snake-like tension of her will never relaxed, and
+the cold, snake-like eye of her intention never closed.
+
+So, till it reached a deadlock.  Each will was wound tense, and so
+fixed.  Fixed!  There was neither any relaxing or any increase of
+pressure.  Fixed.  Hard like a numbness, a grip that was solidifying
+and turning to stone.
+
+He realised, somehow, that at this terrible passive game of fixed
+tension she would beat him.  Her fixed female soul, her wound-up
+female will would solidify into stone--whereas his must break.
+In him something must break.  It was a cold and fatal deadlock,
+profitless.  A life-automatism of fixed tension that suddenly, in
+him, did break.  His will flew loose in a recoil: a recoil away from
+her.  He left her, as inevitably as a broken spring flies out from
+its hold.
+
+Not that he was broken.  He would not do her even that credit.  He
+had only flown loose from the old centre-fixture.  His will was still
+entire and unabated.  Only he did not know: he did not understand.
+He swung wildly about from place to place, as if he were broken.
+
+Then suddenly, on this Sunday evening in the strange country, he
+realised something about himself.  He realised that he had never
+intended to yield himself fully to her or to anything: that he did
+not intend ever to yield himself up entirely to her or to anything:
+that his very being pivoted on the fact of his isolate self-
+responsibility, aloneness.  His intrinsic and central aloneness was
+the very centre of his being.  Break it, and he broke his being.
+Break this central aloneness, and he broke everything.  It was the
+great temptation, to yield himself: and it was the final sacrilege.
+Anyhow, it was something which, from his profoundest soul, he did not
+intend to do.  By the innermost isolation and singleness of his own
+soul he would abide though the skies fell on top of one another, and
+seven heavens collapsed.
+
+Vaguely he realised this.  And vaguely he realised that this had
+been the root cause of his strife with Lottie: Lottie, the only
+person who had mattered at all to him in all the world: save perhaps
+his mother.  And his mother had not mattered, no, not one-half nor
+one-fifth what Lottie had mattered.  So it was: there was, for him,
+only her significant in the universe.  And between him and her
+matters were as they were.
+
+He coldly and terribly hated her, for a moment.  Then no more.  There
+was no solution.  It was a situation without a solution.  But at any
+rate, it was now a defined situation.  He could rest in peace.
+
+Thoughts something in this manner ran through Aaron's subconscious
+mind as he sat still in the strange house.  He could not have fired it
+all off at any listener, as these pages are fired off at any chance
+reader.  Nevertheless there it was, risen to half consciousness in him.
+All his life he had _hated_ knowing what he felt.  He had wilfully, if
+not consciously, kept a gulf between his passional soul and his open
+mind.  In his mind was pinned up a nice description of himself, and a
+description of Lottie, sort of authentic passports to be used in the
+conscious world.  These authentic passports, self-describing: nose
+short, mouth normal, etc.; he had insisted that they should do all
+the duty of the man himself.  This ready-made and very banal idea
+of himself as a really quite nice individual: eyes blue, nose short,
+mouth normal, chin normal; this he had insisted was really himself.
+It was his conscious mask.
+
+Now at last, after years of struggle, he seemed suddenly to have
+dropped his mask on the floor, and broken it.  His authentic self-
+describing passport, his complete and satisfactory idea of himself
+suddenly became a rag of paper, ridiculous.  What on earth did it
+matter if he was nice or not, if his chin was normal or abnormal.
+
+His mask, his idea of himself dropped and was broken to bits.  There
+he sat now maskless and invisible.  That was how he strictly felt:
+invisible and undefined, rather like Wells' _Invisible Man_.  He had
+no longer a mask to present to people: he was present and invisible:
+they _could_ not really think anything about him, because they could
+not really see him.  What did they see when they looked at him?  Lady
+Franks, for example.  He neither knew nor cared.  He only knew he was
+invisible to himself and everybody, and that all thinking about what
+he was like was only a silly game of Mrs. Mackenzie's Dead.
+
+So there.  The old Aaron Sisson was as if painfully transmuted, as the
+Invisible Man when he underwent his transmutations.  Now he was gone,
+and no longer to be seen.  His visibility lost for ever.
+
+And then what?  Sitting there as an invisible presence, the
+preconceived world melted also and was gone.  Lady Franks, Sir William,
+all the guests, they talked and maneuvered with their visible
+personalities, manipulating the masks of themselves.  And underneath
+there was something invisible and dying--something fading, wilting:
+the essential plasm of themselves: their invisible being.
+
+Well now, and what next?  Having in some curious manner tumbled from
+the tree of modern knowledge, and cracked and rolled out from the shell
+of the preconceived idea of himself like some dark, night-lustrous
+chestnut from the green ostensibility of the burr, he lay as it were
+exposed but invisible on the floor, knowing, but making no conceptions:
+knowing, but having no idea.  Now that he was finally unmasked and
+exposed, the accepted idea of himself cracked and rolled aside like
+a broken chestnut-burr, the mask split and shattered, he was at last
+quiet and free.  He had dreaded exposure: and behold, we cannot be
+exposed, for we are invisible.  We cannot be exposed to the looks of
+others, for our very being is night-lustrous and unseeable.  Like the
+Invisible Man, we are only revealed through our clothes and our masks.
+
+In his own powerful but subconscious fashion Aaron realized this.
+He was a musician.  And hence even his deepest _ideas_: were not word-
+ideas, his very thoughts were not composed of words and ideal concepts.
+They too, his thoughts and his ideas, were dark and invisible, as
+electric vibrations are invisible no matter how many words they may
+purport.  If I, as a word-user, must translate his deep conscious
+vibrations into finite words, that is my own business.  I do but
+make a translation of the man.  He would speak in music.  I speak
+with words.
+
+The inaudible music of his conscious soul conveyed his meaning in him
+quite as clearly as I convey it in words: probably much more clearly.
+But in his own mode only: and it was in his own mode only he realised
+what I must put into words.  These words are my own affair.  His mind
+was music.
+
+Don't grumble at me then, gentle reader, and swear at me that this
+damned fellow wasn't half clever enough to think all these smart
+things, and realise all these fine-drawn-out subtleties.  You are
+quite right, he wasn't, yet it all resolved itself in him as I say,
+and it is for you to prove that it didn't.
+
+In his now silent, maskless state of wordless comprehension, he knew
+that he had never wanted to surrender himself utterly to Lottie: nor
+to his mother: nor to anybody.  The last extreme of self-abandon in
+love was for him an act of false behaviour.  His own nature inside him
+fated him not to take this last false step, over the edge of the abyss
+of selflessness.   Even if he wanted to, he could not.  He might
+struggle on the edge of the precipice like an assassin struggling with
+his own soul, but he could not conquer.  For, according to all the
+current prejudice and impulse in one direction, he too had believed
+that the final achievement, the consummation of human life, was this
+flinging oneself over the precipice, down the bottomless pit of love.
+Now he realised that love, even in its intensest, was only an attribute
+of the human soul: one of its incomprehensible gestures.  And to fling
+down the whole soul in one gesture of finality in love was as much a
+criminal suicide as to jump off a church-tower or a mountain-peak.
+Let a man give himself as much as he liked in love, to seven thousand
+extremities, he must never give himself _away_.  The more generous and
+the more passionate a soul, the more it _gives_ itself.  But the more
+absolute remains the law, that it shall never give itself away.  Give
+thyself, but give thyself not away.  That is the lesson written at the
+end of the long strange lane of love.
+
+The _idee fixe_ of today is that every individual shall not only give
+himself, but shall achieve the last glory of giving himself away.  And
+since this takes two--you can't even make a present of yourself unless
+you've got somebody to receive the present; since this last extra-
+divine act takes two people to perform it, you've got to take into
+count not only your giver but your receiver.  Who is going to be the
+giver and who the receiver.
+
+Why, of course, in our long-drawn-out Christian day, man is given
+and woman is recipient.  Man is the gift, woman the receiver.  This
+is the sacrament we live by; the holy Communion we live for.  That
+man gives himself to woman in an utter and sacred abandon, all, all,
+all himself given, and taken.  Woman, eternal woman, she is the
+communicant.  She receives the sacramental body and spirit of the
+man.  And when she's got it, according to her passionate and all-too-
+sacred desire, completely, when she possesses her man at last finally
+and ultimately, without blemish or reservation in the perfection of
+the sacrament: then, also, poor woman, the blood and the body of which
+she has partaken become insipid or nauseous to her, she is driven mad
+by the endless meal of the marriage sacrament, poisoned by the sacred
+communion which was her goal and her soul's ambition.
+
+We have pushed a process into a goal.  The aim of any process is
+not the perpetuation of that process, but the completion thereof.
+Love is a process of the incomprehensible human soul: love also
+incomprehensible, but still only a process.  The process should
+work to a completion, not to some horror of intensification and
+extremity wherein the soul and body ultimately perish.  The completion
+of the process of love is the arrival at a state of simple, pure self-
+possession, for man and woman.  Only that.  Which isn't exciting enough
+for us sensationalists.  We prefer abysses and maudlin self-abandon and
+self-sacrifice, the degeneration into a sort of slime and merge.
+
+Perhaps, truly, the process of love is never accomplished.  But it
+moves in great stages, and at the end of each stage a true goal, where
+the soul possesses itself in simple and generous singleness.  Without
+this, love is a disease.
+
+So Aaron, crossing a certain border-line and finding himself alone
+completely, accepted his loneliness or singleness as a fulfilment, a
+state of fulfilment.  The long fight with Lottie had driven him at last
+to himself, so that he was quiet as a thing which has its root deep in
+life, and has lost its anxiety.  As for considering the lily, it is not
+a matter of consideration.  The lily toils and spins hard enough, in
+her own way.  But without that strain and that anxiety with which we
+try to weave ourselves a life.  The lily is life-rooted, life-central.
+She _cannot_ worry.  She is life itself, a little, delicate fountain
+playing creatively, for as long or as short a time as may be, and
+unable to be anxious.  She may be sad or sorry, if the north wind
+blows.  But even then, anxious she cannot be.  Whether her fountain
+play or cease to play, from out the cold, damp earth, she cannot be
+anxious.  She may only be glad or sorry, and continue her way.  She is
+perfectly herself, whatever befall! even if frosts cut her off.  Happy
+lily, never to be saddled with an _idee fixe_, never to be in the grip
+of a monomania for happiness or love or fulfilment.  It is not _laisser
+aller_.  It is life-rootedness.  It is being by oneself, life-living,
+like the much-mooted lily.  One toils, one spins, one strives: just
+as the lily does.  But like her, taking one's own life-way amidst
+everything, and taking one's own life-way alone.  Love too.  But there
+also, taking one's way alone, happily alone in all the wonders of
+communion, swept up on the winds, but never swept away from one's
+very self.  Two eagles in mid-air, maybe, like Whitman's Dalliance
+of Eagles.  Two eagles in mid-air, grappling, whirling, coming to
+their intensification of love-oneness there in mid-air.  In mid-air
+the love consummation.  But all the time each lifted on its own wings:
+each bearing itself up on its own wings at every moment of the mid-air
+love consummation.  That is the splendid love-way.
+
+
+           .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
+
+
+The party was festive at dinner-time, the women in their finest
+dresses, new flowers on the table, the best wine going.  It was Sunday
+evening.  Aaron too was dressed--and Lady Franks, in black lace and
+pearls, was almost gay.  There were quails for dinner.  The Colonel
+was quite happy.  An air of conviviality gathered round the table
+during the course of the meal.
+
+"I hope," said Aaron, "that we shall have some music tonight."
+
+"I want so much to hear your flute," said his hostess.
+
+"And I your piano," he said.
+
+"I am very weak--very out of practise.  I tremble at the thought of
+playing before a musician.  But you must not be too critical."
+
+"Oh," said Aaron, "I am not a man to be afraid of."
+
+"Well, we will see," said Lady Franks.  "But I am afraid of music
+itself."
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.  "I think it is risky."
+
+"Risky!  I don't see that!  Music risky?  Bach?  Beethoven!  No, I
+don't agree.  On the contrary, I think it is most elevating--most
+morally inspiring.  No, I tremble before it because it is so wonderful
+and elevating."
+
+"I often find it makes me feel diabolical," said he.
+
+"That is your misfortune, I am sure," said Lady Franks.  "Please do
+take another--but perhaps you don't like mushrooms?"
+
+Aaron quite liked mushrooms, and helped himself to the _entree_.
+
+"But perhaps," said she, "you are too modern.  You don't care for Bach
+or Beethoven or Chopin--dear Chopin."
+
+"I find them all quite as modern as I am."
+
+"Is that so!  Yes.  For myself I am quite old-fashioned--though I can
+appreciate Strauss and Stravinsky as well, some things.  But my old
+things--ah, I don't think the moderns are so fine.  They are not so
+deep.  They haven't fathomed life so deeply."  Lady Franks sighed
+faintly.
+
+"They don't care for depths," said Aaron.
+
+"No, they haven't the capacity.  But I like big, deep music.  Oh, I
+love orchestra.  But my instrument is the piano.  I like the great
+masters, Bach, Beethoven.  They have such faith.  You were talking of
+faith--believing that things would work out well for you in the end.
+Beethoven inspires that in me, too."
+
+"He makes you feel that all will be well with you at last?"
+
+"Yes, he does.  He makes me feel faith in my PERSONAL destiny.  And I
+do feel that there is something in one's special fate.  I feel that I
+myself have a special kind of fate, that will always look after me."
+
+"And you can trust to it?"
+
+"Yes, I can.  It ALWAYS turns out right.  I think something has gone
+wrong--and then, it always turns out right.  Why when we were in London
+--when we were at lunch one morning it suddenly struck me, haven't I
+left my fur cloak somewhere?  It was rather cold, so I had taken it
+with me, and then never put it on.  And I hadn't brought it home.  I
+had left it somewhere.  But whether in a taxi, or in a shop, or in a
+little show of pictures I had been to, I couldn't remember.  I COULD
+NOT remember.  And I thought to myself: have I lost my cloak?  I went
+round to everywhere I could think of: no-trace of it.  But I didn't
+give it up.  Something prompted me not to give it up: quite distinctly,
+I felt something telling me that I should get it back.  So I called at
+Scotland Yard and gave the information.  Well, two days later I had a
+notice from Scotland Yard, so I went.  And there was my cloak.  I had
+it back.  And that has happened to me almost every time.  I almost
+always get my things back.  And I always feel that something looks
+after me, do you know: almost takes care of me."
+
+"But do you mean when you lose things--or in your life?"
+
+"I mean when I lose things--or when I want to get something I want--I
+am very nearly ALWAYS successful.  And I always feel there is some sort
+of higher power which does it for me."
+
+"Finds your cloak for you."
+
+"Yes.  Wasn't it extraordinary?  I felt when I saw my cloak in Scotland
+Yard: There, I KNEW I should recover you.  And I always feel, as I say,
+that there is some higher power which helps me.  Do you feel the same?"
+
+"No, not that way, worse luck.  I lost a batch of music a month ago
+which didn't belong to me--and which I couldn't replace.  But I never
+could recover it: though I'm sure nobody wanted it."
+
+"How very unfortunate!  Whereas my fur cloak was just the thing that
+gets stolen most."
+
+"I wished some power would trace my music: but apparently we aren't
+all gifted alike with guardian angels."
+
+"Apparently not.  And that is how I regard it: almost as a gift, you
+know, that my fairy godmother gave me in my cradle."
+
+"For always recovering your property?"
+
+"Yes--and succeeding in my undertakings."
+
+"I'm afraid I had no fairy godmother."
+
+"Well--I think I had.  And very glad I am of it."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at his hostess.
+
+So the dinner sailed merrily on.
+
+"But does Beethoven make you feel," said Aaron as an afterthought, "in
+the same way--that you will always find the things you have lost?"
+
+"Yes--he makes me feel the same faith: that what I lose will be
+returned to me.  Just as I found my cloak.  And that if I enter into
+an undertaking, it will be successful."
+
+"And your life has been always successful?"
+
+"Yes--almost always.  We have succeeded with almost everything."
+
+"Why, yes," said Aaron, looking at her again.
+
+But even so, he could see a good deal of hard wornness under her
+satisfaction.  She had had her suffering, sure enough.  But none the
+less, she was in the main satisfied.  She sat there, a good hostess,
+and expected the homage due to her success.  And of course she got it.
+Aaron himself did his little share of shoe-licking, and swallowed the
+taste of boot-polish with a grimace, knowing what he was about.
+
+The dinner wound gaily to an end.  The ladies retired.  Sir William
+left his seat of honour at the end of the table and came and sat next
+to Aaron, summoning the other three men to cluster near.
+
+"Now, Colonel," said the host, "send round the bottle."
+
+With a flourish of the elbow and shoulder, the Colonel sent on the
+port, actually port, in those bleak, post-war days!
+
+"Well, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "we will drink to your kind
+Providence: providing, of course, that we shall give no offence by
+so doing."
+
+"No, sir; no, sir!  The Providence belonged to Mr. Lilly.  Mr. Sisson
+put his money on kindly fortune, I believe," said Arthur, who rosy and
+fresh with wine, looked as if he would make a marvelous _bonne bouchee_
+for a finely-discriminating cannibal.
+
+"Ah, yes, indeed!  A much more ingratiating lady to lift our glasses
+to.  Mr. Sisson's kindly fortune.  _Fortuna gentil-issima_!  Well, Mr.
+Sisson, and may your Lady Fortune ever smile on you."
+
+Sir William lifted his glass with an odd little smirk, some touch of a
+strange, prim old satyr lurking in his oddly inclined head.  Nay, more
+than satyr: that curious, rather terrible iron demon that has fought
+with the world and wrung wealth from it, and which knows all about it.
+The devilish spirit of iron itself, and iron machines.  So, with his
+strange, old smile showing his teeth rather terribly, the old knight
+glowered sightlessly over his glass at Aaron.  Then he drank: the
+strange, careful, old-man's gesture in drinking.
+
+"But," said Aaron, "if Fortune is a female---"
+
+"Fortune!  Fortune!  Why, Fortune is a lady.  What do you say, Major?"
+
+"She has all the airs of one, Sir William," said the Major, with the
+wistful grimness of his age and culture.  And the young fellow stared
+like a crucified cyclops from his one eye: the black shutter being over
+the other.
+
+"And all the graces," capped Sir William, delighted with himself.
+
+"Oh, quite!" said the Major.  "For some, all the airs, and for others,
+all the graces."
+
+"Faint heart ne'er won fair lady, my boy," said Sir William.  "Not that
+your heart is faint.  On the contrary--as we know, and your country
+knows.  But with Lady Fortune you need another kind of stout heart--
+oh, quite another kind."
+
+"I believe it, sir: and the kind of stout heart which I am afraid I
+haven't got," said the Major.
+
+"What!" said the old man.  "Show the white feather before you've
+tackled the lady!  Fill the Major's glass, Colonel.  I am quite sure
+we will none of us ever say die."
+
+"Not likely.  Not if we know it," said the Colonel, stretching himself
+heartily inside his tunic.  He was becoming ruddier than the cherry.
+All he cared about at the moment was his gay little port glass.  But
+the Major's young cheek was hollow and sallow, his one eye terribly
+pathetic.
+
+"And you, Mr. Sisson," said Sir William, "mean to carry all before you
+by taking no thought for the morrow.  Well, now, we can only wish you
+success."
+
+"I don't want to carry all before me," said Aaron.  "I should be sorry.
+I want to walk past most of it."
+
+"Can you tell us where to?  I am intrigued, as Sybil says, to know
+where you will walk to.  Come now.  Enlighten us."
+
+"Nowhere, I suppose."
+
+"But is that satisfactory?  Can you find it satisfactory?"
+
+"Is it even true?" said the Major.  "Isn't it quite as positive an act
+to walk away from a situation as to walk towards it?"
+
+"My dear boy, you can't merely walk away from a situation.  Believe
+that.  If you walk away from Rome, you walk into the Maremma, or into
+the Alban Hills, or into the sea--but you walk into something.  Now
+if I am going to walk away from Rome, I prefer to choose my direction,
+and therefore my destination."
+
+"But you can't," said the Major.
+
+"What can't you?"
+
+"Choose.  Either your direction or your destination."  The Major was
+obstinate.
+
+"Really!" said Sir William.  "I have not found it so.  I have not found
+it so.  I have had to keep myself hard at work, all my life, choosing
+between this or that."
+
+"And we," said the Major, "have no choice, except between this or
+nothing."
+
+"Really!  I am afraid," said Sir William, "I am afraid I am too old--
+or too young--which shall I say?--to understand."
+
+"Too young, sir," said Arthur sweetly.  "The child was always father
+to the man, I believe."
+
+"I confess the Major makes me feel childish," said the old man.  "The
+choice between this or nothing is a puzzler to me.  Can you help me
+out, Mr. Sisson?  What do you make of this this-or-nothing business?
+I can understand neck-or-nothing---"
+
+"I prefer the NOTHING part of it to the THIS part of it," said Aaron,
+grinning.
+
+"Colonel," said the old man, "throw a little light on this nothingness."
+
+"No, Sir William," said the Colonel.  "I am all right as I am."
+
+"As a matter of fact, so are we all, perfectly A-one," said Arthur.
+
+Aaron broke into a laugh.
+
+"That's the top and bottom of it," he laughed, flushed with wine, and
+handsome.  We're all as right as ninepence.  Only it's rather nice to
+talk."
+
+"There!" said Sir William.  "We're all as right as ninepence!  We're
+all as right ninepence.  So there well leave it, before the Major has
+time to say he is twopence short."  Laughing his strange old soundless
+laugh, Sir William rose and made a little bow.  "Come up and join the
+ladies in a minute or two," he said.  Arthur opened the door for him
+and he left the room.
+
+The four men were silent for a moment--then the Colonel whipped up the
+decanter and filled his glass.  Then he stood up and clinked glasses
+with Aaron, like a real old sport.
+
+"Luck to you," he said.
+
+"Thanks," said Aaron.
+
+"You're going in the morning?" said Arthur.
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"What train?" said Arthur.
+
+"Eight-forty."
+
+"Oh--then we shan't see you again.  Well--best of luck."
+
+"Best of luck--" echoed the Colonel.
+
+"Same to you," said Aaron, and they all peered over their glasses and
+quite loved one another for a rosy minute.
+
+"I should like to know, though," said the hollow-cheeked young Major
+with the black flap over his eye, "whether you do really mean you are
+all right--that it is all right with you--or whether you only say so
+to get away from the responsibility."
+
+"I mean I don't really care--I don't a damn--let the devil take
+it all."
+
+"The devil doesn't want it, either," said the Major.
+
+"Then let him leave it.  I don't care one single little curse about
+it all."
+
+"Be damned.  What is there to care about?" said the Colonel.
+
+"Ay, what?" said Aaron.
+
+"It's all the same, whether you care or don't care.  So I say it's much
+easier not to care," said Arthur.
+
+"Of course it is," said the Colonel gaily.
+
+"And I think so, too," said Aaron.
+
+"Right you are!  We're all as right as ninepence--what?  Good old
+sport!  Here's yours!" cried the Colonel.
+
+"We shall have to be going up," said Arthur, wise in his generation.
+
+As they went into the hall, Arthur suddenly put one arm round Aaron's
+waist, and one arm round the Colonel's, and the three did a sudden
+little barn-dance towards the stairs.  Arthur was feeling himself
+quite let loose again, back in his old regimental mess.
+
+Approaching the foot of the stairs, he let go again.  He was in that
+rosy condition when united-we-stand.  But unfortunately it is a
+complicated job to climb the stairs in unison.  The whole lot tends to
+fall backwards.  Arthur, therefore, rosy, plump, looking so good to
+eat, stood still a moment in order to find his own neatly-slippered
+feet.  Having found them, he proceeded to put them carefully one before
+the other, and to his enchantment found that this procedure was
+carrying him magically up the stairs.  The Colonel, like a drowning
+man, clutched feebly for the straw of the great stair-rail--and missed
+it.  He would have gone under, but that Aaron's hand gripped his arm.
+So, orientating once more like a fragile tendril, he reached again
+for the banister rail, and got it.  After which, lifting his feet as
+if they were little packets of sand tied to his trouser buttons, he
+manipulated his way upwards.  Aaron was in that pleasant state when he
+saw what everybody else was doing and was unconscious of what he did
+himself.  Whilst tall, gaunt, erect, like a murdered Hamlet resurrected
+in khaki, with the terrible black shutter over his eye, the young
+Major came last.
+
+Arthur was making a stern fight for his composure.  His whole future
+depended on it.  But do what he would, he could not get the flushed,
+pleased, mess-happy look off his face.  The Colonel, oh, awful man,
+did a sort of plump roly-poly-cake-walk, like a fat boy, right to the
+very door of that santum-sanctorum, the library.  Aaron was inwardly
+convulsed.  Even the Major laughed.
+
+But Arthur stiffened himself militarily and cleared his throat.  All
+four started to compose themselves, like actors going on the stage,
+outside that library door.  And then Arthur softly, almost wistfully,
+opened and held the door for the others to pass.  The Colonel slunk
+meekly in, and sat in a chair in the background.  The Major stalked
+in expressionless, and hovered towards the sofa where his wife sat.
+
+There was a rather cold-water-down-your-back feeling in the library.
+The ladies had been waiting for coffee.  Sir William was waiting, too.
+Therefore in a little tension, half silent, the coffee was handed
+round.  Lady Franks was discussing something with Arthur's wife.
+Arthur's wife was in a cream lace dress, and looking what is called
+lovely.  The Major's wife was in amethyst chiffon with dark-red roses,
+and was looking blindingly beautiful.  The Colonel was looking into
+his coffee-cup as wistfully as if it contained the illusion of tawny
+port.  The Major was looking into space, as if there and there alone,
+etc.  Arthur was looking for something which Lady Franks had asked for,
+and which he was much too flushed to find.  Sir William was looking at
+Aaron, and preparing for another _coeur a coeur_.
+
+"Well," he said, "I doubt if you will care for Milan.  It is one of
+the least Italian of all the towns, in my opinion.  Venice, of course,
+is a thing apart.  I cannot stand, myself, that miserable specimen the
+modern Roman.  He has most of the vices of the old Romans and none of
+the virtues.  The most congenial town, perhaps, for a stranger, is
+Florence.  But it has a very bad climate."
+
+Lady Franks rose significantly and left the room, accompanied by
+Arthur's wife.  Aaron knew, silently, that he was summoned to follow.
+His hostess had her eye on him this evening.  But always postponing his
+obedience to the cool commands of women, he remained talking with his
+host in the library, and sipping _creme de menthe_!  Came the ripple
+of the pianoforte from the open doorway down at the further end of the
+room.  Lady Franks was playing, in the large drawing-room.  And the
+ripple of the music contained in it the hard insistence of the little
+woman's will.  Coldly, and decidedly, she intended there should be no
+more unsettling conversations for the old Sir William.  Aaron was to
+come forthwith into the drawing room.  Which Aaron plainly understood--
+and so he didn't go.  No, he didn't go, though the pianoforte rippled
+and swelled in volume.  No, and he didn't go even when Lady Franks
+left off playing and came into the library again.  There he sat,
+talking with Sir William.  Let us do credit to Lady Franks' will-
+power, and admit that the talk was quite empty and distracted--none
+of the depths and skirmishes of the previous occasions.  None the less,
+the talk continued.  Lady Franks retired, discomfited, to her piano
+again.  She would never break in upon her lord.
+
+So now Aaron relented.  He became more and more distracted.  Sir
+William wandered away like some restless, hunted soul.  The Colonel
+still sat in his chair, nursing his last drop of _creme de menthe_
+resentfully.  He did not care for the green toffee-stuff.  Arthur was
+busy.  The Major lay sprawled in the last stages of everything on the
+sofa, holding his wife's hand.  And the music came pathetically through
+the open folding-doors.  Of course, she played with feeling--it went
+without saying.  Aaron's soul felt rather tired.  But she had a touch
+of discrimination also.
+
+He rose and went to the drawing-room.  It was a large, vacant-seeming,
+Empire sort of drawing-room, with yellow silk chairs along the walls
+and yellow silk panels upon the walls, and a huge, vasty crystal
+chandelier hanging from a faraway-above ceiling.  Lady Franks sat at
+a large black Bechstein piano at one end of this vacant yellow state-
+room.  She sat, a little plump elderly lady in black lace, for all the
+world like Queen Victoria in Max Beerbohm's drawing of Alfred Tennyson
+reading to her Victorian Majesty, with space before her.  Arthur's
+wife was bending over some music in a remote corner of the big room.
+
+Aaron seated himself on one of the chairs by the wall, to listen.
+Certainly it was a beautiful instrument.  And certainly, in her way,
+she loved it.  But Aaron remembered an anthem in which he had taken
+part as a boy.
+
+
+                    His eye is on the sparrow
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+For a long time he had failed to catch the word _sparrow_, and had
+heard:
+
+
+                    His eye is on the spy-hole
+                    So I know He watches me.
+
+
+Which was just how it had all seemed to him, as a boy.
+
+Now, as ever, he felt the eye was on the spy-hole.  There sat the
+woman playing music.  But her inward eye was on the spy-hole of her
+vital affairs--her domestic arrangements, her control of her household,
+guests and husband included.  The other eye was left for the music,
+don't you know.
+
+Sir William appeared hovering in the doorway, not at all liking the
+defection of Mr. Aaron.  Then he retreated.  He seemed not to care
+for music.  The Major's wife hovered--felt it her duty to _aude_, or
+play audience--and entered, seating herself in a breath of lilac and
+amethyst again at the near distance.  The Major, after a certain
+beating about the bush, followed and sat wrapt in dim contemplation
+near his wife.  Arthur luckily was still busy with something.
+
+Aaron of course made proper musical remarks in the intervals--Arthur's
+wife sorted out more pieces.  Arthur appeared--and then the Colonel.
+The Colonel tip-toed beautifully across the wide blank space of the
+Empire room, and seated himself on a chair, rather in the distance,
+with his back to the wall, facing Aaron.  When Lady Franks finished
+her piece, to everybody's amazement the Colonel clapped gaily to
+himself and said Bravo! as if at a Cafe Chantant, looking round for
+his glass.  But there was no glass.  So he crossed his neatly-khakied
+legs, and looked rapt again.
+
+Lady Franks started with a _vivace_ Schumann piece.  Everybody listened
+in sanctified silence, trying to seem to like it.  When suddenly our
+Colonel began to spring and bounce in his chair, slinging his loose
+leg with a kind of rapture up and down in the air, and capering upon
+his posterior, doing a sitting-down jig to the Schumann _vivace_.
+Arthur, who had seated himself at the farthest extremity of the room,
+winked with wild bliss at Aaron.  The Major tried to look as if he
+noticed nothing, and only succeeded in looking agonised.  His wife
+studied the point of her silver shoe minutely, and peeped through her
+hair at the performance.  Aaron grimly chuckled, and loved the Colonel
+with real tenderness.
+
+And the game went on while the _vivace_ lasted.  Up and down bounced
+the plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent
+toe higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig.  Rosy
+and unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to.  The
+broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way.  Let him enjoy
+himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled
+salon.  Aaron felt quite cheered up.
+
+"Well, now," he thought to himself, "this man is in entire command
+of a very important branch of the British Service in Italy.  We are
+a great race still."
+
+But Lady Franks must have twigged.  Her playing went rather stiff.
+She came to the end of the _vivace_ movement, and abandoned her piece.
+
+"I always prefer Schumann in his _vivace_ moods," said Aaron.
+
+"Do you?" said Lady Franks.  "Oh, I don't know."
+
+It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing.  Arthur seemed to get
+further away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote
+end of the room, near the gallery doors.  The Colonel became quiet,
+pensive.  The Major's wife eyed the young woman in white lace, and
+seemed not to care for lace.  Arthur seemed to be trying to push
+himself backwards through the wall.  Lady Franks switched on more
+lights into the vast and voluminous crystal chandelier which hung
+like some glory-cloud above the room's centre.  And Arthur's wife
+sang sweet little French songs, and _Ye Banks and Braes_, and _Caro
+mio ben_, which goes without saying: and so on.  She had quite a nice
+voice and was quite adequately trained.  Which is enough said.  Aaron
+had all his nerves on edge.
+
+Then he had to play the flute.  Arthur strolled upstairs with him, arm-
+in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
+
+"I find music in the home rather a strain, you know," said Arthur.
+
+"Cruel strain.  I quite agree," said Aaron.
+
+"I don't mind it so much in the theatre--or even a concert--where
+there are a lot of other people to take the edge off--  But after
+a good dinner--"
+
+"It's medicine," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, you know, it really is, to me.  It affects my inside."  Aaron
+laughed.  And then, in the yellow drawing-room, blew into his pipe
+and played.  He knew so well that Arthur, the Major, the Major's wife,
+the Colonel, and Sir William thought it merely an intolerable bore.
+However, he played.  His hostess even accompanied him in a Mozart bit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+XX SETTEMBRE
+
+
+Aaron was awakened in the morning by the soft entrance of the butler
+with the tray: it was just seven o'clock.  Lady Franks' household was
+punctual as the sun itself.
+
+But our hero roused himself with a wrench.  The very act of lifting
+himself from the pillow was like a fight this morning.  Why?  He
+recognized his own wrench, the pain with which he struggled under the
+necessity to move.  Why shouldn't he want to move?  Why not?  Because
+he didn't want the day in front--the plunge into a strange country,
+towards nowhere, with no aim in view.  True, he said that ultimately he
+wanted to join Lilly.  But this was hardly more than a sop, an excuse
+for his own irrational behaviour.  He was breaking loose from one
+connection after another; and what for?  Why break every tie?  Snap,
+snap, snap went the bonds and ligatures which bound him to the life
+that had formed him, the people he had loved or liked.  He found all
+his affections snapping off, all the ties which united him with his
+own people coming asunder.  And why?  In God's name, why?  What was
+there instead?
+
+There was nothingness.  There was just himself, and blank nothingness.
+He had perhaps a faint sense of Lilly ahead of him; an impulse in that
+direction, or else merely an illusion.  He could not persuade himself
+that he was seeking for love, for any kind of unison or communion. He
+knew well enough that the thought of any loving, any sort of real
+coming together between himself and anybody or anything, was just
+objectionable to him.  No--he was not moving _towards_ anything: he
+was moving almost violently away from everything.  And that was what
+he wanted.  Only that.  Only let him _not_ run into any sort of
+embrace with anything or anybody--this was what he asked.  Let no
+new connection be made between himself and anything on earth.  Let
+all old connections break.  This was his craving.
+
+Yet he struggled under it this morning as under the lid of a tomb.  The
+terrible sudden weight of inertia!  He knew the tray stood ready by the
+bed: he knew the automobile would be at the door at eight o'clock, for
+Lady Franks had said so, and he half divined that the servant had also
+said so: yet there he lay, in a kind of paralysis in this bed.  He
+seemed for the moment to have lost his will.  Why go forward into more
+nothingness, away from all that he knew, all he was accustomed to and
+all he belonged to?
+
+However, with a click he sat up.  And the very instant he had poured
+his coffee from the little silver coffee-pot into his delicate cup, he
+was ready for anything and everything.  The sense of silent adventure
+took him, the exhilarated feeling that he was fulfilling his own
+inward destiny.  Pleasant to taste was the coffee, the bread, the
+honey--delicious.
+
+The man brought his clothes, and again informed him that the automobile
+would be at the door at eight o'clock: or at least so he made out.
+
+"I can walk," said Aaron.
+
+"Milady ha comandato l'automobile," said the man softly.
+
+It was evident that if Milady had ordered it, so it must be.
+
+So Aaron left the still-sleeping house, and got into the soft and
+luxurious car.  As he dropped through the park he wondered that Sir
+William and Lady Franks should be so kind to him: a complete stranger.
+But so it was.  There he sat in their car.  He wondered, also, as he
+ran over the bridge and into the city, whether this soft-running
+automobile would ever rouse the socialistic bile of the work-people.
+For the first time in his life, as he sat among the snug cushions, he
+realised what it might be to be rich and uneasy: uneasy, even if not
+afraid, lurking there inside an expensive car.--Well, it wasn't much
+of a sensation anyhow: and riches were stuffy, like wadded upholstery
+on everything.  He was glad to get out into the fresh air of the common
+crowd.  He was glad to be in the bleak, not-very-busy station.  He was
+glad to be part of common life.  For the very atmosphere of riches
+seems to be stuffed and wadded, never any real reaction.  It was
+terrible, as if one's very body, shoulders and arms, were upholstered
+and made cushiony.  Ugh, but he was glad to shake off himself the
+atmosphere of wealth and motor-cars, to get out of it all.  It was
+like getting out of quilted clothes.
+
+"Well," thought Aaron, "if this is all it amounts to, to be rich, you
+can have riches.  They talk about money being power.  But the only sort
+of power it has over me is to bring on a kind of numbness, which I
+fairly hate.  No wonder rich people don't seem to be really alive."
+
+The relief of escaping quite took away his self-conscious embarrassment
+at the station.  He carried his own bags, bought a third-class ticket,
+and got into the train for Milan without caring one straw for the
+comments or the looks of the porters.
+
+It began to rain.  The rain ran across the great plain of north Italy.
+Aaron sat in his wood-seated carriage and smoked his pipe in silence,
+looking at the thick, short Lombards opposite him without heeding
+them.  He paid hardly any outward attention to his surroundings, but
+sat involved in himself.
+
+In Milan he had been advised to go to the Hotel Britannia, because
+it was not expensive, and English people went there.  So he took a
+carriage, drove round the green space in front of Milan station, and
+away into the town.  The streets were busy, but only half-heartedly so.
+
+It must be confessed that every new move he made was rather an effort.
+Even he himself wondered why he was struggling with foreign porters
+and foreign cabmen, being talked at and not understanding a word.  But
+there he was.  So he went on with it.
+
+The hotel was small and congenial.  The hotel porter answered in
+English.  Aaron was given a little room with a tiny balcony, looking
+on to a quiet street.  So, he had a home of his own once more.  He
+washed, and then counted his money.  Thirty-seven pounds he had: and
+no more.  He stood on the balcony and looked at the people going by
+below.  Life seems to be moving so quick, when one looks down on it
+from above.
+
+Across the road was a large stone house with its green shutters all
+closed.  But from the flagpole under the eaves, over the central window
+of the uppermost floor--the house was four storeys high--waved the
+Italian flag in the melancholy damp air.  Aaron looked at it--the
+red, white and green tricolour, with the white cross of Savoy in the
+centre.  It hung damp and still.  And there seemed a curious vacancy
+in the city--something empty and depressing in the great human centre.
+Not that there was really a lack of people.  But the spirit of the
+town seemed depressed and empty.  It was a national holiday.  The
+Italian flag was hanging from almost every housefront.
+
+It was about three o'clock in the afternoon.  Aaron sat in the
+restaurant of the hotel drinking tea, for he was rather tired, and
+looking through the thin curtains at the little square outside, where
+people passed: little groups of dark, aimless-seeming men, a little
+bit poorer looking--perhaps rather shorter in stature--but very much
+like the people in any other town.  Yet the feeling of the city was
+so different from that of London.  There seemed a curious emptiness.
+The rain had ceased, but the pavements were still wet.  There was a
+tension.
+
+Suddenly there was a noise of two shots, fired in rapid succession.
+Aaron turned startled to look into the quiet piazza.  And to his
+amazement, the pavements were empty, not a soul was in sight.  Two
+minutes before the place was busy with passers-by, and a newspaper
+man selling the Corriere, and little carriages rattling through.
+Now, as if by magic, nobody, nothing.  It was as if they had all
+melted into thin air.
+
+The waiter, too, was peeping behind the curtain.  A carriage came
+trotting into the square--an odd man took his way alone--the traffic
+began to stir once more, and people reappeared as suddenly as they had
+disappeared.  Then the waiter ran hastily and furtively out and craned
+his neck, peering round the square.  He spoke with two youths--rather
+loutish youths.  Then he returned to his duty in the hotel restaurant.
+
+"What was it?  What were the shots?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"Oh--somebody shooting at a dog," said the man negligently.
+
+"At a dog!" said Aaron, with round eyes.
+
+He finished his tea, and went out into the town.  His hotel was not
+far from the cathedral square.  Passing through the arcade, he came in
+sight of the famous cathedral with its numerous spines pricking into
+the afternoon air.  He was not as impressed as he should have been.
+And yet there was something in the northern city--this big square with
+all the trams threading through, the little yellow Continental trams:
+and the spiny bulk of the great cathedral, like a grey-purple sea-
+urchin with many spines, on the one side, the ornamental grass-plots
+and flower beds on the other: the big shops going all along the
+further strands, all round: and the endless restless nervous drift of
+a north Italian crowd, so nervous, so twitchy; nervous and twitchy as
+the slipping past of the little yellow tram-cars; it all affected him
+with a sense of strangeness, nervousness, and approaching winter.  It
+struck him the people were afraid of themselves: afraid of their own
+souls, and that which was in their own souls.
+
+Turning up the broad steps of the cathedral, he entered the famous
+building.  The sky had cleared, and the freshened light shone coloured
+in living tablets round the wonderful, towering, rose-hearted dusk of
+the great church.  At some altars lights flickered uneasily.  At some
+unseen side altar mass was going on, and a strange ragged music
+fluttered out on the incense-dusk of the great and lofty interior,
+which was all shadow, all shadow, hung round with jewel tablets of
+light.  Particularly beautiful the great east bay, above the great
+altar.  And all the time, over the big-patterned marble floor, the
+faint click and rustle of feet coming and going, coming and going,
+like shallow uneasy water rustled back and forth in a trough.  A white
+dog trotted pale through the under-dusk, over the pale, big-patterned
+floor.  Aaron came to the side altar where mass was going on, candles
+ruddily wavering.  There was a small cluster of kneeling women--
+a ragged handful of on-looking men--and people wandering up and
+wandering away, young women with neatly dressed black hair, and shawls,
+but without hats; fine young women in very high heels; young men with
+nothing to do; ragged men with nothing to do.  All strayed faintly
+clicking over the slabbed floor, and glanced at the flickering altar
+where the white-surpliced boys were curtseying and the white-and-gold
+priest bowing, his hands over his breast, in the candle-light.  All
+strayed, glanced, lingered, and strayed away again, as if the spectacle
+were not sufficiently holding.  The bell chimed for the elevation of
+the Host.  But the thin trickle of people trickled the same, uneasily,
+over the slabbed floor of the vastly-upreaching shadow-foliaged
+cathedral.
+
+The smell of incense in his nostrils, Aaron went out again by a side
+door, and began to walk along the pavements of the cathedral square,
+looking at the shops.  Some were closed, and had little notices pinned
+on them.  Some were open, and seemed half-stocked with half-elegant
+things.  Men were carrying newspapers.  In the cafes a few men were
+seated drinking vermouth.  In the doorway of the restaurants waiters
+stood inert, looking out on the streets.  The curious heart-eating
+_ennui_ of the big town on a holiday came over our hero.  He felt he
+must get out, whatever happened.  He could not bear it.
+
+So he went back to his hotel and up to his room.  It was still only
+five o'clock.  And he did not know what to do with himself.  He lay
+down on the bed, and looked at the painting on his bedroom ceiling.
+It was a terrible business in reckitt's blue and browny gold, with
+awful heraldic beasts, rather worm-wriggly, displayed in a blue field.
+
+As he lay thinking of nothing and feeling nothing except a certain
+weariness, or dreariness, or tension, or God-knows-what, he heard a
+loud hoarse noise of humanity in the distance, something frightening.
+Rising, he went on to his little balcony.  It was a sort of procession,
+or march of men, here and there a red flag fluttering from a man's
+fist.  There had been a big meeting, and this was the issue.  The
+procession was irregular, but powerful, men four abreast.  They emerged
+irregularly from the small piazza to the street, calling and
+vociferating.  They stopped before a shop and clotted into a crowd,
+shouting, becoming vicious.  Over the shop-door hung a tricolour, a
+national flag.  The shop was closed, but the men began to knock at the
+door.  They were all workmen, some in railway men's caps, mostly in
+black felt hats.  Some wore red cotton neck-ties.  They lifted their
+faces to the national flag, and as they shouted and gesticulated Aaron
+could see their strong teeth in their jaws.  There was something
+frightening in their lean, strong Italian jaws, something inhuman and
+possessed-looking in their foreign, southern-shaped faces, so much more
+formed and demon-looking than northern faces.  They had a demon-like
+set purpose, and the noise of their voices was like a jarring of steel
+weapons.  Aaron wondered what they wanted.  There were no women--all
+men--a strange male, slashing sound.  Vicious it was--the head of the
+procession swirling like a little pool, the thick wedge of the
+procession beyond, flecked with red flags.
+
+A window opened above the shop, and a frowsty-looking man, yellow-
+pale, was quickly and nervously hauling in the national flag.  There
+were shouts of derision and mockery--a great overtone of acrid
+derision--the flag and its owner ignominiously disappeared.  And the
+procession moved on.  Almost every shop had a flag flying.  And every
+one of these flags now disappeared, quickly or slowly, sooner or later,
+in obedience to the command of the vicious, derisive crowd, that
+marched and clotted slowly down the street, having its own way.
+
+Only one flag remained flying--the big tricolour that floated from the
+top storey of the house opposite Aaron's hotel.  The ground floor of
+this house consisted of shop-premises--now closed.  There was no sign
+of any occupant.  The flag floated inert aloft.
+
+The whole crowd had come to a stop immediately below the hotel, and
+all were now looking up at the green and white and red tricolour which
+stirred damply in the early evening light, from under the broad eaves
+of the house opposite.  Aaron looked at the long flag, which drooped
+almost unmoved from the eaves-shadow, and he half expected it to furl
+itself up of its own accord, in obedience to the will of the masses.
+Then he looked down at the packed black shoulders of the mob below,
+and at the curious clustering pattern of a sea of black hats.  He
+could hardly see anything but hats and shoulders, uneasily moving
+like boiling pitch away beneath him.  But the shouts began to come
+up hotter and hotter.  There had been a great ringing of a door-bell
+and battering on the shop-door.  The crowd--the swollen head of the
+procession--talked and shouted, occupying the centre of the street,
+but leaving the pavement clear.  A woman in a white blouse appeared
+in the shop-door.  She came out and looked up at the flag and shook
+her head and gesticulated with her hands.  It was evidently not her
+flag--she had nothing to do with it.  The leaders again turned to the
+large house-door, and began to ring all the bells and to knock with
+their knuckles.  But no good--there was no answer.  They looked up
+again at the flag.  Voices rose ragged and ironical.  The woman
+explained something again.  Apparently there was nobody at home in
+the upper floors--all entrance was locked--there was no caretaker.
+Nobody owned the flag.  There it hung under the broad eaves of the
+strong stone house, and didn't even know that it was guilty.  The
+woman went back into her shop and drew down the iron shutter from
+inside.
+
+The crowd, nonplussed, now began to argue and shout and whistle.  The
+voices rose in pitch and derision.  Steam was getting up.  There hung
+the flag.  The procession crowded forward and filled the street in a
+mass below.  All the rest of the street was empty and shut up.  And
+still hung the showy rag, red and white and green, up aloft.
+
+Suddenly there was a lull--then shouts, half-encouraging, half-
+derisive.  And Aaron saw a smallish-black figure of a youth, fair-
+haired, not more than seventeen years old, clinging like a monkey to
+the front of the house, and by the help of the heavy drain-pipe and
+the stone-work ornamentation climbing up to the stone ledge that ran
+under ground-floor windows, up like a sudden cat on to the projecting
+footing.  He did not stop there, but continued his race like some
+frantic lizard running up the great wall-front, working away from the
+noise below, as if in sheer fright.  It was one unending wriggling
+movement, sheer up the front of the impassive, heavy stone house.
+
+The flag hung from a pole under one of the windows of the top storey--
+the third floor.  Up went the wriggling figure of the possessed youth.
+The cries of the crowd below were now wild, ragged ejaculations of
+excitement and encouragement.  The youth seemed to be lifted up, almost
+magically on the intense upreaching excitement of the massed men below.
+He passed the ledge of the first floor, like a lizard he wriggled up
+and passed the ledge or coping of the second floor, and there he was,
+like an upward-climbing shadow, scrambling on to the coping of the
+third floor.  The crowd was for a second electrically still as the boy
+rose there erect, cleaving to the wall with the tips of his fingers.
+
+But he did not hesitate for one breath.  He was on his feet and
+running along the narrow coping that went across the house under
+the third floor windows, running there on that narrow footing away
+above the street, straight to the flag.  He had got it--he had
+clutched it in his hand, a handful of it.  Exactly like a great
+flame rose the simultaneous yell of the crowd as the boy jerked
+and got the flag loose.  He had torn it down.  A tremendous prolonged
+yell, touched with a snarl of triumph, and searing like a puff of
+flame, sounded as the boy remained for one moment with the flag in
+his hand looking down at the crowd below.  His face was odd and elated
+and still.  Then with the slightest gesture he threw the flag from him,
+and Aaron watched the gaudy remnant falling towards the many faces,
+whilst the noise of yelling rose up unheard.
+
+There was a great clutch and hiss in the crowd.  The boy still stood
+unmoved, holding by one hand behind him, looking down from above, from
+his dangerous elevation, in a sort of abstraction.
+
+And the next thing Aaron was conscious of was the sound of trumpets.
+A sudden startling challenge of trumpets, and out of nowhere a sudden
+rush of grey-green carabinieri battering the crowd wildly with
+truncheons.  It was so sudden that Aaron _heard_ nothing any more.
+He only saw.
+
+In utmost amazement he saw the greeny-grey uniformed carabinieri
+rushing thick and wild and indiscriminate on the crowd: a sudden new
+excited crowd in uniforms attacking the black crowd, beating them
+wildly with truncheons.  There was a seething moment in the street
+below.  And almost instantaneously the original crowd burst into a
+terror of frenzy.  The mob broke as if something had exploded inside
+it.  A few black-hatted men fought furiously to get themselves free of
+the hated soldiers; in the confusion bunches of men staggered, reeled,
+fell, and were struggling among the legs of their comrades and of the
+carabinieri.  But the bulk of the crowd just burst and fled--in every
+direction.  Like drops of water they seemed to fly up at the very
+walls themselves.  They darted into any entry, any doorway.  They
+sprang up the walls and clambered into the ground-floor windows.
+They sprang up the walls on to window-ledges, and then jumped down
+again, and ran--clambering, wriggling, darting, running in every
+direction; some cut, blood on their faces, terror or frenzy of flight
+in their hearts.  Not so much terror as the frenzy of running away.
+In a breath the street was empty.
+
+And all the time, there above on the stone coping stood the long-
+faced, fair-haired boy, while four stout carabinieri in the street
+below stood with uplifted revolvers and covered him, shouting that if
+he moved they would shoot.  So there he stood, still looking down,
+still holding with his left hand behind him, covered by the four
+revolvers.  He was not so much afraid as twitchily self-conscious
+because of his false position.
+
+Meanwhile down below the crowd had dispersed--melted momentaneously.
+The carabinieri were busy arresting the men who had fallen and been
+trodden underfoot, or who had foolishly let themselves be taken;
+perhaps half a dozen men, half a dozen prisoners; less rather than
+more.  The sergeant ordered these to be secured between soldiers.
+And last of all the youth up above, still covered by the revolvers,
+was ordered to come down.  He turned quite quietly, and quite humbly,
+cautiously picked his way along the coping towards the drain-pipe.
+He reached this pipe and began, in humiliation, to climb down.  It
+was a real climb down.
+
+Once in the street he was surrounded by the grey uniforms.  The
+soldiers formed up.  The sergeant gave the order.  And away they
+marched, the dejected youth a prisoner between them.
+
+Then were heard a few scattered yells of derision and protest, a few
+shouts of anger and derision against the carabinieri.  There were once
+more gangs of men and groups of youths along the street.  They sent up
+an occasional shout.  But always over their shoulders, and pretending
+it was not they who shouted.  They were all cowed and hang-dog once
+more, and made not the slightest effort to save the youth.
+Nevertheless, they prowled and watched, ready for the next time.
+
+So, away went the prisoner and the grey-green soldiers, and the street
+was left to the little gangs and groups of hangdog, discontented men,
+all thoroughly out of countenance.  The scene was ended.
+
+Aaron looked round, dazed.  And then for the first time he noticed, on
+the next balcony to his own, two young men: young gentlemen, he would
+have said.  The one was tall and handsome and well-coloured, might be
+Italian.  But the other with his pale thin face and his rimless monocle
+in his eye, he was surely an Englishman.  He was surely one of the
+young officers shattered by the war.  A look of strange, arch, bird-
+like pleasure was on his face at this moment: if one could imagine the
+gleaming smile of a white owl over the events that had just passed,
+this was the impression produced on Aaron by the face of the young
+man with the monocle.  The other youth, the ruddy, handsome one, had
+knitted his brows in mock distress, and was glancing with a look of
+shrewd curiosity at Aaron, and with a look of almost self-satisfied
+excitement first to one end of the street, then to the other.
+
+"But imagine, Angus, it's all over!" he said, laying his hand on the
+arm of the monocled young man, and making great eyes--not without a
+shrewd glance in Aaron's direction.
+
+"Did you see him fall!" replied Angus, with another strange gleam.
+
+"Yes.  But was he HURT--?"
+
+"I don't know.  I should think so.  He fell right back out of that on
+to those stones!"
+
+"But how perfectly AWFUL!  Did you ever see anything like it?"
+
+"No.  It's one of the funniest things I ever did see.  I saw nothing
+quite like it, even in the war--"
+
+Here Aaron withdrew into his room.  His mind and soul were in a whirl.
+He sat down in his chair, and did not move again for a great while.
+When he did move, he took his flute and played he knew not what.  But
+strange, strange his soul passed into his instrument.  Or passed half
+into his instrument.  There was a big residue left, to go bitter, or
+to ferment into gold old wine of wisdom.
+
+He did not notice the dinner gong, and only the arrival of the chamber-
+maid, to put the wash-table in order, sent him down to the restaurant.
+The first thing he saw, as he entered, was the two young Englishmen
+seated at a table in a corner just behind him.  Their hair was brushed
+straight back from their foreheads, making the sweep of the head bright
+and impeccable, and leaving both the young faces clear as if in cameo.
+Angus had laid his monocle on the table, and was looking round the
+room with wide, light-blue eyes, looking hard, like some bird-creature,
+and seeming to see nothing.  He had evidently been very ill: was
+still very ill.  His cheeks and even his jaw seemed shrunken, almost
+withered.  He forgot his dinner: or he did not care for it.  Probably
+the latter.
+
+"What do you think, Francis," he said, "of making a plan to see
+Florence and Sienna and Orvieto on the way down, instead of going
+straight to Rome?"  He spoke in precise, particularly-enunciated
+words, in a public-school manner, but with a strong twang of South
+Wales.
+
+"Why, Angus," came the graceful voice of  Francis, "I thought we had
+settled to go straight through via Pisa."  Francis was graceful in
+everything--in his tall, elegant figure, in the poses of his handsome
+head, in the modulation of his voice.
+
+"Yes, but I see we can go either way--either Pisa or Florence.  And I
+thought it might be nice to look at Florence and Sienna and Orvieto.
+I believe they're very lovely," came the soft, precise voice of Angus,
+ending in a touch of odd emotion on the words "very lovely," as if it
+were a new experience to him to be using them.
+
+"I'm SURE they're marvellous.  I'm quite sure they're marvellously
+beautiful," said Francis, in his assured, elegant way.  "Well, then,
+Angus--suppose we do that, then?--When shall we start?"
+
+Angus was the nervous insister.  Francis was quite occupied with his
+own thoughts and calculations and curiosity.  For he was very curious,
+not to say inquisitive.  And at the present moment he had a new subject
+to ponder.
+
+This new subject was Aaron, who sat with his back to our new couple,
+and who, with his fine sharp ears, caught every word that they said.
+Aaron's back was broad enough, and his shoulders square, and his head
+rather small and fairish and well-shaped--and Francis was intrigued.
+He wanted to know, was the man English.  He _looked_ so English--
+yet he might be--he might perhaps be Danish, Scandinavian, or Dutch.
+Therefore, the elegant young man watched and listened with all his
+ears.
+
+The waiter who had brought Aaron his soup now came very free and easy,
+to ask for further orders.
+
+"What would you like to drink?  Wine?  Chianti?  Or white wine?  Or
+beer?"--The old-fashioned "Sir" was dropped.  It is too old-fashioned
+now, since the war.
+
+"What SHOULD I drink?" said Aaron, whose acquaintance with wines was
+not very large.
+
+"Half-litre of Chianti: that is very good," said the waiter, with the
+air of a man who knew only too well how to bring up his betters, and
+train them in the way they should go.
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+The welcome sound of these two magic words, All Right! was what the
+waiter most desired.  "All right!  Yes!  All Right!"  This is the
+pith, the marrow, the sum and essence of the English language to a
+southerner.  Of course it is not _all right_.  It is _Or-rye_--and
+one word at that.  The blow that would be given to most foreign
+waiters, if they were forced to realize that the famous _orye_ was
+really composed of two words, and spelt _all right_, would be too
+cruel, perhaps.
+
+"Half litre Chianti.  Orye," said the waiter.  And we'll let him
+say it.
+
+"ENGLISH!" whispered Francis melodramatically in the ear of Angus. "I
+THOUGHT so.  The flautist."
+
+Angus put in his monocle, and stared at the oblivious shoulders of
+Aaron, without apparently seeing anything.  "Yes.  Obviously English,"
+said Angus, pursing like a bird.
+
+"Oh, but I heard him," whispered Francis emphatically.  "Quite," said
+Angus.  "But quite inoffensive."
+
+"Oh, but Angus, my dear--he's the FLAUTIST.   Don't you remember?
+The divine bit of Scriabin.  At least I believe it was Scriabin.--
+But PERFECTLY DIVINE!!!  I adore the flute above all things--"  And
+Francis placed his hand on Angus' arm, and rolled his eyes--Lay this
+to the credit of a bottle of Lacrimae Cristi, if you like.
+
+"Yes.  So do I," said Angus, again looking archly through the monocle,
+and seeing nothing.  "I wonder what he's doing here."
+
+"Don't you think we might ASK him?" said Francis, in a vehement
+whisper.  "After all, we are the only three English people in the
+place."
+
+"For the moment, apparently we are," said Angus.  "But the English
+are all over the place wherever you go, like bits of orange peel in
+the street.  Don't forget that, Francesco."
+
+"No, Angus, I don't.  The point is, his flute is PERFECTLY DIVINE--and
+he seems quite attractive in himself.  Don't you think so?"
+
+"Oh, quite," said Angus, whose observations had got no further than
+the black cloth of the back of Aaron's jacket.  That there was a man
+inside he had not yet paused to consider.
+
+"Quite a musician," said Francis.
+
+"The hired sort," said Angus, "most probably."
+
+"But he PLAYS--he plays most marvellously.  THAT you can't get away
+from, Angus."
+
+"I quite agree," said Angus.
+
+"Well, then?  Don't you think we might hear him again?  Don't you
+think we might get him to play for us?--But I should love it more
+than anything."
+
+"Yes, I should, too," said Angus.  "You might ask him to coffee and
+a liqueur."
+
+"I should like to--most awfully.  But do you think I might?"
+
+"Oh, yes.  He won't mind being offered a coffee and liqueur.  We can
+give him something decent--Where's the waiter?"  Angus lifted his
+pinched, ugly bare face and looked round with weird command for the
+waiter.  The waiter, having not much to do, and feeling ready to draw
+these two weird young birds, allowed himself to be summoned.
+
+"Where's the wine list?  What liqueurs have you got?" demanded Angus
+abruptly.
+
+The waiter rattled off a list, beginning with Strega and ending with
+cherry brandy.
+
+"Grand Marnier," said Angus.  "And leave the bottle."
+
+Then he looked with arch triumph at Francis, like a wicked bird.
+Francis bit his finger moodily, and glowered with handsome, dark-blue
+uncertain eyes at Mr. Aaron, who was just surveying the _Frutte_,
+which consisted of two rather old pomegranates and various pale
+yellow apples, with a sprinkling of withered dried figs.  At the
+moment, they all looked like a _Natura Morta_ arrangement.
+
+"But do you think I might--?" said Francis moodily.  Angus pursed his
+lips with a reckless brightness.
+
+"Why not?  I see no reason why you shouldn't," he said.  Whereupon
+Francis cleared his throat, disposed of his serviette, and rose to
+his feet, slowly but gracefully.  Then he composed himself, and took
+on the air he wished to assume at the moment.  It was a nice degage
+air, half naive and half enthusiastic.  Then he crossed to Aaron's
+table, and stood on one lounging hip, gracefully, and bent forward
+in a confidential manner, and said:
+
+"Do excuse me.  But I MUST ask you if it was you we heard playing the
+flute so perfectly wonderfully, just before dinner."
+
+The voice was confidential and ingratiating.  Aaron, relieved from the
+world's stress and seeing life anew in the rosy glow of half a litre
+of good old Chianti--the war was so near but gone by--looked up at the
+dark blue, ingenuous, well-adapted eyes of our friend Francis, and
+smiling, said:
+
+"Yes, I saw you on the balcony as well."
+
+"Oh, did you notice us?" plunged Francis.  "But wasn't it an
+extraordinary affair?"
+
+"Very," said Aaron.  "I couldn't make it out, could you?"
+
+"Oh," cried Francis.  "I never try.  It's all much too new and
+complicated for me.--But perhaps you know Italy?"
+
+"No, I don't," said Aaron.
+
+"Neither do we.  And we feel rather stunned.  We had only just arrived
+--and then--Oh!"  Francis put up his hand to his comely brow and rolled
+his eyes.  "I feel perfectly overwhelmed with it still."
+
+He here allowed himself to sink friendlily into the vacant chair
+opposite Aaron's.
+
+"Yes, I thought it was a bit exciting," said Aaron.  "I wonder what
+will become of him--"
+
+"--Of the one who climbed for the flag, you mean?  No!--But wasn't it
+perfectly marvellous!  Oh, incredible, quite incredible!--And then your
+flute to finish it all!  Oh!  I felt it only wanted that.--I haven't
+got over it yet.  But your playing was MARVELLOUS, really marvellous.
+Do you know, I can't forget it.  You are a professional musician, of
+course."
+
+"If you mean I play for a living," said Aaron.  "I have played in
+orchestras in London."
+
+"Of course!  Of course!  I knew you must be a professional.  But don't
+you give private recitals, too?"
+
+"No, I never have."
+
+"Oh!" cried Francis, catching his breath.  "I can't believe it.  But
+you play MARVELLOUSLY!  Oh, I just loved it, it simply swept me away,
+after that scene in the street.  It seemed to sum it all up, you know."
+
+"Did it," said Aaron, rather grimly.
+
+"But won't you come and have coffee with us at our table?" said
+Francis.  "We should like it most awfully if you would."
+
+"Yes, thank you," said Aaron, half-rising.
+
+"But you haven't had your dessert," said Francis, laying a fatherly
+detaining hand on the arm of the other man.  Aaron looked at the
+detaining hand.
+
+"The dessert isn't much to stop for," he said.  "I can take with me
+what I want."  And he picked out a handful of dried figs.
+
+The two went across to Angus' table.
+
+"We're going to take coffee together," said Francis complacently,
+playing the host with a suave assurance that was rather amusing and
+charming in him.
+
+"Yes.  I'm very glad," said Angus.  Let us give the show away: he
+was being wilfully nice.  But he _was_ quite glad; to be able to be
+so nice.  Anything to have a bit of life going: especially a bit of
+pleased life.  He looked at Aaron's comely, wine-warmed face with
+gratification.
+
+"Have a Grand Marnier," he said.  "I don't know how bad it is.
+Everything is bad now.  They lay it down to the war as well.  It
+used to be quite a decent drink.  What the war had got to do with
+bad liqueurs, I don't know."
+
+Aaron sat down in a chair at their table.
+
+"But let us introduce ourselves," said Francis.  "I am Francis--or
+really Franz Dekker�And this is Angus Guest, my friend."
+
+"And my name is Aaron Sisson."
+
+"What!  What did you say?" said Francis, leaning forward.  He, too,
+had sharp ears.
+
+"Aaron Sisson."
+
+"Aaron Sisson!  Oh, but how amusing!  What a nice name!"
+
+"No better than yours, is it?"
+
+"Mine!  Franz Dekker!  Oh, much more amusing, _I_ think," said Francis
+archly.
+
+"Oh, well, it's a matter of opinion.  You're the double decker,
+not me."
+
+"The double decker!" said Francis archly.  "Why, what do you mean!--"
+He rolled his eyes significantly.  "But may I introduce my friend Angus
+Guest."
+
+"You've introduced me already, Francesco," said Angus.
+
+"So sorry," said Francis.
+
+"Guest!" said Aaron.
+
+Francis suddenly began to laugh.
+
+"May he not be Guest?" he asked, fatherly.
+
+"Very likely," said Aaron.  "Not that I was ever good at guessing."
+
+Francis tilted his eyebrows.  Fortunately the waiter arrived with
+the coffee.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis, "will you have your coffee black, or with
+milk?"  He was determined to restore a tone of sobriety.
+
+The coffee was sipped in sober solemnity.
+
+"Is music your line as well, then?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, we're painters.  We're going to work in Rome."
+
+"To earn your living?"
+
+"Not yet."
+
+The amount of discretion, modesty, and reserve which Francis put into
+these two syllables gave Aaron to think that he had two real young
+swells to deal with.
+
+"No," continued Francis.  "I was only JUST down from Oxford when the
+war came--and Angus had been about ten months at the Slade--But I have
+always painted.--So now we are going to work, really hard, in Rome, to
+make up for lost time.--Oh, one has lost so much time, in the war.  And
+such PRECIOUS time!  I don't know if ever one will even be able to make
+it up again."  Francis tilted his handsome eyebrows and put his head on
+one side with a wise-distressed look.
+
+"No," said Angus.  "One will never be able to make it up.  What is
+more, one will never be able to start again where one left off.  We're
+shattered old men, now, in one sense.  And in another sense, we're just
+pre-war babies."
+
+The speech was uttered with an odd abruptness and didacticism which
+made Aaron open his eyes.  Angus had that peculiar manner: he seemed
+to be haranguing himself in the circle of his own thoughts, not
+addressing himself to his listener.
+
+So his listener listened on the outside edge of the young fellow's
+crowded thoughts.  Francis put on a distressed air, and let his
+attention wander.  Angus pursed his lips and his eyes were stretched
+wide with a kind of pleasure, like a wicked owl which has just
+joyfully hooted an ill omen.
+
+"Tell me," said Francis to Aaron.  "Where were YOU all the time during
+the war?"
+
+"I was doing my job," said Aaron.  Which led to his explaining his
+origins.
+
+"Really!  So your music is quite new!  But how interesting!" cried
+Francis.
+
+Aaron explained further.
+
+"And so the war hardly affected you?  But what did you FEEL about it,
+privately?"
+
+"I didn't feel much.  I didn't know what to feel.  Other folks did
+such a lot of feeling, I thought I'd better keep my mouth shut."
+
+"Yes, quite!" said Angus.  "Everybody had such a lot of feelings on
+somebody else's behalf, that nobody ever had time to realise what they
+felt themselves.  I know I was like that.  The feelings all came on to
+me from the outside: like flies settling on meat.  Before I knew where
+I was I was eaten up with a swarm of feelings, and I found myself in
+the trenches.  God knows what for.  And ever since then I've been
+trying to get out of my swarm of feelings, which buzz in and out of
+me and have nothing to do with me.  I realised it in hospital.  It's
+exactly like trying to get out of a swarm of nasty dirty flies.  And
+every one you kill makes you sick, but doesn't make the swarm any less."
+
+Again Angus pursed and bridled and looked like a pleased, wicked white
+owl.  Then he polished his monocle on a very choice silk handkerchief,
+and fixed it unseeing in his left eye.
+
+But Francis was not interested in his friend's experiences.  For
+Francis had had a job in the War Office--whereas Angus was a war-hero
+with shattered nerves.  And let him depreciate his own experiences as
+much as he liked, the young man with the monocle kept tight hold on
+his prestige as a war hero.  Only for himself, though.  He by no means
+insisted that anyone else should be war-bitten.
+
+Francis was one of those men who, like women, can set up the
+sympathetic flow and make a fellow give himself away without realising
+what he is doing.  So there sat our friend Aaron, amusingly unbosoming
+himself of all his history and experiences, drawn out by the arch,
+subtle attentiveness of the handsome Francis.  Angus listened, too,
+with pleased amusedness on his pale, emaciated face, pursing his
+shrunken jaw.  And Aaron sipped various glasses of the liqueur, and
+told all his tale as if it was a comedy.  A comedy it seemed, too, at
+that hour.  And a comedy no doubt it was.  But mixed, like most things
+in this life.  Mixed.
+
+It was quite late before this seance broke up: and the waiter itching
+to get rid of the fellows.
+
+"Well, now," said Francis, as he rose from the table and settled his
+elegant waist, resting on one hip, as usual.  "We shall see you in the
+morning, I hope.  You say you are going to Venice.  Why?  Have you some
+engagement in Venice?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.  "I only was going to look for a friend--Rawdon
+Lilly."
+
+"Rawdon Lilly!  Why, is he in Venice?  Oh, I've heard SUCH a lot
+about him.  I should like so much to meet him.  But I heard he was
+in Germany--"
+
+"I don't know where he is."
+
+"Angus!  Didn't we hear that Lilly was in Germany?"
+
+"Yes, in Munich, being psychoanalysed, I believe it was."
+
+Aaron looked rather blank.
+
+"But have you anything to take you to Venice?  It's such a bad climate
+in the winter.  Why not come with us to Florence?" said Francis.
+
+Aaron wavered.  He really did not know what to do.
+
+"Think about it," said Francis, laying his hand on Aaron's arm.  "Think
+about it tonight.  And we'll meet in the morning.  At what time?"
+
+"Any time," said Aaron.
+
+"Well, say eleven.  We'll meet in the lounge here at eleven.  Will
+that suit you?  All right, then.  It's so awfully nice meeting you.
+That marvellous flute.--And think about Florence.  But do come.
+Don't disappoint us."
+
+The two young men went elegantly upstairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+A RAILWAY JOURNEY
+
+
+The next day but one, the three set off for Florence.  Aaron had made
+an excursion from Milan with the two young heroes, and dined with them
+subsequently at the most expensive restaurant in the town.  Then they
+had all gone home--and had sat in the young men's bedroom drinking
+tea, whilst Aaron played the flute.  Francis was really musical, and
+enchanted.  Angus enjoyed the novelty, and the moderate patronage he
+was able to confer.  And Aaron felt amused and pleased, and hoped he
+was paying for his treat.
+
+So behold them setting off for Florence in the early morning.  Angus
+and Francis had first-class tickets: Aaron took a third-class.
+
+"Come and have lunch with us on the train," said Angus.  "I'll order
+three places, and we can lunch together."
+
+"Oh, I can buy a bit of food at the station," said Aaron.
+
+"No, come and lunch with us.  It will be much nicer.  And we shall
+enjoy it as well," said Angus.
+
+"Of course!  Ever so much nicer!  Of course!" cried Francis.  "Yes, why
+not, indeed!  Why should you hesitate?"
+
+"All right, then," said Aaron, not without some feeling of constraint.
+
+So they separated.  The young men settled themselves amidst the red
+plush and crochet-work, looking, with their hair plastered smoothly
+back, quite as first class as you could wish, creating quite the right
+impression on the porters and the travelling Italians.  Aaron went to
+his third-class, further up the train.
+
+"Well, then, _au revoir_, till luncheon," cried Francis.
+
+The train was fairly full in the third and second classes.  However,
+Aaron got his seat, and the porter brought on his bags, after disposing
+of the young men's luggage.  Aaron gave the tip uneasily.  He always
+hated tipping--it seemed humiliating both ways.  And the airy aplomb of
+the two young cavaliers, as they settled down among the red plush and
+the obsequiousness, and said "Well, then, _au revoir_ till luncheon,"
+was peculiarly unsettling: though they did not intend it so.
+
+"The porter thinks I'm their servant--their valet," said Aaron to
+himself, and a curious half-amused, half-contemptuous look flickered
+on his face.  It annoyed him.  The falsity occasioned by the difference
+in the price of the tickets was really humiliating.  Aaron had lived
+long enough to know that as far as manhood and intellect went--nay,
+even education--he was not the inferior of the two young "gentlemen."
+He knew quite well that, as far as intrinsic nature went, they did not
+imagine him an inferior: rather the contrary.  They had rather an
+exaggerated respect for him and his life-power, and even his origin.
+And yet--they had the inestimable cash advantage--and they were going
+to keep it.  They knew it was nothing more than an artificial cash
+superiority.  But they gripped it all the more intensely.  They were
+the upper middle classes.  They were Eton and Oxford.  And they were
+going to hang on to their privileges.  In these days, it is a fool who
+abdicates before he's forced to.  And therefore:
+
+"Well, then--_au revoir_ till luncheon."
+
+They were being so awfully nice.  And inwardly they were not
+condescending.  But socially, they just had to be.  The world is made
+like that.  It wasn't their own private fault.  It was no fault at all.
+It was just the mode in which they were educated, the style of their
+living.  And as we know, _le style, c'est l'homme_.
+
+Angus came of very wealthy iron people near Merthyr.  Already he had a
+very fair income of his own.  As soon as the law-business concerning
+his father's and his grandfather's will was settled, he would be well
+off.  And he knew it, and valued himself accordingly.  Francis was the
+son of a highly-esteemed barrister and politician of Sydney, and in
+his day would inherit his father's lately-won baronetcy.  But Francis
+had not very much money: and was much more class-flexible than Angus.
+Angus had been born in a house with a park, and of awful, hard-willed,
+money-bound people.  Francis came of a much more adventurous, loose,
+excitable family, he had the colonial newness and adaptability.  He
+knew, for his own part, that class superiority was just a trick,
+nowadays.  Still, it was a trick that paid.  And a trick he was going
+to play as long as it did pay.
+
+While Aaron sat, a little pale at the gills, immobile, ruminating these
+matters, a not very pleasant look about his nose-end, he heard a voice:
+
+"Oh, there you ARE!  I thought I'd better come and see, so that we
+can fetch you at lunch time.--You've got a seat?  Are you quite
+comfortable?  Is there anything I could get you?  Why, you're in a
+non-smoker!--But that doesn't matter, everybody will smoke.  Are you
+sure you have everything?  Oh, but wait just one moment--"
+
+It was Francis, long and elegant, with his straight shoulders and his
+coat buttoned to show his waist, and his face so well-formed and so
+modern.  So modern, altogether.  His voice was pleasantly modulated,
+and never hurried.  He now looked as if a thought had struck him.  He
+put a finger to his brow, and hastened back to his own carriage.  In
+a minute, he returned with a new London literary magazine.
+
+"Something to read--I shall have to FLY--See you at lunch," and he had
+turned and elegantly hastened, but not too fast, back to his carriage.
+The porter was holding the door for him.  So Francis looked pleasantly
+hurried, but by no means rushed.  Oh, dear, no.  He took his time.  It
+was not for him to bolt and scramble like a mere Italian.
+
+The people in Aaron's carriage had watched the apparition of the
+elegant youth intently.  For them, he was a being from another sphere
+--no doubt a young milordo with power wealth, and glamorous life behind
+him.  Which was just what Francis intended to convey.  So handsome--so
+very, very impressive in all his elegant calm showiness.  He made such
+a _bella figura_.  It was just what the Italians loved.  Those in the
+first class regions thought he might even be an Italian, he was so
+attractive.
+
+The train in motion, the many Italian eyes in the carriage studied
+Aaron.  He, too, was good-looking.  But by no means as fascinating
+as the young milordo.  Not half as sympathetic.  No good at all at
+playing a role.  Probably a servant of the young signori.
+
+Aaron stared out of the window, and played the one single British role
+left to him, that of ignoring his neighbours, isolating himself in
+their midst, and minding his own business.  Upon this insular trick
+our greatness and our predominance depends--such as it is.  Yes, they
+might look at him.  They might think him a servant or what they liked.
+But he was inaccessible to them.  He isolated himself upon himself,
+and there remained.
+
+It was a lovely day, a lovely, lovely day of early autumn.  Over the
+great plain of Lombardy a magnificent blue sky glowed like mid-summer,
+the sun shone strong.  The great plain, with its great stripes of
+cultivation--without hedges or boundaries---how beautiful it was!
+Sometimes he saw oxen ploughing.  Sometimes.  Oh, so beautiful, teams
+of eight, or ten, even of twelve pale, great soft oxen in procession,
+ploughing the dark velvety earth, a driver with a great whip at their
+head, a man far behind holding the plough-shafts.  Beautiful the soft,
+soft plunging motion of oxen moving forwards.  Beautiful the strange,
+snaky lifting of the muzzles, the swaying of the sharp horns.  And the
+soft, soft crawling motion of a team of oxen, so invisible, almost,
+yet so inevitable.  Now and again straight canals of water flashed
+blue.  Now and again the great lines of grey-silvery poplars rose and
+made avenues or lovely grey airy quadrangles across the plain.  Their
+top boughs were spangled with gold and green leaf.  Sometimes the vine-
+leaves were gold and red, a patterning.  And the great square farm-
+homesteads, white, red-roofed, with their out-buildings, stood naked
+amid the lands, without screen or softening.  There was something big
+and exposed about it all.  No more the cosy English ambushed life, no
+longer the cosy littleness of the landscape.  A bigness--and nothing
+to shelter the unshrinking spirit.  It was all exposed, exposed to the
+sweep of plain, to the high, strong sky, and to human gaze.  A kind of
+boldness, an indifference.  Aaron was impressed and fascinated.  He
+looked with new interest at the Italians in the carriage with him--for
+this same boldness and indifference and exposed gesture.  And he found
+it in them, too.  And again it fascinated him.  It seemed so much
+bigger, as if the walls of life had fallen.  Nay, the walls of English
+life will have to fall.
+
+Sitting there in the third-class carriage, he became happy again.  The
+_presence_ of his fellow-passengers was not so hampering as in England.
+In England, everybody seems held tight and gripped, nothing is left
+free.  Every passenger seems like a parcel holding his string as fast
+as he can about him, lest one corner of the wrapper should come undone
+and reveal what is inside.  And every other passenger is forced, by
+the public will, to hold himself as tight-bound also.  Which in the
+end becomes a sort of self-conscious madness.
+
+But here, in the third class carriage, there was no tight string round
+every man.  They were not all trussed with self-conscious string as
+tight as capons.  They had a sufficient amount of callousness and
+indifference and natural equanimity.  True, one of them spat
+continually on the floor, in large spits.  And another sat with his
+boots all unlaced and his collar off, and various important buttons
+undone.  They did not seem to care if bits of themselves did show,
+through the gaps in the wrapping.  Aaron winced--but he preferred it
+to English tightness.  He was pleased, he was happy with the Italians.
+He thought how generous and natural they were.
+
+So the towns passed by, and the hours, and he seemed at last to have
+got outside himself and his old conditions.  It seemed like a great
+escape.  There was magic again in life--real magic.  Was it illusion,
+or was it genuine?  He thought it was genuine, and opened his soul a
+if there was no danger.
+
+Lunch-time came.  Francis summoned Aaron down the rocking tram.  The
+three men had a table to themselves, and all felt they were enjoying
+themselves very much indeed.  Of course Francis and Angus made a great
+impression again.  But in the dining car were mostly middle-class,
+well-to-do Italians.  And these did not look upon our two young heroes
+as two young wonders.  No, rather with some criticism, and some class-
+envy.  But they were impressed.  Oh, they were impressed!  How should
+they not be, when our young gentlemen had such an air!  Aaron was
+conscious all the time that the fellow-diners were being properly
+impressed by the flower of civilisation and the salt of the earth,
+namely, young, well-to-do Englishmen.  And he had a faint premonition,
+based on experience perhaps, that fellow-passengers in the end never
+forgive the man who has "impressed" them.  Mankind loves being
+impressed.  It asks to be impressed.  It almost forces those whom it
+can force to play a role and to make an impression.  And afterwards,
+never forgives.
+
+When the train ran into Bologna Station, they were still in the
+restaurant car.  Nor did they go at once to their seats.  Angus had
+paid the bill.  There was three-quarters-of-an-hour's wait in Bologna.
+
+"You may as well come down and sit with us," said Francis.  "We've got
+nobody in our carriage, so why shouldn't we all stay together during
+the wait.  You kept your own seat, I suppose."
+
+No, he had forgotten.  So when he went to look for it, it was occupied
+by a stout man who was just taking off his collar and wrapping a white
+kerchief round his neck.  The third class carriages were packed.  For
+those were early days after the war, while men still had pre-war
+notions and were poor.  Ten months would steal imperceptibly by, and
+the mysterious revolution would be effected.  Then, the second class
+and the first class would be packed, indescribably packed, crowded, on
+all great trains: and the third class carriages, lo and behold, would
+be comparatively empty.  Oh, marvellous days of bankruptcy, when nobody
+will condescend to travel third!
+
+However, these were still modest, sombre months immediately after the
+peace.  So a large man with a fat neck and a white kerchief, and his
+collar over his knee, sat in Aaron's seat.  Aaron looked at the man,
+and at his own luggage overhead.  The fat man saw him looking and
+stared back: then stared also at the luggage overhead: and with his
+almost invisible north-Italian gesture said much plainer than words
+would have said it: "Go to hell.  I'm here and I'm going to stop here."
+
+There was something insolent and unbearable about the look--and about
+the rocky fixity of the large man.  He sat as if he had insolently
+taken root in his seat.  Aaron flushed slightly.  Francis and Angus
+strolled along the train, outside, for the corridor was already
+blocked with the mad Bologna rush, and the baggage belonging.  They
+joined Aaron as he stood on the platform.
+
+"But where is YOUR SEAT?" cried Francis, peering into the packed and
+jammed compartments of the third class.
+
+"That man's sitting in it."
+
+"Which?" cried Francis, indignant.
+
+"The fat one there--with the collar on his knee."
+
+"But it was your seat--!"
+
+Francis' gorge rose in indignation.  He mounted into the corridor.
+And in the doorway of the compartment he bridled like an angry horse
+rearing, bridling his head.  Poising himself on one hip, he stared
+fixedly at the man with the collar on his knee, then at the baggage
+aloft.  He looked down at the fat man as a bird looks down from the
+eaves of a house.  But the man looked back with a solid, rock-like
+impudence, before which an Englishman quails: a jeering, immovable
+insolence, with a sneer round the nose and a solid-seated posterior.
+
+"But," said Francis in English--none of them had any Italian yet.
+"But," said Francis, turning round to Aaron, "that was YOUR SEAT?"
+and he flung his long fore-finger in the direction of the fat man's
+thighs.
+
+"Yes!" said Aaron.
+
+"And he's TAKEN it--!" cried Francis in indignation.
+
+"And knows it, too," said Aaron.
+
+"But--!" and Francis looked round imperiously, as if to summon his
+bodyguard.  But bodyguards are no longer forthcoming, and train-guards
+are far from satisfactory.  The fat man sat on, with a sneer-grin,
+very faint but very effective, round his nose, and a solidly-planted
+posterior.  He quite enjoyed the pantomime of the young foreigners.
+The other passengers said something to him, and he answered laconic.
+Then they all had the faint sneer-grin round their noses.  A woman in
+the corner grinned jeeringly straight in Francis' face.  His charm
+failed entirely this time: and as for his commandingness, that was
+ineffectual indeed.  Rage came up in him.
+
+"Oh well--something must be done," said he decisively.  "But didn't you
+put something in the seat to RESERVE it?"
+
+"Only that _New Statesman_--but he's moved it."
+
+The man still sat with the invisible sneer-grin on his face, and that
+peculiar and immovable plant of his Italian posterior.
+
+"Mais--cette place etait RESERVEE--" said Francis, moving to the
+direct attack.
+
+The man turned aside and ignored him utterly--then said something to
+the men opposite, and they all began to show their teeth in a grin.
+
+Francis was not so easily foiled.  He touched the man on the arm.  The
+man looked round threateningly, as if he had been struck.
+
+"Cette place est reservee--par ce Monsieur--" said Francis with
+hauteur, though still in an explanatory tone, and pointing to Aaron.
+
+The Italian looked him, not in the eyes, but between the eyes, and
+sneered full in his face.  Then he looked with contempt at Aaron.
+And then he said, in Italian, that there was room for such snobs in
+the first class, and that they had not any right to come occupying
+the place of honest men in the third.
+
+"Gia!  Gia!" barked the other passengers in the carriage.
+
+"Loro possono andare prima classa--PRIMA CLASSA!" said the woman in
+the corner, in a very high voice, as if talking to deaf people, and
+pointing to Aaron's luggage, then along the train to the first class
+carriages.
+
+"C'e posto la," said one of the men, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+There was a jeering quality in the hard insolence which made Francis
+go very red and Augus very white.  Angus stared like a death's-head
+behind his monocle, with death-blue eyes.
+
+"Oh, never mind.  Come along to the first class.  I'll pay the
+difference.  We shall be much better all together.  Get the luggage
+down, Francis.  It wouldn't be possible to travel with this lot, even
+if he gave up the seat.  There's plenty of room in our carriage--and
+I'll pay the extra," said Angus.
+
+He knew there was one solution--and only one--Money.
+
+But Francis bit his finger.  He felt almost beside himself--and
+quite powerless.  For he knew the guard of the train would jeer too.
+It is not so easy to interfere with honest third-class Bolognesi
+in Bologna station, even if they _have_ taken another man's seat.
+Powerless, his brow knitted, and looking just like Mephistopheles
+with his high forehead and slightly arched nose, Mephistopheles in
+a rage, he hauled down Aaron's bag and handed it to Angus.  So they
+transferred themselves to the first-class carriage, while the fat
+man and his party in the third-class watched in jeering, triumphant
+silence.  Solid, planted, immovable, in static triumph.
+
+So Aaron sat with the others amid the red plush, whilst the train
+began its long slow climb of the Apennines, stinking sulphurous
+through tunnels innumerable.  Wonderful the steep slopes, the great
+chestnut woods, and then the great distances glimpsed between the
+heights, Firenzuola away and beneath, Turneresque hills far off, built
+of heaven-bloom, not of earth.  It was cold at the summit-station, ice
+and snow in the air, fierce.  Our travellers shrank into the carriage
+again, and wrapped themselves round.
+
+Then the train began its long slither downhill, still through a whole
+necklace of tunnels, which fortunately no longer stank.  So down and
+down, till the plain appears in sight once more, the Arno valley.  But
+then began the inevitable hitch that always happens in Italian travel.
+The train began to hesitate--to falter to a halt, whistling shrilly
+as if in protest: whistling pip-pip-pip in expostulation as it stood
+forlorn among the fields: then stealing forward again and stealthily
+making pace, gathering speed, till it had got up a regular spurt:
+then suddenly the brakes came on with a jerk, more faltering to a
+halt, more whistling and pip-pip-pipping, as the engine stood jingling
+with impatience: after which another creak and splash, and another
+choking off.  So on till they landed in Prato station: and there they
+sat.  A fellow passenger told them, there was an hour to wait here: an
+hour.  Something had happened up the line.
+
+"Then I propose we make tea," said Angus, beaming.
+
+"Why not!  Of course.  Let us make tea.  And I will look for water."
+
+So Aaron and Francis went to the restaurant bar and filled the little
+pan at the tap.  Angus got down the red picnic case, of which he
+was so fond, and spread out the various arrangements on the floor
+of the coupe.  He soon had the spirit-lamp burning, the water heating.
+Francis proposed that he and Aaron should dash into Prato and see
+what could be bought, whilst the tea was in preparation.  So off
+they went, leaving Angus like a busy old wizard manipulating his
+arrangements on the floor of the carriage, his monocle beaming with
+bliss.  The one fat fellow--passenger with a lurid striped rug over
+his knees watched with acute interest.  Everybody who passed the
+doorway stood to contemplate the scene with pleasure.  Officials came
+and studied the situation with appreciation.  Then Francis and Aaron
+returned with a large supply of roast chestnuts, piping hot, and hard
+dried plums, and good dried figs, and rather stale rusks.  They found
+the water just boiling, Angus just throwing in the tea-egg, and the
+fellow-passenger just poking his nose right in, he was so thrilled.
+
+Nothing pleased Angus so much as thus pitching camp in the midst of
+civilisation.  The scrubby newspaper packets of chestnuts, plums, figs
+and rusks were spread out: Francis flew for salt to the man at the
+bar, and came back with a little paper of rock-salt: the brown tea
+was dispensed in the silver-fitted glasses from the immortal luncheon-
+case: and the picnic was in full swing.  Angus, being in the height of
+his happiness, now sat on the seat cross-legged, with his feet under
+him, in the authentic Buddha fashion, and on his face the queer rapt
+alert look, half a smile, also somewhat Buddhistic, holding his glass
+of brown tea in his hand.  He was as rapt and immobile as if he really
+were in a mystic state.  Yet it was only his delight in the tea-party.
+The fellow-passenger peered at the tea, and said in broken French, was
+it good.  In equally fragmentary French Francis said very good, and
+offered the fat passenger some.  He, however, held up his hand in
+protest, as if to say not for any money would he swallow the hot-
+watery stuff.  And he pulled out a flask of wine.  But a handful
+of chestnuts he accepted.
+
+The train-conductor, ticket-collector, and the heavy green soldier who
+protected them, swung open the door and stared attentively.  The fellow
+passenger addressed himself to these new-comers, and they all began
+to smile good-naturedly.  Then the fellow-passenger--he was stout and
+fifty and had a brilliant striped rug always over his knees--pointed
+out the Buddha-like position of Angus, and the three in-starers smiled
+again.  And so the fellow-passenger thought he must try too.  So he put
+aside his rug, and lifted his feet from the floor, and took his toes
+in his hands, and tried to bring his legs up and his feet under him.
+But his knees were fat, his trousers in the direst extreme of peril,
+and he could no more manage it than if he had tried to swallow himself.
+So he desisted suddenly, rather scared, whilst the three bunched and
+official heads in the doorway laughed and jested at him, showing their
+teeth and teasing him.  But on our gypsy party they turned their eyes
+with admiration.  They loved the novelty and the fun.  And on the thin,
+elegant Angus in his new London clothes, they looked really puzzled,
+as he sat there immobile, gleaming through his monocle like some
+Buddha going wicked, perched cross-legged and ecstatic on the red
+velvet seat.  They marvelled that the lower half of him could so
+double up, like a foot-rule.  So they stared till they had seen
+enough.  When they suddenly said "Buon 'appetito," withdrew their
+heads and shoulders, slammed the door, and departed.
+
+Then the train set off also--and shortly after six arrived in Florence.
+It was debated what should Aaron do in Florence.  The young men had
+engaged a room at Bertolini's hotel, on the Lungarno.  Bertolini's was
+not expensive--but Aaron knew that his friends would not long endure
+hotel life.  However, he went along with the other two, trusting to
+find a cheaper place on the morrow.
+
+It was growing quite dark as they drove to the hotel, but still was
+light enough to show the river rustling, the Ponte Vecchio spanning
+its little storeys across the flood, on its low, heavy piers: and
+some sort of magic of the darkening, varied houses facing, on the
+other side of the stream.  Of course they were all enchanted.
+
+"I knew," said Francis, "we should love it."
+
+Aaron was told he could have a little back room and pension terms for
+fifteen lire a day, if he stayed at least fifteen days.  The exchange
+was then at forty-five.  So fifteen lire meant just six-shillings-and-
+six pence a day, without extras.  Extras meant wine, tea, butter, and
+light.  It was decided he should look for something cheaper next day.
+
+By the tone of the young men, he now gathered that they would prefer
+it if he took himself off to a cheaper place.  They wished to be on
+their own.
+
+"Well, then," said Francis, "you will be in to lunch here, won't you?
+Then we'll see you at lunch."
+
+It was as if both the young men had drawn in their feelers now.  They
+were afraid of finding the new man an incubus.  They wanted to wash
+their hands of him.  Aaron's brow darkened.
+
+
+             "Perhaps it was right your love to dissemble
+              But why did you kick me down stairs? . . ."
+
+
+Then morning found him out early, before his friends had arisen.  It
+was sunny again.  The magic of Florence at once overcame him, and he
+forgot the bore of limited means and hotel costs.  He went straight out
+of the hotel door, across the road, and leaned on the river parapet.
+There ran the Arno: not such a flood after all, but a green stream
+with shoals of pebbles in its course.  Across, and in the delicate
+shadow of the early sun, stood the opposite Lungarno, the old flat
+houses, pink, or white, or grey stone, with their green shutters, some
+closed, some opened.  It had a flowery effect, the skyline irregular
+against the morning light.  To the right the delicate Trinita bridge,
+to the left, the old bridge with its little shops over the river.
+Beyond, towards the sun, glimpses of green, sky-bloomed country:
+Tuscany.
+
+There was a noise and clatter of traffic: boys pushing hand-barrows
+over the cobble-stones, slow bullocks stepping side by side, and
+shouldering one another affectionately, drawing a load of country
+produce, then horses in great brilliant scarlet cloths, like vivid
+palls, slowly pulling the long narrow carts of the district: and men
+hu-huing!--and people calling: all the sharp, clattering morning noise
+of Florence.
+
+"Oh, Angus!  Do come and look!  OH, so lovely!"
+
+Glancing up, he saw the elegant figure of Francis, in fine coloured-
+silk pyjamas, perched on a small upper balcony, turning away from the
+river towards the bedroom again, his hand lifted to his lips, as if
+to catch there his cry of delight.  The whole pose was classic and
+effective: and very amusing.  How the Italians would love it!
+
+Aaron slipped back across the road, and walked away under the houses
+towards the Ponte Vecchio.  He passed the bridge--and passed the
+Uffizi--watching the green hills opposite, and San Miniato.  Then he
+noticed the over-dramatic group of statuary in the Piazza Mentana--
+male and physical and melodramatic--and then the corner house.  It was
+a big old Florentine house, with many green shutters and wide eaves.
+There was a notice plate by the door--"Pension Nardini."
+
+He came to a full stop.  He stared at the notice-plate, stared at
+the glass door, and turning round, stared at the over-pathetic dead
+soldier on the arm of his over-heroic pistol-firing comrade; _Mentana_
+--and the date!  Aaron wondered what and where Mentana was.  Then at
+last he summoned his energy, opened the glass door, and mounted the
+first stairs.
+
+He waited some time before anybody appeared.  Then a maid-servant.
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+The bewildered, wild-eyed servant maid opened a door and showed him
+into a heavily-gilt, heavily-plush drawing-room with a great deal of
+frantic grandeur about it.  There he sat and cooled his heels for half
+an hour.  Arrived at length a stout young lady--handsome, with big
+dark-blue Italian eyes--but anaemic and too stout.
+
+"Oh!" she said as she entered, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Good-morning," said Aaron awkwardly.
+
+"Oh, good-morning!  English!  Yes!  Oh, I am so sorry to keep you, you
+know, to make you wait so long.  I was upstairs, you know, with a lady.
+Will you sit?"
+
+"Can I have a room?" said Aaron.
+
+"A room!  Yes, you can."
+
+"What terms?"
+
+"Terms!  Oh!   Why, ten francs a day, you know, pension--if you stay--
+How long will you stay?"
+
+"At least a month, I expect."
+
+"A month!  Oh yes.  Yes, ten francs a day."
+
+"For everything?"
+
+"Everything.  Yes, everything.  Coffee, bread, honey or jam in the
+morning: lunch at half-past twelve; tea in the drawing-room, half-
+past four: dinner at half-past seven: all very nice.  And a warm
+room with the sun--Would you like to see?"
+
+So Aaron was led up the big, rambling old house to the top floor--then
+along a long old corridor--and at last into a big bedroom with two
+beds and a red tiled floor--a little dreary, as ever--but the sun just
+beginning to come in, and a lovely view on to the river, towards the
+Ponte Vecchio, and at the hills with their pines and villas and verdure
+opposite.
+
+Here he would settle.  The signorina would send a man for his bags, at
+half past two in the afternoon.
+
+At luncheon Aaron found the two friends, and told them of his move.
+
+"How very nice for you!  Ten francs a day--but that is nothing.  I am
+so pleased you've found something.  And when will you be moving in?"
+said Francis.
+
+"At half-past two."
+
+"Oh, so soon.  Yes, just as well.--But we shall see you from time to
+time, of course.  What did you say the address was?  Oh, yes--just
+near the awful statue.  Very well.  We can look you up any time--and
+you will find us here.  Leave a message if we should happen not to be
+in--we've got lots of engagements--"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+FLORENCE
+
+
+The very afternoon after Aaron's arrival in Florence the sky became
+dark, the wind cold, and rain began steadily to fall.  He sat in his
+big, bleak room above the river, and watched the pale green water
+fused with yellow, the many-threaded streams fuse into one, as swiftly
+the surface flood came down from the hills.  Across, the dark green
+hills looked darker in the wet, the umbrella pines held up in vain
+above the villas.  But away below, on the Lungarno, traffic rattled
+as ever.
+
+Aaron went down at five o'clock to tea, and found himself alone next a
+group of women, mostly Swedes or Danish or Dutch, drinking a peculiar
+brown herb-brew which tasted like nothing else on earth, and eating
+two thick bits of darkish bread smeared with a brown smear which hoped
+it was jam, but hoped in vain.  Unhappily he sat in the gilt and red,
+massively ornate room, while the foreign women eyed him.  Oh, bitter
+to be a male under such circumstances.
+
+He escaped as soon as possible back to his far-off regions, lonely and
+cheerless, away above.  But he rather liked the far-off remoteness in
+the big old Florentine house: he did not mind the peculiar dark, uncosy
+dreariness.  It was not really dreary: only indifferent.  Indifferent
+to comfort, indifferent to all homeliness and cosiness.  The over-big
+furniture trying to be impressive, but never to be pretty or bright or
+cheerful.  There it stood, ugly and apart.  And there let it stand.--
+Neither did he mind the lack of fire, the cold sombreness of his big
+bedroom.  At home, in England, the bright grate and the ruddy fire, the
+thick hearth-rug and the man's arm-chair, these had been inevitable.
+And now he was glad to get away from it all.  He was glad not to have a
+cosy hearth, and his own arm-chair.  He was glad to feel the cold, and
+to breathe the unwarmed air.  He preferred the Italian way of no fires,
+no heating.  If the day was cold, he was willing to be cold too.  If
+it was dark, he was willing to be dark.  The cosy brightness of a real
+home--it had stifled him till he felt his lungs would burst.  The
+horrors of real domesticity.  No, the Italian brutal way was better.
+
+So he put his overcoat over his knee, and studied some music he had
+bought in Milan: some Pergolesi and the Scarlatti he liked, and some
+Corelli.  He preferred frail, sensitive, abstract music, with not much
+feeling in it, but a certain limpidity and purity.  Night fell as he
+sat reading the scores.  He would have liked to try certain pieces on
+his flute.  But his flute was too sensitive, it winced from the new
+strange surroundings, and would not blossom.
+
+Dinner sounded at last--at eight o'clock, or something after.  He had
+to learn to expect the meals always forty minutes late.  Down he went,
+down the long, dark, lonely corridors and staircases.  The dining room
+was right downstairs.  But he had a little table to himself near the
+door, the elderly women were at some little distance.  The only other
+men were Agostmo, the unshapely waiter, and an Italian duke, with wife
+and child and nurse, the family sitting all together at a table halfway
+down the room, and utterly pre-occupied with a little yellow dog.
+
+However, the food was good enough, and sufficient, and the waiter and
+the maid-servant cheerful and bustling.  Everything felt happy-go-
+lucky and informal, there was no particular atmosphere.  Nobody put
+on any airs, because nobody in the Nardini took any notice if they did.
+The little ducal dog yapped, the ducal son shouted, the waiter dropped
+half a dozen spoons, the old women knitted during the waits, and all
+went off so badly that it was quite pleasant.  Yes, Aaron preferred it
+to Bertolini's, which was trying to be efficient and correct: though
+not making any strenuous effort.  Still, Bertolini's was much more up
+to the scratch, there was the tension of proper standards.  Whereas
+here at Nardini's, nothing mattered very much.
+
+It was November.  When he got up to his far-off room again, Aaron felt
+almost as if he were in a castle with the drawbridge drawn up.  Through
+the open window came the sound of the swelling Arno, as it rushed and
+rustled along over its gravel-shoals.  Lights spangled the opposite
+side.  Traffic sounded deep below.  The room was not really cold, for
+the summer sun so soaks into these thick old buildings, that it takes
+a month or two of winter to soak it out.--The rain still fell.
+
+In the morning it was still November, and the dawn came slowly.  And
+through the open window was the sound of the river's rushing.  But the
+traffic started before dawn, with a bang and a rattle of carts, and a
+bang and jingle of tram-cars over the not-distant bridge.  Oh, noisy
+Florence!  At half-past seven Aaron rang for his coffee: and got it
+at a few minutes past eight.  The signorina had told him to take his
+coffee in bed.
+
+Rain was still falling.  But towards nine o'clock it lifted, and he
+decided to go out.  A wet, wet world.  Carriages going by, with huge
+wet shiny umbrellas, black and with many points, erected to cover the
+driver and the tail of the horse and the box-seat.  The hood of the
+carriage covered the fare.  Clatter-clatter through the rain.  Peasants
+with long wagons and slow oxen, and pale-green huge umbrellas erected
+for the driver to walk beneath.  Men tripping along in cloaks, shawls,
+umbrellas, anything, quite unconcerned.  A man loading gravel in the
+river-bed, in spite of the wet.  And innumerable bells ringing: but
+innumerable bells.  The great soft trembling of the cathedral bell
+felt in all the air.
+
+Anyhow it was a new world.  Aaron went along close to the tall thick
+houses, following his nose.  And suddenly he caught sight of the long
+slim neck of the Palazzo Vecchio up above, in the air.  And in another
+minute he was passing between massive buildings, out into the Piazza
+della Signoria.  There he stood still and looked round him in real
+surprise, and real joy.  The flat empty square with its stone paving
+was all wet.  The great buildings rose dark.  The dark, sheer front
+of the Palazzo Vecchio went up like a cliff, to the battlements, and
+the slim tower soared dark and hawk-like, crested, high above.  And at
+the foot of the cliff stood the great naked David, white and stripped
+in the wet, white against the dark, warm-dark cliff of the building--
+and near, the heavy naked men of Bandinelli.
+
+The first thing he had seen, as he turned into the square, was the
+back of one of these Bandinelli statues: a great naked man of marble,
+with a heavy back and strong naked flanks over which the water was
+trickling.  And then to come immediately upon the David, so much
+whiter, glistening skin-white in the wet, standing a little forward,
+and shrinking.
+
+He may be ugly, too naturalistic, too big, and anything else you
+like.  But the David in the Piazza della Signoria, there under the
+dark great palace, in the position Michelangelo chose for him, there,
+standing forward stripped and exposed and eternally half-shrinking,
+half--wishing to expose himself, he is the genius of Florence.  The
+adolescent, the white, self-conscious, physical adolescent: enormous,
+in keeping with the stark, grim, enormous palace, which is dark and
+bare as he is white and bare.  And behind, the big, lumpy Bandinelli
+men are in keeping too.  They may be ugly--but they are there in their
+place, and they have their own lumpy reality.  And this morning in the
+rain, standing unbroken, with the water trickling down their flanks
+and along the inner side of their great thighs, they were real enough,
+representing the undaunted physical nature of the heavier Florentines.
+
+Aaron looked and looked at the three great naked men.  David so much
+white, and standing forward, self-conscious: then at the great
+splendid front of the Palazzo Vecchio: and at the fountain splashing
+water upon its wet, wet figures; and the distant equestrian statue;
+and the stone-flagged space of the grim square.  And he felt that here
+he was in one of the world's living centres, here, in the Piazza della
+Signoria.  The sense of having arrived--of having reached a perfect
+centre of the human world: this he had.
+
+And so, satisfied, he turned round to look at the bronze Perseus which
+rose just above him.  Benvenuto Cellini's dark hero looked female,
+with his plump hips and his waist, female and rather insignificant:
+graceful, and rather vulgar.  The clownish Bandinellis were somehow
+more to the point.--Then all the statuary in the Loggia!  But that is
+a mistake.  It looks too much like the yard of a monumental mason.
+
+The great, naked men in the rain, under the dark-grey November sky, in
+the dark, strong inviolable square!  The wonderful hawk-head of the old
+palace.  The physical, self-conscious adolescent, Michelangelo's David,
+shrinking and exposing himself, with his white, slack limbs!  Florence,
+passionate, fearless Florence had spoken herself out.--Aaron was
+fascinated by the Piazza della Signoria.  He never went into the town,
+nor returned from it to his lodging, without contriving to pass through
+the square.  And he never passed through it without satisfaction.  Here
+men had been at their intensest, most naked pitch, here, at the end of
+the old world and the beginning of the new.  Since then, always rather
+puling and apologetic.
+
+Aaron felt a new self, a new life-urge rising inside himself.  Florence
+seemed to start a new man in him.  It was a town of men.  On Friday
+morning, so early, he heard the traffic.  Early, he watched the rather
+low, two-wheeled traps of the peasants spanking recklessly over the
+bridge, coming in to town.  And then, when he went out, he found the
+Piazza della Signoria packed with men: but all, all men.  And all
+farmers, land-owners and land-workers.  The curious, fine-nosed Tuscan
+farmers, with their half-sardonic, amber-coloured eyes.  Their curious
+individuality, their clothes worn so easy and reckless, their hats
+with the personal twist.  Their curious full oval cheeks, their
+tendency to be too fat, to have a belly and heavy limbs.  Their close-
+sitting dark hair.  And above all, their sharp, almost acrid, mocking
+expression, the silent curl of the nose, the eternal challenge, the
+rock-bottom unbelief, and the subtle fearlessness.  The dangerous,
+subtle, never-dying fearlessness, and the acrid unbelief.  But men!
+Men!  A town of men, in spite of everything.  The one manly quality,
+undying, acrid fearlessness.  The eternal challenge of the un-quenched
+human soul.  Perhaps too acrid and challenging today, when there is
+nothing left to challenge.  But men--who existed without apology and
+without justification.  Men who would neither justify themselves nor
+apologize for themselves.  Just men.  The rarest thing left in our
+sweet Christendom.
+
+Altogether Aaron was pleased with himself, for being in Florence.
+Those were early days after the war, when as yet very few foreigners
+had returned, and the place had the native sombreness and intensity.
+So that our friend did not mind being alone.
+
+The third day, however, Francis called on him.  There was a tap at the
+bedroom door, and the young man entered, all eyes of curiosity.
+
+"Oh, there you ARE!" he cried, flinging his hand and twisting his
+waist and then laying his hand on his breast.  "Such a LONG way up to
+you!  But miles--!  Well, how are you?  Are you quite all right here?
+You are?  I'm so glad--we've been so rushed, seeing people that we
+haven't had a MINUTE.  But not a MINUTE!  People! People! People!
+Isn't it amazing how many there are, and how many one knows, and
+gets to know!  But amazing!  Endless acquaintances!--Oh, and such
+quaint people here!  so ODD!  So MORE than odd!  Oh, extraordinary--!"
+Francis chuckled to himself over the extraordinariness.  Then he
+seated himself gracefully at Aaron's table.  "Oh, MUSIC!  What?
+Corelli!  So interesting!  So very CLEVER, these people, weren't
+they!--Corelli and the younger Scarlatti and all that crowd."  Here
+he closed the score again.  "But now--LOOK!  Do you want to know
+anybody here, or don't you?  I've told them about you, and of course
+they're dying to meet you and hear you play.  But I thought it best
+not to mention anything about--about your being hard-up, and all that.
+I said you were just here on a visit.  You see with this kind of people
+I'm sure it's much the best not to let them start off by thinking you
+will need them at all--or that you MIGHT need them.  Why give yourself
+away, anyhow?  Just meet them and take them for what they're worth--and
+then you can see.  If they like to give you an engagement to play at
+some show or other--well, you can decide when the time comes whether
+you will accept.  Much better that these kind of people shouldn't get
+it into their heads at once that they can hire your services.  It
+doesn't do.  They haven't enough discrimination for that.  Much best
+make rather a favour of it, than sort of ask them to hire you.--Don't
+you agree?  Perhaps I'm wrong."
+
+Aaron sat and listened and wondered at the wisdom and the genuine
+kindness of the young _beau_.  And more still, he wondered at the
+profound social disillusionment.  This handsome collie dog was
+something of a social wolf, half showing his fangs at the moment.
+But with genuine kindheartedness for another wolf.  Aaron was
+touched.
+
+"Yes, I think that's the best way," he said.
+
+"You do!  Yes, so do I.  Oh, they are such queer people!  Why is it,
+do you think, that English people abroad go so very QUEER--so ultra-
+English--INCREDIBLE!--and at the same time so perfectly impossible?
+But impossible!  Pathological, I assure you.--And as for their sexual
+behaviour--oh, dear, don't mention it.  I assure you it doesn't bear
+mention.--And all quite flagrant, quite unabashed--under the cover of
+this fanatical Englishness.  But I couldn't begin to TELL you all the
+things.  It's just incredible."
+
+Aaron wondered how on earth Francis had been able to discover and
+bear witness to so much that was incredible, in a bare two days.
+But a little gossip, and an addition of lurid imagination will carry
+you anywhere.
+
+"Well now," said Francis.  "What are you doing today?"
+
+Aaron was not doing anything in particular.
+
+"Then will you come and have dinner with us--?"
+
+Francis fixed up the time and the place--a small restaurant at the
+other end of the town.  Then he leaned out of the window.
+
+"Fascinating place!  Oh, fascinating place!" he said, soliloquy.
+"And you've got a superb view.  Almost better than ours, I think.--
+Well then, half-past seven.  We're meeting a few other people, mostly
+residents or people staying some time.  We're not inviting them.  Just
+dropping in, you know--a little restaurant.  We shall see you then!
+Well then, _a rivederci_ till this evening.--So glad you like Florence!
+I'm simply loving it--revelling.  And the pictures!--Oh--"
+
+The party that evening consisted all of men:  Francis and Angus, and
+a writer, James Argyle, and little Algy Constable, and tiny Louis Mee,
+and deaf Walter Rosen.  They all snapped and rattled at one another,
+and were rather spiteful but rather amusing.  Francis and Angus had to
+leave early.  They had another appointment.  And James Argyle got quite
+tipsy, and said to Aaron:
+
+"But, my boy, don't let yourself be led astray by the talk of such
+people as Algy.  Beware of them, my boy, if you've a soul to save.
+If you've a soul to save!"  And he swallowed the remains of his litre.
+
+Algy's nose trembled a little, and his eyes blinked.  "And if you've
+a soul to LOSE," he said, "I would warn you very earnestly against
+Argyle."  Whereupon Algy shut one eye and opened the other so wide,
+that Aaron was almost scared.  "Quite right, my boy.  Ha! Ha!  Never a
+truer thing said!  Ha-ha-ha."  Argyle laughed his Mephistophelian tipsy
+laugh.  "They'll teach you to save.  Never was such a lot of ripe old
+savers!  Save their old trouser-buttons!  Go to them if you want to
+learn to save.  Oh, yes, I advise it seriously.  You'll lose nothing--
+not even a reputation.--You may lose a SOUL, of course.  But that's a
+detail, among such a hoard of banknotes and trouser-buttons.  Ha-ha!
+What's a soul, to them--?"
+
+"What is it to you, is perhaps the more pertinent question," said Algy,
+flapping his eyelids like some crazy owl.  "It is you who specialise
+in the matter of soul, and we who are in need of enlightenment--"
+
+"Yes, very true, you ARE!  You ARE in need of enlightenment.  A set of
+benighted wise virgins.  Ha-ha-ha!  That's good, that--benighted wise
+virgins!  What--"  Argyle put his red face near to Aaron's, and made a
+_moue_, narrowing his eyes quizzically as he peered up from under his
+level grey eyebrows.  "Sit in the dark to save the lamp-oil--And all
+no good to them.--When the bridegroom cometh--!  Ha-ha!  Good that!
+Good, my boy!--The bridegroom--" he giggled to himself.  "What about
+the bridegroom, Algy, my boy?  Eh?  What about him?  Better trim your
+wick, old man, if it's not too late--"
+
+"We were talking of souls, not wicks, Argyle," said Algy.
+
+"Same thing.  Upon my soul it all amounts to the same thing.  Where's
+the soul in a man that hasn't got a bedfellow--eh?--answer me that!
+Can't be done you know.  Might as well ask a virgin chicken to lay
+you an egg."
+
+"Then there ought to be a good deal of it about," said Algy.
+
+"Of what?  Of soul?  There ought to be a good deal of soul about?--Ah,
+because there's a good deal of--, you mean.--Ah, I wish it were so.  I
+wish it were so.  But, believe me, there's far more damned chastity in
+the world, than anything else.  Even in this town.--Call it chastity,
+if you like.  I see nothing in it but sterility.  It takes a rat to
+praise long tails.  Impotence set up the praise of chastity--believe me
+or not--but that's the bottom of it.  The virtue is made out of the
+necessity.--Ha-ha-ha!--Like them!  Like them!  Ha-ha!  Saving their
+souls!  Why they'd save the waste matter of their bodies if they could.
+Grieves them to part with it.--Ha! ha!--ha!"
+
+There was a pause.  Argyle was in his cups, which left no more to be
+said.  Algy, quivering and angry, looked disconcertingly round the
+room as if he were quite calm and collected.  The deaf Jewish Rosen
+was smiling down his nose and saying: "What was that last?  I didn't
+catch that last," cupping his ear with his hand in the frantic hope
+that someone would answer.  No one paid any heed.
+
+"I shall be going," said Algy, looking round.  Then to Aaron he said,
+"You play the flute, I hear.  May we hear you some time?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron, non-committal.
+
+"Well, look here--come to tea tomorrow.  I shall have some friends,
+and Del Torre will play the piano.  Come to tea tomorrow, will you?"
+
+"Thank you, I will."
+
+"And perhaps you'll bring your flute along."
+
+"Don't you do any such thing, my boy.  Make them entertain YOU, for
+once.--They're always squeezing an entertainment out of somebody--"
+and Argyle desperately emptied the remains of Algy's wine into his
+own glass: whilst Algy stood as if listening to something far off,
+and blinking terribly.
+
+"Anyhow," he said at length, "you'll come, won't you?  And bring the
+flute if you feel like it."
+
+"Don't you take that flute, my boy," persisted Argyle.  "Don't think of
+such a thing.  If they want a concert, let them buy their tickets and
+go to the Teatro Diana.  Or to Marchesa del Torre's Saturday morning.
+She can afford to treat them."  Algy looked at Argyle, and blinked.
+"Well," he said.  "I hope you'll get home all right, Argyle."
+
+"Thank you for your courtesy, Algy.  Won't you lend me your arm?"
+
+As Algy was small and frail, somewhat shaky, and as Argyle was a
+finely built, heavy man of fifty or more, the slap was unkind.
+
+"Afraid I can't tonight.  Good-night--"
+
+Algy departed, so did little Mee, who had sat with a little delighted
+disapproval on his tiny, bird-like face, without saying anything.  And
+even the Jew Rosen put away his deaf-machine and began awkwardly to
+take his leave.  His long nose was smiling to itself complacently at
+all the things Argyle had been saying.
+
+When he, too, had gone, Argyle arched his brows at Aaron, saying:
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, what a lot they are!--Little Mee--looking like
+an innocent little boy.  He's over seventy if he's a day.  Well over
+seventy.  Well, you don't believe me.  Ask his mother--ask his mother.
+She's ninety-five.  Old lady of ninety-five--"  Argyle even laughed
+himself at his own preposterousness.
+
+"And then Algy--Algy's not a fool, you know.  Oh, he can be most
+entertaining, most witty, and amusing.  But he's out of place here.
+He should be in Kensington, dandling round the ladies' drawing rooms
+and making his _mots_.  They're rich, you know, the pair of them.
+Little Mee used to boast that he lived on eleven-and-three-pence a
+week.  Had to, poor chap.  But then what does a white mouse like
+that need?  Makes a heavy meal on a cheese-paring.  Luck, you know--
+but of course he's come into money as well.  Rich as Croesus, and
+still lives on nineteen-and-two-pence a week.  Though it's nearly
+double, of course, what it used to be.  No wonder he looks anxious.
+They disapprove of me--oh, quite right, quite right from their own
+point of view.  Where would their money be otherwise?  It wouldn't
+last long if I laid hands on it--" he made a devilish quizzing face.
+"But you know, they get on my nerves.  Little old maids, you know,
+little old maids.  I'm sure I'm surprised at their patience with me.--
+But when people are patient with you, you want to spit gall at them.
+Don't you?  Ha-ha-ha!  Poor old Algy.--Did I lay it on him tonight,
+or did I miss him?"
+
+"I think you got him," said Aaron.
+
+"He'll never forgive me.  Depend on it, he'll never forgive me.  Ha-
+ha!  I like to be unforgiven.  It adds ZEST to one's intercourse with
+people, to know that they'll never forgive one.  Ha-ha-ha!  Little old
+maids, who do their knitting with their tongues.  Poor old Algy--he
+drops his stitches now.  Ha-ha-ha!--Must be eighty, I should say."
+
+Aaron laughed.  He had never met a man like Argyle before--and he
+could not help being charmed.  The other man had a certain wicked
+whimsicality that was very attractive, when levelled against someone
+else, and not against oneself.  He must have been very handsome in his
+day, with his natural dignity, and his clean-shaven strong square face.
+But now his face was all red and softened and inflamed, his eyes had
+gone small and wicked under his bushy grey brows.  Still he had a
+presence.  And his grey hair, almost gone white, was still handsome.
+
+"And what are you going to do in Florence?" asked Argyle.
+
+Aaron explained.
+
+"Well," said Argyle.  "Make what you can out of them, and then go.
+Go before they have time to do the dirty on you.  If they think you
+want anything from them, they'll treat you like a dog, like a dog.
+Oh, they're very frightened of anybody who wants anything of them:
+frightened to death.  I see nothing of them.--Live by myself--see
+nobody.  Can't stand it, you know: their silly little teaparties--
+simply can't stand it.  No, I live alone--and shall die alone.--At
+least, I sincerely hope so.  I should be sorry to have any of them
+hanging round."
+
+The restaurant was empty, the pale, malarial waiter--he had of course
+contracted malaria during the war--was looking purple round the eyes.
+But Argyle callously sat on.  Aaron therefore rose to his feet.
+
+"Oh, I'm coming, I'm coming," said Argyle.
+
+He got unsteadily to his feet.  The waiter helped him on with his coat:
+and he put a disreputable-looking little curly hat on his head.  Then
+he took his stick.
+
+"Don't look at my appearance, my dear fellow," said Argyle.  "I am
+frayed at the wrists--look here!"  He showed the cuffs of his overcoat,
+just frayed through.  "I've got a trunkful of clothes in London, if
+only somebody would bring it out to me.--Ready then!  _Avanti!_"
+
+And so they passed out into the still rainy street.  Argyle lived in
+the very centre of the town: in the Cathedral Square.  Aaron left him
+at his hotel door.
+
+"But come and see me," said Argyle.  "Call for me at twelve o'clock--
+or just before twelve--and let us have luncheon together.  What!  Is
+that all right?--Yes, come just before twelve.--When?--Tomorrow?
+Tomorrow morning?  Will you come tomorrow?"
+
+Aaron said he would on Monday.
+
+"Monday, eh!  You say Monday!  Very well then.  Don't you forget now.
+Don't you forget.  For I've a memory like a vice. _I_ shan't forget.--
+Just before twelve then.  And come right up.  I'm right under the roof. 
+In
+Paradise, as the porter always says.  _Siamo nel paradiso_.  But he's
+a _cretin_.  As near Paradise as I care for, for it's devilish hot in
+summer, and damned cold in winter.  Don't you forget now--Monday,
+twelve o'clock."
+
+And Argyle pinched Aaron's arm fast, then went unsteadily up the steps
+to his hotel door.
+
+The next day at Algy's there was a crowd  Algy had a very pleasant
+flat indeed, kept more scrupulously neat and finicking than ever any
+woman's flat was kept.  So today, with its bowls of flowers and its
+pictures and books and old furniture, and Algy, very nicely dressed,
+fluttering and blinking and making really a charming host, it was all
+very delightful to the little mob of visitors.  They were a curious
+lot, it is true: everybody rather exceptional.  Which though it may
+be startling, is so very much better fun than everybody all alike.
+Aaron talked to an old, old Italian elegant in side-curls, who peeled
+off his grey gloves and studied his formalities with a delightful
+Mid-Victorian dash, and told stories about a _plaint_ which Lady Surry
+had against Lord Marsh, and was quite incomprehensible.  Out rolled
+the English words, like plums out of a burst bag, and all completely
+unintelligible.  But the old _beau_ was supremely satisfied.  He loved
+talking English, and holding his listeners spell-bound.
+
+Next to Aaron on the sofa sat the Marchesa del Torre, an American
+woman from the Southern States, who had lived most of her life in
+Europe.  She was about forty years of age, handsome, well-dressed,
+and quiet in the buzz of the tea-party.  It was evident she was one
+of Algy's lionesses.  Now she sat by Aaron, eating nothing, but taking
+a cup of tea and keeping still.  She seemed sad--or not well perhaps.
+Her eyes were heavy.  But she was very carefully made up, and very
+well dressed, though simply: and sitting there, full-bosomed, rather
+sad, remote-seeming, she suggested to Aaron a modern Cleopatra
+brooding, Anthony-less.
+
+Her husband, the Marchese, was a little intense Italian in a colonel's
+grey uniform, cavalry, leather gaiters.  He had blue eyes, his hair was
+cut very short, his head looked hard and rather military: he would
+have been taken for an Austrian officer, or even a German, had it not
+been for the, peculiar Italian sprightliness and touch of grimace in
+his mobile countenance.  He was rather like a gnome--not ugly, but odd.
+
+Now he came and stood opposite to Signor di Lanti, and quizzed him in
+Italian.  But it was evident, in quizzing the old buck, the little
+Marchese was hovering near his wife, in ear-shot.  Algy came up with
+cigarettes, and she at once began to smoke, with that peculiar heavy
+intensity of a nervous woman.
+
+Aaron did not say anything--did not know what to say.  He was
+peculiarly conscious of the woman sitting next to him, her arm near
+his.  She smoked heavily, in silence, as if abstracted, a sort of
+cloud on her level, dark brows.  Her hair was dark, but a softish
+brown, not black, and her skin was fair.  Her bosom would be white.--
+Why Aaron should have had this thought, he could not for the life of
+him say.
+
+Manfredi, her husband, rolled his blue eyes and grimaced as he laughed
+at old Lanti.  But it was obvious that his attention was diverted
+sideways, towards his wife.  Aaron, who was tired of nursing a tea-
+cup, placed in on a table and resumed his seat in silence.  But
+suddenly the little Marchese whipped out his cigarette-case, and
+making a little bow, presented it to Aaron, saying:
+
+"Won't you smoke?"
+
+"Thank you," said Aaron.
+
+"Turkish that side--Virginia there--you see."
+
+"Thank you, Turkish," said Aaron.
+
+The little officer in his dove-grey and yellow uniform snapped his box
+shut again, and presented a light.
+
+"You are new in Florence?" he said, as he presented the match.
+
+"Four days," said Aaron.
+
+"And I hear you are musical."
+
+"I play the flute--no more."
+
+"Ah, yes--but then you play it as an artist, not as an accomplishment."
+
+"But how do you know?" laughed Aaron.
+
+"I was told so--and I believe it."
+
+"That's nice of you, anyhow--But you are a musician too."
+
+"Yes--we are both musicians--my wife and I."
+
+Manfredi looked at his wife.  She flicked the ash off her cigarette.
+
+"What sort?" said Aaron.
+
+"Why, how do you mean, what sort?  We are dilettanti, I suppose."
+
+"No--what is your instrument?  The piano?"
+
+"Yes--the pianoforte.  And my wife sings.  But we are very much out of
+practice.  I have been at the war four years, and we have had our home
+in Paris.  My wife was in Paris, she did not wish to stay in Italy
+alone.  And so--you see--everything goes--"
+
+"But you will begin again?"
+
+"Yes.  We have begun already.  We have music on Saturday mornings.
+Next Saturday a string quartette, and violin solos by a young
+Florentine woman--a friend--very good indeed, daughter of our
+Professor Tortoli, who composes--as you may know--"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"Would you care to come and hear--?"
+
+"Awfully nice if you would--" suddenly said the wife, quite simply, as
+if she had merely been tired, and not talking before.
+
+"I should like to very much--"
+
+"Do come then."
+
+While they were making the arrangements, Algy came up in his blandest
+manner.
+
+"Now Marchesa--might we hope for a song?"
+
+"No--I don't sing any more," came the slow, contralto reply.
+
+"Oh, but you can't mean you say that deliberately--"
+
+"Yes, quite deliberately--"  She threw away her cigarette and opened
+her little gold case to take another.
+
+"But what can have brought you to such a disastrous decision?"
+
+"I can't say," she replied, with a little laugh.  "The war, probably."
+
+"Oh, but don't let the war deprive us of this, as of everything else."
+
+"Can't be helped," she said.  "I have no choice in the matter.  The
+bird has flown--"  She spoke with a certain heavy languor.
+
+"You mean the bird of your voice?  Oh, but that is quite impossible.
+One can hear it calling out of the leaves every time you speak."
+
+"I'm afraid you can't get him to do any more than call out of the
+leaves."
+
+"But--but--pardon me--is it because you don't intend there should be
+any more song?  Is that your intention?"
+
+"That I couldn't say," said the Marchesa, smoking, smoking.
+
+"Yes," said Manfredi.  "At the present time it is because she WILL
+not--not because she cannot.  It is her will, as you say."
+
+"Dear me!  Dear me!" said Algy.  "But this is really another disaster
+added to the war list.--But--but--will none of us ever be able to
+persuade you?"  He smiled half cajoling, half pathetic, with a
+prodigious flapping of his eyes.
+
+"I don't know," said she.  "That will be as it must be."
+
+"Then can't we say it must be SONG once more?"
+
+To this sally she merely laughed, and pressed out her half-smoked
+cigarette.
+
+"How very disappointing!  How very cruel of--of fate--and the war--
+and--and all the sum total of evils," said Algy.
+
+"Perhaps--" here the little and piquant host turned to Aaron.
+
+"Perhaps Mr. Sisson, your flute might call out the bird of song.  As
+thrushes call each other into challenge, you know.  Don't you think
+that is very probable?"
+
+"I have no idea," said Aaron.
+
+"But you, Marchesa.  Won't you give us hope that it might be so?"
+
+"I've no idea, either," said she.  "But I should very much like to
+hear Mr. Sisson's flute.  It's an instrument I like extremely."
+
+"There now.  You see you may work the miracle, Mr. Sisson.  Won't you
+play to us?"
+
+"I'm afraid I didn't bring my flute along," said Aaron  "I didn't want
+to arrive with a little bag."
+
+"Quite!" said Algy.  "What a pity it wouldn't go in your pocket."
+
+"Not music and all," said Aaron.
+
+"Dear me!  What a _comble_ of disappointment.  I never felt so
+strongly, Marchesa, that the old life and the old world had collapsed.
+--Really--I shall soon have to try to give up being cheerful at all."
+
+"Don't do that," said the Marchesa.  "It isn't worth the effort."
+
+"Ah!  I'm glad you find it so.  Then I have hope."
+
+She merely smiled, indifferent.
+
+The teaparty began to break up--Aaron found himself going down the
+stairs with the Marchesa and her husband.  They descended all three
+in silence, husband and wife in front.  Once outside the door, the
+husband asked:
+
+"How shall we go home, dear?  Tram or carriage--?"  It was evident he
+was economical.
+
+"Walk," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Aaron.  "We are all
+going the same way, I believe."
+
+Aaron said where he lived.  They were just across the river.  And so
+all three proceeded to walk through the town.
+
+"You are sure it won't be too much for you--too far?" said the little
+officer, taking his wife's arm solicitously.  She was taller than he.
+But he was a spirited fellow.
+
+"No, I feel like walking."
+
+"So long as you don't have to pay for it afterwards."
+
+Aaron gathered that she was not well.  Yet she did not look ill--unless
+it were nerves.  She had that peculiar heavy remote quality of pre-
+occupation and neurosis.
+
+The streets of Florence were very full this Sunday evening, almost
+impassable, crowded particularly with gangs of grey-green soldiers.
+The three made their way brokenly, and with difficulty.  The Italian
+was in a constant state of returning salutes.  The grey-green, sturdy,
+unsoldierly soldiers looked at the woman as she passed.
+
+"I am sure you had better take a carriage," said Manfredi.
+
+"No--I don't mind it."
+
+"Do you feel at home in Florence?" Aaron asked her.
+
+"Yes--as much as anywhere.  Oh, yes--quite at home."
+
+"Do you like it as well as anywhere?"  he asked.
+
+"Yes--for a time.  Paris for the most part."
+
+"Never America?"
+
+"No, never America.  I came when I was quite a little girl to Europe--
+Madrid--Constantinople--Paris.  I hardly knew America at all."
+
+Aaron remembered that Francis had told him, the Marchesa's father had
+been ambassador to Paris.
+
+"So you feel you have no country of your own?"
+
+"I have Italy.  I am Italian now, you know."
+
+Aaron wondered why she spoke so muted, so numbed.  Manfredi seemed
+really attached to her--and she to him.  They were so simple with
+one another.
+
+They came towards the bridge where they should part.
+
+"Won't you come and have a cocktail?" she said.
+
+"Now?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes.  This is the right time for a cocktail.  What time is it,
+Manfredi?"
+
+"Half past six.  Do come and have one with us," said the Italian.
+"We always take one about this time."
+
+Aaron continued with them over the bridge.  They had the first floor
+of an old palazzo opposite, a little way up the hill.  A man-servant
+opened the door.
+
+"If only it will be warm," she said.  "The apartment is almost
+impossible to keep warm.  We will sit in the little room."
+
+Aaron found himself in a quite warm room with shaded lights and a
+mixture of old Italian stiffness and deep soft modern comfort.  The
+Marchesa went away to take off her wraps, and the Marchese chatted
+with Aaron.  The little officer was amiable and kind, and it was
+evident he liked his guest.
+
+"Would you like to see the room where we have music?" he said.  "It is
+a fine room for the purpose--we used before the war to have music every
+Saturday morning, from ten to twelve: and all friends might come.
+Usually we had fifteen or twenty people.  Now we are starting again.
+I myself enjoy it so much.  I am afraid my wife isn't so enthusiastic
+as she used to be.  I wish something would rouse her up, you know.
+The war seemed to take her life away.  Here in Florence are so many
+amateurs.  Very good indeed.  We can have very good chamber-music
+indeed.  I hope it will cheer her up and make her quite herself again.
+I was away for such long periods, at the front.--And it was not good
+for her to be alone.--I am hoping now all will be better."
+
+So saying, the little, odd officer switched on the lights of the
+long salon.  It was a handsome room in the Italian mode of the Empire
+period--beautiful old faded tapestry panels--reddish--and some ormolu
+furniture--and other things mixed in--rather conglomerate, but
+pleasing, all the more pleasing.  It was big, not too empty, and
+seemed to belong to human life, not to show and shut-upedness.  The
+host was happy showing it.
+
+"Of course the flat in Paris is more luxurious than this," he
+said.  "But I prefer this.  I prefer it here."  There was a certain
+wistfulness as he looked round, then began to switch off the lights.
+
+They returned to the little salotta.  The Marchesa was seated in a low
+chair.  She wore a very thin white blouse, that showed her arms and her
+throat.  She was a full-breasted, soft-skinned woman, though not stout.
+
+"Make the cocktails then, Manfredi," she said.  "Do you find this room
+very cold?" she asked of Aaron.
+
+"Not a bit cold," he said.
+
+"The stove goes all the time," she said, "but without much effect."
+
+"You wear such thin clothes," he said.
+
+"Ah, no, the stove should give heat enough.  Do sit down.  Will you
+smoke?  There are cigarettes--and cigars, if you prefer them."
+
+"No, I've got my own, thanks."
+
+She took her own cigarette from her gold case.
+
+"It is a fine room, for music, the big room," said he.
+
+"Yes, quite.  Would you like to play for us some time, do you think?"
+
+"Do you want me to?  I mean does it interest you?"
+
+"What--the flute?"
+
+"No--music altogether--"
+
+"Music altogether--!  Well!  I used to love it.  Now--I'm not sure.
+Manfredi lives for it, almost."
+
+"For that and nothing else?" asked Aaron.
+
+"No, no!  No, no!  Other things as well."
+
+"But you don't like it much any more?"
+
+"I don't know.  Perhaps I don't.  I'm not sure."
+
+"You don't look forward to the Saturday mornings?" he asked.
+
+"Perhaps I don't--but for Manfredi's sake, of course, I do.  But for
+his sake more than my own, I admit.  And I think he knows it."
+
+"A crowd of people in one's house--" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, the people.  But it's not only that.  It's the music itself--I
+think I can't stand it any more.  I don't know."
+
+"Too emotional?  Too much feeling for you?"
+
+"Yes, perhaps.  But no.  What I can't stand is chords, you know:
+harmonies.  A number of sounds all sounding together.  It just makes
+me ill.  It makes me feel so sick."
+
+"What--do you want discords?--dissonances?"
+
+"No--they are nearly as bad.  No, it's just when any number of musical
+notes, different notes, come together, harmonies or discords.  Even
+a single chord struck on the piano.  It makes me feel sick.  I just
+feel as if I should retch.  Isn't it strange?  Of course, I don't
+tell Manfredi.  It would be too cruel to him.  It would cut his life
+in two."
+
+"But then why do you have the music--the Saturdays--then?"
+
+"Oh, I just keep out of the way as much as possible.  I'm sure you feel
+there is something wrong with me, that I take it as I do," she added,
+as if anxious: but half ironical.
+
+"No--I was just wondering--I believe I feel something the same myself.
+I know orchestra makes me blind with hate or I don't know what.  But I
+want to throw bombs."
+
+"There now.  It does that to me, too.  Only now it has fairly got me
+down, and I feel nothing but helpless nausea.  You know, like when
+you are seasick."
+
+Her dark-blue, heavy, haunted-looking eyes were resting on him as if
+she hoped for something.  He watched her face steadily, a curious
+intelligence flickering on his own.
+
+"Yes," he said.  "I understand it.  And I know, at the bottom, I'm like
+that.  But I keep myself from realising, don't you know?  Else perhaps,
+where should I be?  Because I make my life and my living at it, as
+well."
+
+"At music!  Do you!  But how bad for you.  But perhaps the flute is
+different.  I have a feeling that it is.  I can think of one single
+pipe-note--yes, I can think of it quite, quite calmly.  And I can't
+even think of the piano, or of the violin with its tremolo, or of
+orchestra, or of a string quartette--or even a military band--I can't
+think of it without a shudder.  I can only bear drum-and-fife.  Isn't
+it crazy of me--but from the other, from what we call music proper,
+I've endured too much.  But bring your flute one day.  Bring it, will
+you?  And let me hear it quite alone.  Quite, quite alone.  I think it
+might do me an awful lot of good.  I do, really.  I can imagine it."
+She closed her eyes and her strange, sing-song lapsing voice came to
+an end.  She spoke almost like one in a trance--or a sleep-walker.
+
+"I've got it now in my overcoat pocket," he said, "if you like."
+
+"Have you?  Yes!" She was never hurried: always slow and resonant,
+so that the echoes of her voice seemed to linger.  "Yes--do get
+it.  Do get it.  And play in the other room--quite--quite without
+accompaniment.  Do--and try me."
+
+"And you will tell me what you feel?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+Aaron went out to his overcoat.  When he returned with his flute, which
+he was screwing together, Manfredi had come with the tray and the three
+cocktails.  The Marchesa took her glass.
+
+"Listen, Manfredi," she said.  "Mr. Sisson is going to play, quite
+alone in the sala.  And I am going to sit here and listen."
+
+"Very well," said Manfredi.  "Drink your cocktail first.  Are you going
+to play without music?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.
+
+"I'll just put on the lights for you."
+
+"No--leave it dark.  Enough light will come in from here."
+
+"Sure?" said Manfredi.
+
+"Yes."
+
+The little soldier was an intruder at the moment.  Both the others felt
+it so.  But they bore him no grudge.  They knew it was they who were
+exceptional, not he.  Aaron swallowed his drink, and looked towards
+the door.
+
+"Sit down, Manfredi.  Sit still," said the Marchesa.
+
+"Won't you let me try some accompaniment?" said the soldier.
+
+"No.  I shall just play a little thing from memory," said Aaron.
+
+"Sit down, dear.  Sit down," said the Marchesa to her husband.
+
+He seated himself obediently.  The flash of bright yellow on the grey
+of his uniform seemed to make him like a chaffinch or a gnome.
+
+Aaron retired to the other room, and waited awhile, to get back the
+spell which connected him with the woman, and gave the two of them
+this strange isolation, beyond the bounds of life, as it seemed.
+
+He caught it again.  And there, in the darkness of the big room, he
+put his flute to his lips, and began to play.  It was a clear, sharp,
+lilted run-and-fall of notes, not a tune in any sense of the word,
+and yet a melody, a bright, quick sound of pure animation, a bright,
+quick, animate noise, running and pausing.  It was like a bird's
+singing, in that it had no human emotion or passion or intention or
+meaning--a ripple and poise of animate sound.  But it was unlike a
+bird's singing, in that the notes followed clear and single one after
+the other, in their subtle gallop.  A nightingale is rather like that
+--a wild sound.  To read all the human pathos into nightingales'
+singing is nonsense.  A wild, savage, non-human lurch and squander
+of sound, beautiful, but entirely unaesthetic.
+
+What Aaron was playing was not of his own invention.  It was a bit
+of mediaeval phrasing written for the pipe and the viol.  It made
+the piano seem a ponderous, nerve-wracking steam-roller of noise,
+and the violin, as we know it, a hateful wire-drawn nerve-torturer.
+
+After a little while, when he entered the smaller room again, the
+Marchesa looked full into his face.
+
+"Good!" she said.  "Good!"
+
+And a gleam almost of happiness seemed to light her up.  She seemed
+like one who had been kept in a horrible enchanted castle--for years
+and years.  Oh, a horrible enchanted castle, with wet walls of emotions
+and ponderous chains of feelings and a ghastly atmosphere of must-be.
+She felt she had seen through the opening door a crack of sunshine,
+and thin, pure, light outside air, outside, beyond this dank and
+beastly dungeon of feelings and moral necessity.  Ugh!--she shuddered
+convulsively at what had been.  She looked at her little husband.
+Chains of necessity all round him: a little jailor.  Yet she was fond
+of him.  If only he would throw away the castle keys.  He was a little
+gnome.  What did he clutch the castle-keys so tight for?
+
+Aaron looked at her.  He knew that they understood one another, he and
+she.  Without any moral necessity or any other necessity.  Outside--
+they had got outside the castle of so-called human life.  Outside the
+horrible, stinking human castle Of life.  A bit of true, limpid
+freedom.  Just a glimpse.
+
+"Charming!" said the Marchese.  "Truly charming!  But what was it you
+played?"
+
+Aaron told him.
+
+"But truly delightful.  I say, won't you play for us one of these
+Saturdays?  And won't you let me take the accompaniment?  I should
+be charmed, charmed if you would."
+
+"All right," said Aaron.
+
+"Do drink another cocktail," said his hostess.
+
+He did so.  And then he rose to leave.
+
+"Will you stay to dinner?" said the Marchesa.  "We have two people
+coming--two Italian relatives of my husband.  But--"
+
+No, Aaron declined to stay to dinner.
+
+"Then won't you come on--let me see--on Wednesday?  Do come on
+Wednesday.  We are alone.  And do bring the flute.  Come at half-past
+six, as today, will you?  Yes?"
+
+Aaron promised--and then he found himself in the street.  It was half-
+past seven.  Instead of returning straight home, he crossed the Ponte
+Vecchio and walked straight into the crowd.  The night was fine now.
+He had his overcoat over his arm, and in a sort of trance or frenzy,
+whirled away by his evening's experience, and by the woman, he strode
+swiftly forward, hardly heeding anything, but rushing blindly on
+through all the crowd, carried away by his own feelings, as much as
+if he had been alone, and all these many people merely trees.
+
+Leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emmanuele a gang of soldiers suddenly
+rushed round him, buffeting him in one direction, whilst another gang,
+swinging round the corner, threw him back helpless again into the
+midst of the first gang.  For some moments he struggled among the rude,
+brutal little mob of grey-green coarse uniforms that smelt so strong
+of soldiers.  Then, irritated, he found himself free again, shaking
+himself and passing on towards the cathedral.  Irritated, he now put
+on his overcoat and buttoned it to the throat, closing himself in, as
+it were, from the brutal insolence of the Sunday night mob of men.
+Before, he had been walking through them in a rush of naked feeling,
+all exposed to their tender mercies.  He now gathered himself together.
+
+As he was going home, suddenly, just as he was passing the Bargello,
+he stopped.  He stopped, and put his hand to his breast pocket.  His
+letter-case was gone.  He had been robbed.  It was as if lightning ran
+through him at that moment, as if a fluid electricity rushed down his
+limbs, through the sluice of his knees, and out at his feet, leaving
+him standing there almost unconscious.  For a moment unconscious and
+superconscious he stood there.  He had been robbed.  They had put
+their hand in his breast and robbed him.  If they had stabbed him,
+it could hardly have had a greater effect on him.
+
+And he had known it.  He had known it.  When the soldiers jostled him
+so evilly they robbed him.  And he knew it.  He had known it as if it
+were fate.  Even as if it were fated beforehand.
+
+Feeling quite weak and faint, as if he had really been struck by some
+evil electric fluid, he walked on.  And as soon as he began to walk,
+he began to reason.  Perhaps his letter-case was in his other coat.
+Perhaps he had not had it with him at all.  Perhaps he was feeling all
+this, just for nothing.  Perhaps it was all folly.
+
+He hurried forward.  He wanted to make sure.  He wanted relief.  It was
+as if the power of evil had suddenly seized him and thrown him, and he
+wanted to say it was not so, that he had imagined it all, conjured it
+up.  He did not want to admit the power of evil--particularly at that
+moment.  For surely a very ugly evil spirit had struck him, in the
+midst of that gang of Italian soldiers.  He knew it--it had pierced
+him.  It had _got_ him.
+
+But he wanted to say it was not so.  Reaching the house, he hastened
+upwards to his far-off, lonely room, through the dark corridors.  Once
+in his own apartment, he shut the door and switched on the light, a
+sensation like fear at his heart.  Then he searched his other pockets.
+He looked everywhere.  In vain.
+
+In vain, truly enough.  For he _knew_ the thing was stolen.  He had
+known it all along.  The soldiers had deliberately plotted, had
+deliberately rushed him and taken his purse.  They must have watched
+him previously.  They must have grinned, and jeered at him.
+
+He sat down in a chair, to recover from the shock.  The pocket-book
+contained four hundred francs, three one-pound notes, and various
+letters and private effects.  Well, these were lost.  But it was not
+so much the loss as the assault on his person that caused him to feel
+so stricken.  He felt the jeering, gibing blows they had given as they
+jostled him.
+
+And now he sat, weak in every limb, and said to himself: "Yes--and if I
+hadn't rushed along so full of feeling: if I hadn't exposed myself: if
+I hadn't got worked up with the Marchesa, and then rushed all kindled
+through the streets, without reserve, it would never have happened.  I
+gave myself away: and there was someone ready to snatch what I gave.  I
+gave myself away.  It is my own fault.  I should have been on my guard.
+I should be always on my guard: always, always.  With God and the devil
+both, I should be on my guard.  Godly or devilish, I should hold fast
+to my reserve and keep on the watch.  And if I don't, I deserve what
+I get."
+
+But still he sat in his chair in his bedroom, dazed.  One part of his
+soul was saying emphatically: It serves you right.  It is nothing but
+right.  It serves everybody right who rushes enkindled through the
+street, and trusts implicitly in mankind and in the life-spirit, as
+if mankind and the life-spirit were a playground for enkindled
+individuals.  It serves you right.  You have paid about twelve pounds
+sterling for your lesson.  Fool, you might have known beforehand, and
+then you needn't have paid at all.  You can ill afford twelve pounds
+sterling, you fool.  But since paid you have, then mind, mind the
+lesson is learned.  Never again.  Never expose yourself again.  Never
+again absolute trust.  It is a blasphemy against life, is absolute
+trust.  Has a wild creature ever absolute trust?  It minds itself.
+Sleeping or waking it is on its guard.  And so must you be, or you'll
+go under.  Sleeping or waking, man or woman, God or the devil, keep
+your guard over yourself.  Keep your guard over yourself, lest worse
+befall you.  No man is robbed unless he incites a robber.  No man is
+murdered unless he attracts a murderer.  Then be not robbed: it lies
+within your own power.  And be not murdered.  Or if you are, you
+deserve it.  Keep your guard over yourself, now, always and forever.
+Yes, against God quite as hard as against the devil.  He's fully as
+dangerous to you. . . .
+
+Thus thinking, not in his mind but in his soul, his active, living
+soul, he gathered his equanimity once more, and accepted the fact.
+So he rose and tidied himself for dinner.  His face was now set, and
+still.  His heart also was still--and fearless.  Because its sentinel
+was stationed.  Stationed, stationed for ever.
+
+And Aaron never forgot.  After this, it became essential to him to feel
+that the sentinel stood guard in his own heart.  He felt a strange
+unease the moment he was off his guard.  Asleep or awake, in the midst
+of the deepest passion or the suddenest love, or in the throes of
+greatest excitement or bewilderment, somewhere, some corner of himself
+was awake to the fact that the sentinel of the soul must not sleep,
+no, never, not for one instant.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+HIGH UP OVER THE CATHEDRAL SQUARE
+
+
+Aaron and Lilly sat in Argyle's little loggia, high up under the eaves
+of the small hotel, a sort of long attic-terrace just under the roof,
+where no one would have suspected it.  It was level with the grey
+conical roof of the Baptistery.  Here sat Aaron and Lilly in the
+afternoon, in the last of the lovely autumn sunshine.  Below, the
+square was already cold in shadow, the pink and white and green
+Baptistery rose lantern-shaped as from some sea-shore, cool, cold and
+wan now the sun was gone.  Black figures, innumerable black figures,
+curious because they were all on end, up on end--Aaron could not say
+why he expected them to be horizontal--little black figures upon end,
+like fishes that swim on their tails, wiggled endlessly across the
+piazza, little carriages on natural all-fours rattled tinily across,
+the yellow little tram-cars, like dogs slipped round the corner.
+The balcony was so high up, that the sound was ineffectual.  The
+upper space, above the houses, was nearer than the under-currents
+of the noisy town.  Sunlight, lovely full sunlight, lingered warm
+and still on the balcony.  It caught the facade of the cathedral
+sideways, like the tips of a flower, and sideways lit up the stem
+of Giotto's tower, like a lily stem, or a long, lovely pale pink
+and white and green pistil of the lily of the cathedral.  Florence,
+the flowery town.  Firenze--Fiorenze--the flowery town: the red lilies.
+The Fiorentini, the flower-souled.  Flowers with good roots in the
+mud and muck, as should be: and fearless blossoms in air, like the
+cathedral and the tower and the David.
+
+"I love it," said Lilly.  "I love this place, I love the cathedral and
+the tower.  I love its pinkness and its paleness.  The Gothic souls
+find fault with it, and say it is gimcrack and tawdry and cheap.  But
+I love it, it is delicate and rosy, and the dark stripes are as they
+should be, like the tiger marks on a pink lily.  It's a lily, not a
+rose; a pinky white lily with dark tigery marks.  And heavy, too, in
+its own substance: earth-substance, risen from earth into the air:
+and never forgetting the dark, black-fierce earth--I reckon here men
+for a moment were themselves, as a plant in flower is for the moment
+completely itself.  Then it goes off.  As Florence has gone off.  No
+flowers now.  But it HAS flowered.  And I don't see why a race should
+be like an aloe tree, flower once and die.  Why should it?  Why not
+flower again?  Why not?"
+
+"If it's going to, it will," said Aaron.  "Our deciding about it won't
+alter it."
+
+"The decision is part of the business."
+
+Here they were interrupted by Argyle, who put his head through one of
+the windows.  He had flecks of lather on his reddened face.
+
+"Do you think you're wise now," he said, "to sit in that sun?"
+
+"In November?" laughed Lilly.
+
+"Always fear the sun when there's an 'r' in the month," said Argyle.
+"Always fear it 'r' or no 'r,' _I_ say.  I'm frightened of it.  I've
+been in the South, I know what it is.  I tell you I'm frightened of
+it. But if you think you can stand it--well--"
+
+"It won't last much longer, anyhow," said Lilly.
+
+"Too long for me, my boy.  I'm a shady bird, in all senses of the
+word, in all senses of the word.--Now are you comfortable?  What?
+Have another cushion?  A rug for your knees?  You're quite sure now?
+Well, wait just one moment till the waiter brings up a syphon, and
+you shall have a whiskey and soda.  Precious--oh, yes, very precious
+these days--like drinking gold.  Thirty-five lire a bottle, my boy!"
+Argyle pulled a long face, and made a noise with his lips.  "But I
+had this bottle given me, and luckily you've come while there's a
+drop left.  Very glad you have!  Very glad you have."
+
+Here he poked a little table through the window, and put a bottle and
+two glasses, one a tooth-glass, upon it.  Then he withdrew again to
+finish shaving.  The waiter presently hobbled up with the syphon and
+third glass.  Argyle pushed his head through the window, that was only
+a little higher than the balcony.  He was soon neatly shaved, and was
+brushing his hair.
+
+"Go ahead, my boys, go ahead with that whiskey!" he said.
+
+"We'll wait for you," said Lilly.
+
+"No, no, don't think of it.  However, if you will, I shall be one
+minute only--one minute only.  I'll put on the water for the tea now.
+Oh, damned bad methylated spirit they sell now!  And six francs a
+litre!  Six francs a litre!  I don't know what I'm going to do, the
+air I breathe costs money nowadays--Just one moment and I'll be with
+you!  Just one moment--"
+
+In a very little while he came from the tiny attic bedroom, through
+the tiniest cupboard of a sitting-room under the eaves, where his
+books were, and where he had hung his old red India tapestries--or
+silk embroideries--and he emerged there up above the world on the
+loggia.
+
+"Now then--_siamo nel paradiso_, eh?  Paradisal enough for you, is it?"
+
+"The devil looking over Lincoln," said Lilly laughing, glancing up
+into Argyle's face.
+
+"The devil looking over Florence would feel sad," said Argyle.  "The
+place is fast growing respectable--Oh, piety makes the devil chuckle.
+But respectability, my boy, argues a serious diminution of spunk.  And
+when the spunk diminishes we-ell--it's enough to make the most sturdy
+devil look sick.  What?  No doubt about it, no doubt whatever--There
+--!" he had just finished settling his tie and buttoning his waistcoat.
+"How do I look, eh?  Presentable?--I've just had this suit turned.
+Clever little tailor across the way there.  But he charged me a hundred
+and twenty francs."  Argyle pulled a face, and made the little trumping
+noise with his lips.  "However--not bad, is it?--He had to let in a bit
+at the back of the waistcoat, and a gusset, my boy, a gusset--in the
+trousers back.  Seems I've grown in the arsal region.  Well, well,
+might do worse.--Is it all right?"
+
+Lilly eyed the suit.
+
+"Very nice.  Very nice indeed.  Such a good cloth!  That makes all
+the difference."
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, all the difference!  This suit is eleven years
+old--eleven years old.  But beautiful English cloth--before the war,
+before the war!"
+
+"It looks quite wonderfully expensive and smart now," said Lilly.
+
+"Expensive and smart, eh!  Ha-ha-ha!  Well, it cost me a hundred and
+twenty francs to have it turned, and I found that expensive enough.
+Well, now, come--" here Argyle's voice took on a new gay cheer.  "A
+whiskey and soda, Lilly?  Say when!  Oh, nonsense, nonsense!  You're
+going to have double that.  You're no lily of the valley here,
+remember.  Not with me.  Not likely.  _Siamo nel paradiso_, remember."
+
+"But why should we drink your whiskey?  Tea would do for us just as
+well."
+
+"Not likely!  Not likely!  When I have the pleasure of your company,
+my boy, we drink a glass of something, unless I am utterly stripped.
+Say when, Aaron."
+
+"When," said Aaron.
+
+Argyle at last seated himself heavily in a small chair.  The sun had
+left the loggia, but was glowing still on Giotto's tower and the top
+of the cathedral facade, and on the remoter great red-tiled dome.
+
+"Look at my little red monthly rose," said Argyle.  "Wonderful little
+fellow!  I wouldn't have anything happen to him for the world.  Oh, a
+bacchic little chap.  I made Pasquale wear a wreath of them on his
+hair.  Very becoming they were, very.--Oh, I've had a charming show
+of flowers.  Wonderful creatures sunflowers are."  They got up and
+put their heads over the balcony, looking down on the square below.
+"Oh, great fun, great fun.--Yes, I had a charming show of flowers,
+charming.--Zinnias, petunias, ranunculus, sunflowers, white stocks--
+oh, charming.  Look at that bit of honeysuckle.  You see the berries
+where his flowers were!  Delicious scent, I assure you."
+
+Under the little balcony wall Argyle had put square red-tiled pots,
+all round, and in these still bloomed a few pansies and asters, whilst
+in a corner a monthly rose hung flowers like round blood-drops.  Argyle
+was as tidy and scrupulous in his tiny rooms and his balcony as if he
+were a first-rate sea-man on a yacht.  Lilly remarked on this.
+
+"Do you see signs of the old maid coming out in me?  Oh, I don't doubt
+it.  I don't doubt it.  We all end that way.  Age makes old maids of
+us all.  And Tanny is all right, you say?  Bring her to see me.  Why
+didn't she come today?"
+
+"You know you don't like people unless you expect them."
+
+"Oh, but my dear fellow!--You and Tanny; you'd be welcome if you came
+at my busiest moment.  Of course you would.  I'd be glad to see you if
+you interrupted me at any crucial moment.--I am alone now till August.
+Then we shall go away together somewhere.  But you and Tanny; why,
+there's the world, and there's Lilly: that's how I put it, my boy."
+
+"All right, Argyle.--Hoflichkeiten."
+
+"What?  Gar keine Hoflichkeiten.  Wahrhaftiger Kerl bin ich.--When am
+I going to see Tanny?  When are you coming to dine with me?"
+
+"After you've dined with us--say the day after tomorrow."
+
+"Right you are.  Delighted--.  Let me look if that water's boiling."
+He got up and poked half himself inside the bedroom.  "Not yet.  Damned
+filthy methylated spirit they sell."
+
+"Look," said Lilly.  "There's Del Torre!"
+
+"Like some sort of midge, in that damned grey-and-yellow uniform.  I
+can't stand it, I tell you.  I can't stand the sight of any more of
+these uniforms.  Like a blight on the human landscape.  Like a blight.
+Like green-flies on rose-trees, smother-flies.  Europe's got the
+smother-fly in these infernal shoddy militarists."
+
+"Del Torre's coming out of it as soon as he can," said Lilly.
+
+"I should think so, too."
+
+"I like him myself--very much.  Look, he's seen us!  He wants to come
+up, Argyle."
+
+"What, in that uniform!  I'll see him in his grandmother's crinoline
+first."
+
+"Don't be fanatical, it's bad taste.  Let him come up a minute."
+
+"Not for my sake.  But for yours, he shall," Argyle stood at the
+parapet of the balcony and waved his arm.  "Yes, come up," he said,
+"come up, you little mistkafer--what the Americans call a bug.  Come
+up and be damned."
+
+Of course Del Torre was too far off to hear this exhortation.  Lilly
+also waved to him--and watched him pass into the doorway far below.
+
+"I'll rinse one of these glasses for him," said Argyle.
+
+The Marchese's step was heard on the stone stairs: then his knock.
+
+"Come in!  Come in!" cried Argyle from the bedroom, where he was
+rinsing the glass.  The Marchese entered, grinning with his curious,
+half courteous greeting.  "Go through--go through," cried Argyle.
+"Go on to the loggia--and mind your head.  Good heavens, mind your
+head in that doorway."
+
+The Marchese just missed the top of the doorway as he climbed the
+abrupt steps on to the loggia.--There he greeted Lilly and Aaron
+with hearty handshakes.
+
+"Very glad to see you--very glad, indeed!" he cried, grinning with
+excited courtesy and pleasure, and covering Lilly's hand with both
+his own gloved hands.  "When did you come to Florence?"
+
+There was a little explanation.  Argyle shoved the last chair--it was
+a luggage stool--through the window.
+
+"All I can do for you in the way of a chair," he said.
+
+"Ah, that is all right," said the Marchese.  "Well, it is very nice
+up here--and very nice company.  Of the very best, the very best in
+Florence."
+
+"The highest, anyhow," said Argyle grimly, as he entered with the
+glass.  "Have a whiskey and soda, Del Torre.  It's the bottom of
+the bottle, as you see."
+
+"The bottom of the bottle!  Then I start with the tail-end, yes!"
+He stretched his blue eyes so that the whites showed all round, and
+grinned a wide, gnome-like grin.
+
+"You made that start long ago, my dear fellow.  Don't play the
+_ingenue_ with me, you know it won't work.  Say when, my man, say
+when!"
+
+"Yes, when," said Del Torre.  "When did I make that start, then?"
+
+"At some unmentionably young age.  Chickens such as you soon learn
+to cheep."
+
+"Chickens such as I soon learn to cheap," repeated Del Torre, pleased
+with the verbal play.  "What is cheap, please?  What is TO CHEAP?"
+
+"Cheep! Cheep!" squeaked Argyle, making a face at the little Italian,
+who was perched on one strap of the luggage-stool.  "It's what chickens
+say when they're poking their little noses into new adventures--naughty
+ones."
+
+"Are chickens naughty?  Oh! I thought they could only be good!"
+
+"Featherless chickens like yourself, my boy."
+
+"Oh, as for featherless--then there is no saying what they will do.--"
+And here the Marchese turned away from Argyle with the inevitable
+question to Lilly:
+
+"Well, and how long will you stay in Florence?"
+
+Lilly did not know: but he was not leaving immediately.
+
+"Good!  Then you will come and see us at once. . . ."
+
+Argyle rose once more, and went to make the tea.  He shoved a lump of
+cake--or rather panetone, good currant loaf--through the window, with
+a knife to cut it.
+
+"Help yourselves to the panetone," he said.  "Eat it up.  The tea is
+coming at once.  You'll have to drink it in your glasses, there's only
+one old cup."
+
+The Marchese cut the cake, and offered pieces.  The two men took and
+ate.
+
+"So you have already found Mr. Sisson!" said Del Torre to Lilly.
+
+"Ran straight into him in the Via Nazionale," said Lilly.
+
+"Oh, one always runs into everybody in Florence.  We are all already
+acquainted: also with the flute.  That is a great pleasure."
+
+"So I think.--Does your wife like it, too?"
+
+"Very much, indeed!  She is quite _eprise_.  I, too, shall have to
+learn to play it."
+
+"And run the risk of spoiling the shape of your mouth--like
+Alcibiades."
+
+"Is there a risk?  Yes!  Then I shan't play it.  My mouth is too
+beautiful.--But Mr. Sisson has not spoilt his mouth."
+
+"Not yet," said Lilly.  "Give him time."
+
+"Is he also afraid--like Alcibiades?"
+
+"Are you, Aaron?" said Lilly.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Afraid of spoiling your beauty by screwing your mouth to the flute?"
+
+"I look a fool, do I, when I'm playing?" said Aaron.
+
+"Only the least little bit in the world," said Lilly.  "The way you
+prance your head, you know, like a horse."
+
+"Ah, well," said Aaron.  "I've nothing to lose."
+
+"And were you surprised, Lilly, to find your friend here?" asked
+Del Torre.
+
+"I ought to have been.  But I wasn't really."
+
+"Then you expected him?"
+
+"No.  It came naturally, though.--But why did you come, Aaron?  What
+exactly brought you?"
+
+"Accident," said Aaron.
+
+"Ah, no!  No!  There is no such thing as accident," said the Italian.
+"A man is drawn by his fate, where he goes."
+
+"You are right," said Argyle, who came now with the teapot.  "A man
+is drawn--or driven.  Driven, I've found it.  Ah, my dear fellow,
+what is life but a search for a friend?  A search for a friend--that
+sums it up."
+
+"Or a lover," said the Marchese, grinning.
+
+"Same thing.  Same thing.  My hair is white--but that is the sum of my
+whole experience.  The search for a friend."  There was something at
+once real and sentimental in Argyle's tone.
+
+"And never finding?" said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Oh, what would you?  Often finding.  Often finding.  And losing, of
+course.--A life's history.  Give me your glass.  Miserable tea, but
+nobody has sent me any from England--"
+
+"And you will go on till you die, Argyle?" said Lilly.  "Always seeking
+a friend--and always a new one?"
+
+"If I lose the friend I've got.  Ah, my dear fellow, in that case I
+shall go on seeking.  I hope so, I assure you.  Something will be
+very wrong with me, if ever I sit friendless and make no search."
+
+"But, Argyle, there is a time to leave off."
+
+"To leave off what, to leave off what?"
+
+"Having friends: or a friend, rather: or seeking to have one."
+
+"Oh, no!  Not at all, my friend.  Not at all!  Only death can make an
+end of that, my friend.  Only death.  And I should say, not even death.
+Not even death ends a man's search for a friend.  That is my belief.
+You may hang me for it, but I shall never alter."
+
+"Nay," said Lilly.  "There is a time to love, and a time to leave off
+loving."
+
+"All I can say to that is that my time to leave off hasn't come yet,"
+said Argyle, with obstinate feeling.
+
+"Ah, yes, it has.  It is only a habit and an idea you stick to."
+
+"Indeed, it is no such thing.  Indeed, it is no such thing.  It is a
+profound desire and necessity: and what is more, a belief."
+
+"An obstinate persistency, you mean," said Lilly.
+
+"Well, call it so if it pleases you.  It is by no means so to me."
+There was a brief pause.  The sun had left the cathedral dome and
+the tower, the sky was full of light, the square swimming in shadow.
+
+"But can a man live," said the Marchese, "without having something he
+lives for: something he wishes for, or longs for, and tries that he
+may get?"
+
+"Impossible!  Completely impossible!" said Argyle.  "Man is a seeker,
+and except as such, he has no significance, no importance."
+
+"He bores me with his seeking," said Lilly.  "He should learn to
+possess himself--to be himself--and keep still."
+
+"Ay, perhaps so," said Aaron.  "Only--"
+
+"But my dear boy, believe me, a man is never himself save in the
+supreme state of love: or perhaps hate, too, which amounts to the same
+thing.  Never really himself.--Apart from this he is a tram-driver or
+a money-shoveller or an idea-machine.  Only in the state of love is he
+really a man, and really himself.  I say so, because I know," said
+Argyle.
+
+"Ah, yes.  That is one side of the truth.  It is quite true, also.
+But it is just as true to say, that a man is never less himself,
+than in the supreme state of love.  Never less himself, than then."
+
+"Maybe!  Maybe!  But what could be better?  What could be better than
+to lose oneself with someone you love, entirely, and so find yourself.
+Ah, my dear fellow, that is my creed, that is my creed, and you can't
+shake me in it.  Never in that.  Never in that."
+
+"Yes, Argyle," said Lilly.  "I know you're an obstinate love-apostle."
+
+"I am!  I am!  And I have certain standards, my boy, and certain ideals
+which I never transgress.  Never transgress.  And never abandon."
+
+"All right, then, you are an incurable love-maker."
+
+"Pray God I am," said Argyle.
+
+"Yes," said the Marchese.  "Perhaps we are all so.  What else do you
+give?  Would you have us make money?  Or do you give the centre of
+your spirit to your work?  How is it to be?"
+
+"I don't vitally care either about money or my work or--" Lilly
+faltered.
+
+"Or what, then?"
+
+"Or anything.  I don't really care about anything.  Except that--"
+
+"You don't care about anything?  But what is that for a life?" cried
+the Marchese, with a hollow mockery.
+
+"What do YOU care for?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Me?  I care for several things.  I care for my wife.  I care for love.
+And I care to be loved.  And I care for some pleasures.  And I care
+for music.  And I care for Italy."
+
+"You are well off for cares," said Lilly.
+
+"And you seem to me so very poor," said Del Torre.
+
+"I should say so--if he cares for nothing," interjaculated Argyle.
+Then he clapped Lilly on the shoulder with a laugh.  "Ha! Ha! Ha!--
+But he only says it to tease us," he cried, shaking Lilly's shoulder.
+"He cares more than we do for his own way of loving.  Come along,
+don't try and take us in.  We are old birds, old birds," said Argyle.
+But at that moment he seemed a bit doddering.
+
+"A man can't live," said the Italian, "without an object."
+
+"Well--and that object?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--it may be many things.  Mostly it is two things.--love, and
+money.  But it may be many things: ambition, patriotism, science,
+art--many things.  But it is some objective.  Something outside the
+self.  Perhaps many things outside the self."
+
+"I have had only one objective all my life," said Argyle.  "And that
+was love.  For that I have spent my life."
+
+"And the lives of a number of other people, too," said Lilly.
+
+"Admitted.  Oh, admitted.  It takes two to make love: unless you're a
+miserable--"
+
+"Don't you think," said Aaron, turning to Lilly, "that however you try
+to get away from it, if you're not after money, and can't fit yourself
+into a job--you've got to, you've got to try and find something else--
+somebody else--somebody.  You can't really be alone."
+
+"No matter how many mistakes you've made--you can't really be alone--?"
+asked Lilly.
+
+"You can be alone for a minute.  You can be alone just in that minute
+when you've broken free, and you feel heart thankful to be alone,
+because the other thing wasn't to be borne.  But you can't keep on
+being alone.  No matter how many tunes you've broken free, and feel,
+thank God to be alone (nothing on earth is so good as to breathe fresh
+air and be alone), no matter how many times you've felt this--it wears
+off every time, and you begin to look again--and you begin to roam
+round.  And even if you won't admit it to yourself, still you are
+seeking--seeking.  Aren't you?  Aren't you yourself seeking?"
+
+"Oh, that's another matter," put in Argyle.  "Lilly is happily married
+and on the shelf.  With such a fine woman as Tanny I should think so--
+RATHER!  But his is an exceptional nature, and an exceptional case.
+As for me, I made a hell of my marriage, and I swear it nearly sent
+me to hell.  But I didn't forswear love, when I forswore marriage and
+woman.  Not by ANY means."
+
+"Are you not seeking any more, Lilly?" asked the Marchese.  "Do you
+seek nothing?"
+
+"We married men who haven't left our wives, are we supposed to seek
+anything?" said Lilly.  "Aren't we perfectly satisfied and in bliss
+with the wonderful women who honour us as wives?"
+
+"Ah, yes, yes!" said the Marchese.  "But now we are not speaking to
+the world.  Now we try to speak of that which we have in our centre
+of our hearts."
+
+"And what have we there?" said Lilly.
+
+"Well--shall I say?  We have unrest.  We have another need.  We have
+something that hurts and eats us, yes, eats us inside.   Do I speak
+the truth?"
+
+"Yes.  But what is the something?"
+
+"I don't know.  I don't know.  But it is something in love, I think.
+It is love itself which gnaws us inside, like a cancer," said the
+Italian.
+
+"But why should it?  Is that the nature of love?" said Lilly.
+
+"I don't know.  Truly.  I don't know.--But perhaps it is in the nature
+of love--I don't know.--But I tell you, I love my, wife--she is very
+dear to me.  I admire her, I trust her, I believe her.  She is to me
+much more than any woman, more even than my mother.--And so, I am very
+happy.  I am very happy, she is very happy, in our love and our
+marriage.--But wait.  Nothing has changed--the love has not changed:
+it is the same.--And yet we are NOT happy.  No, we are not happy.  I
+know she is not happy, I know I am not--"
+
+"Why should you be?" said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--and it is not even happiness," said the Marchese, screwing up
+his face in a painful effort of confession.  "It is not even happiness.
+No, I do not ask to be happy.  Why should I?  It is childish--but
+there is for both of us, I know it, something which bites us, which
+eats us within, and drives us, drives us, somewhere, we don't know
+where.  But it drives us, and eats away the life--and yet we love
+each other, and we must not separate--Do you know what I mean?  Do
+you understand me at all in what I say?  I speak what is true."
+
+"Yes, I understand.  I'm in the same dilemma myself.--But what I want
+to hear, is WHY you think it is so.  Why is it?"
+
+"Shall I say what I think?  Yes?  And you can tell me if it is foolish
+to you.--Shall I tell you?  Well.  Because a woman, she now first
+wants the man, and he must go to her because he is wanted.  Do you
+understand?--You know--supposing I go to a woman--supposing she is my
+wife--and I go to her, yes, with my blood all ready, because it is I
+who want.  Then she puts me off.  Then she says, not now, not now, I
+am tired, I am not well.  I do not feel like it.  She puts me off--
+till I am angry or sorry or whatever I am--but till my blood has gone
+down again, you understand, and I don't want her any more.  And then
+she puts her arms round me, and caresses me, and makes love to me--
+till she rouses me once more.  So, and so she rouses me--and so I come
+to her.  And I love her, it is very good, very good.  But it was she
+who began, it was her initiative, you know.--I do not think, in all
+my life, my wife has loved me from my initiative, you know.  She will
+yield to me--because I insist, or because she wants to be a good
+submissive wife who loves me.  So she will yield to me.  But ah, what
+is it, you know?  What is it a woman who allows me, and who has no
+answer?  It is something worse than nothing--worse than nothing.  And
+so it makes me very discontented and unbelieving.--If I say to her,
+she says it is not true--not at all true.  Then she says, all she
+wants is that I should desire her, that I should love her and desire
+her.  But even that is putting her will first.  And if I come to her
+so, if I come to her of my own desire, then she puts me off.  She
+puts me off, or she only allows me to come to her.  Even now it is
+the same after ten years, as it was at first.  But now I know, and
+for many years I did not know--"
+
+The little man was intense.  His face was strained, his blue eyes
+so stretched that they showed the whites all round.  He gazed into
+Lilly's face.
+
+"But does it matter?" said Lilly slowly, "in which of you the desire
+initiates?  Isn't the result the same?"
+
+"It matters.  It matters--" cried the Marchese.
+
+"Oh, my dear fellow, how MUCH it matters--" interrupted Argyle sagely.
+
+"Ay!" said Aaron.
+
+The Marchese looked from one to the other of them.
+
+"It matters!" he cried.  "It matters life or death.  It used to be,
+that desire started in the man, and the woman answered.  It used to be
+so for a long time in Italy.  For this reason the women were kept away
+from the men.  For this reason our Catholic religion tried to keep the
+young girls in convents, and innocent, before marriage.  So that with
+their minds they should not know, and should not start this terrible
+thing, this woman's desire over a man, beforehand.  This desire which
+starts in a woman's head, when she knows, and which takes a man for
+her use, for her service.  This is Eve.  Ah, I hate Eve.  I hate her,
+when she knows, and when she WILLS.  I hate her when she will make of
+me that which serves her desire.--She may love me, she may be soft and
+kind to me, she may give her life for me.  But why?  Only because I am
+HERS.  I am that thing which does her most intimate service.  She can
+see no other in me.  And I may be no other to her--"
+
+"Then why not let it be so, and be satisfied?" said Lilly.
+
+"Because I cannot.  I cannot.  I would.  But I cannot.  The Borghesia--
+the citizens--the bourgeoisie, they are the ones who can.  Oh, yes.
+The bourgeoisie, the shopkeepers, these serve their wives so, and
+their wives love them.  They are the marital maquereaux--the husband-
+maquereau, you know.  Their wives are so stout and happy, and they
+dote on their husbands and always betray them.  So it is with the
+bourgeoise.  She loves her husband so much, and is always seeking to
+betray him.  Or she is a Madame Bovary, seeking for a scandal.  But the
+bourgeois husband, he goes on being the same.  He is the horse, and she
+the driver.  And when she says gee-up, you know--then he comes ready,
+like a hired maquereau.  Only he feels so good, like a good little boy
+at her breast.  And then there are the nice little children.  And so
+they keep the world going.--But for me--" he spat suddenly and with
+frenzy on the floor.
+
+"You are quite right, my boy," said Argyle.  "You are quite right.
+They've got the start of us, the women: and we've got to canter when
+they say gee-up.  I--oh, I went through it all.  But I broke the
+shafts and smashed the matrimonial cart, I can tell you, and I didn't
+care whether I smashed her up along with it or not.  I didn't care
+one single bit, I assure you.--And here I am.  And she is dead and
+buried these dozen years.  Well--well!  Life, you know, life.  And
+women oh, they are the very hottest hell once they get the start of
+you.  There's NOTHING they won't do to you, once they've got you.
+Nothing they won't do to you.  Especially if they love you.  Then
+you may as well give up the ghost: or smash the cart behind you, and
+her in it.  Otherwise she will just harry you into submission, and
+make a dog of you, and cuckold you under your nose.  And you'll
+submit.  Oh, you'll submit, and go on calling her my darling.  Or
+else, if you won't submit, she'll do for you.  Your only chance is to
+smash the shafts, and the whole matrimonial cart.  Or she'll do for
+you.  For a woman has an uncanny, hellish strength--she's a she-bear
+and a wolf, is a woman when she's got the start of you.  Oh, it's a
+terrible experience, if you're not a bourgeois, and not one of the
+knuckling-under money-making sort."
+
+"Knuckling-under sort.  Yes.  That is it," said the Marchese.
+
+"But can't there be a balancing of wills?" said Lilly.
+
+"My dear boy, the balance lies in that, that when one goes up, the
+other goes down.  One acts, the other takes.  It is the only way in
+love--And the women are nowadays the active party.  Oh, yes, not a
+shadow of doubt about it.  They take the initiative, and the man plays
+up.  That's how it is.  The man just plays up.--Nice manly proceeding,
+what!" cried Argyle.
+
+"But why can't man accept it as the natural order of things?" said
+Lilly.  "Science makes it the natural order."
+
+"All my --- to science," said Argyle.  "No man with one drop of real
+spunk in him can stand it long."
+
+"Yes! Yes! Yes!" cried the Italian.  "Most men want it so.  Most men
+want only, that a woman shall want them, and they shall then play up
+to her when she has roused them.  Most men want only this: that a woman
+shall choose one man out, to be her man, and he shall worship her and
+come up when she shall provoke him.  Otherwise he is to keep still.
+And the woman, she is quite sure of her part.  She must be loved and
+adored, and above all, obeyed, particularly in her sex desire.  There
+she must not be thwarted, or she becomes a devil.  And if she is
+obeyed, she becomes a misunderstood woman with nerves, looking round
+for the next man whom she can bring under.  So it is."
+
+"Well," said Lilly.  "And then what?"
+
+"Nay," interrupted Aaron.  "But do you think it's true what he says?
+Have you found it like that?  You're married.  Has your experience
+been different, or the same?"
+
+"What was yours?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Mine was the same.  Mine was the same, if ever it was," said Aaron.
+
+"And mine was EXTREMELY similar," said Argyle with a grimace.
+
+"And yours, Lilly?" asked the Marchese anxiously.
+
+"Not very different," said Lilly.
+
+"Ah!" cried Del Torre, jerking up erect as if he had found something.
+
+"And what's your way out?" Aaron asked him.
+
+"I'm not out--so I won't holloa," said Lilly.  "But Del Torre puts it
+best.--What do you say is the way out, Del Torre?"
+
+"The way out is that it should change: that the man should be the
+asker and the woman the answerer.  It must change."
+
+"But it doesn't.  Prrr!"  Argyle made his trumpeting noise.
+
+"Does it?" asked Lilly of the Marchese.
+
+"No.  I think it does not."
+
+"And will it ever again?"
+
+"Perhaps never."
+
+"And then what?"
+
+"Then?  Why then man seeks a _pis-aller_.  Then he seeks something
+which will give him answer, and which will not only draw him, draw
+him, with a terrible sexual will.--So he seeks young girls, who know
+nothing, and so cannot force him.  He thinks he will possess them
+while they are young, and they will be soft and responding to his
+wishes.--But in this, too, he is mistaken.  Because now a baby of one
+year, if it be a female, is like a woman of forty, so is its will made
+up, so it will force a man."
+
+"And so young girls are no good, even as a _pis-aller_."
+
+"No good--because they are all modern women.  Every one, a modern
+woman.  Not one who isn't."
+
+"Terrible thing, the modern woman," put in Argyle.
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"Then man seeks other forms of loves, always seeking the loving
+response, you know, of one gentler and tenderer than himself, who
+will wait till the man desires, and then will answer with full love.
+--But it is all _pis-aller_, you know."
+
+"Not by any means, my boy," cried Argyle.
+
+"And then a man naturally loves his own wife, too, even if it is not
+bearable to love her."
+
+"Or one leaves her, like Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+"And seeks another woman, so," said the Marchese.
+
+"Does he seek another woman?" said Lilly.  "Do you, Aaron?"
+
+"I don't WANT to," said Aaron.  "But--I can't stand by myself in the
+middle of the world and in the middle of people, and know I am quite
+by myself, and nowhere to go, and nothing to hold on to.  I can for
+a day or two--But then, it becomes unbearable as well.  You get
+frightened.  You feel you might go funny--as you would if you stood
+on this balcony wall with all the space beneath you."
+
+"Can't one be alone--quite alone?" said Lilly.
+
+"But no--it is absurd.  Like Saint Simeon Stylites on a pillar.  But
+it is absurd!" cried the Italian.
+
+"I don't mean like Simeon Stylites.  I mean can't one live with one's
+wife, and be fond of her: and with one's friends, and enjoy their
+company: and with the world and everything, pleasantly: and yet KNOW
+that one is alone?  Essentially, at the very core of me, alone.
+Eternally alone.  And choosing to be alone.  Not sentimental or LONELY.
+Alone, choosing to be alone, because by one's own nature one is alone.
+The being with another person is secondary," said Lilly.
+
+"One is alone," said Argyle, "in all but love.  In all but love, my
+dear fellow.  And then I agree with you."
+
+"No," said Lilly, "in love most intensely of all, alone."
+
+"Completely incomprehensible," said Argyle.  "Amounts to nothing."
+
+"One man is but a part.  How can he be so alone?" said the Marchese.
+
+"In so far as he is a single individual soul, he IS alone--ipso facto.
+In so far as I am I, and only I am I, and I am only I, in so far, I am
+inevitably and eternally alone, and it is my last blessedness to know
+it, and to accept it, and to live with this as the core of my self-
+knowledge."
+
+"My dear boy, you are becoming metaphysical, and that is as bad as
+softening of the brain," said Argyle.
+
+"All right," said Lilly.
+
+"And," said the Marchese, "it may be so by REASON.  But in the heart--?
+Can the heart ever beat quite alone?  Plop!  Plop!--Can the heart
+beat quite alone, alone in all the atmosphere, all the space of the
+universe?  Plop!  Plop!  Plop!--Quite alone in all the space?"  A
+slow smile came over the Italian's face.  "It is impossible.  It may
+eat against the heart of other men, in anger, all in pressure against
+the others.  It may beat hard, like iron, saying it is independent.
+But this is only beating against the heart of mankind, not alone.--
+But either with or against the heart of mankind, or the heart of
+someone, mother, wife, friend, children--so must the heart of every
+man beat.  It is so."
+
+"It beats alone in its own silence," said Lilly.
+
+The Italian shook his head.
+
+"We'd better be going inside, anyhow," said Argyle.  "Some of you will
+be taking cold."
+
+"Aaron," said Lilly.  "Is it true for you?"
+
+"Nearly," said Aaron, looking into the quiet, half-amused, yet
+frightening eyes of the other man.  "Or it has been."
+
+"A miss is as good as a mile," laughed Lilly, rising and picking up
+his chair to take it indoors.  And the laughter of his voice was so
+like a simple, deliberate amiability, that Aaron's heart really stood
+still for a second.  He knew that Lilly was alone--as far as he, Aaron,
+was concerned.  Lilly was alone--and out of his isolation came his
+words, indifferent as to whether they came or not.  And he left his
+friends utterly to their own choice.  Utterly to their own choice.
+Aaron felt that Lilly was _there_, existing in life, yet neither
+asking for connection nor preventing any connection.  He was present,
+he was the real centre of the group.  And yet he asked nothing of them,
+and he imposed nothing.  He left each to himself, and he himself remained
+just himself: neither more nor less.  And there was a finality about
+it, which was at once maddening and fascinating.  Aaron felt angry,
+as if he were half insulted by the other man's placing the gift of
+friendship or connection so quietly back in the giver's hands.  Lilly
+would receive no gift of friendship in equality.  Neither would he
+violently refuse it.  He let it lie unmarked.  And yet at the same
+time Aaron knew that he could depend on the other man for help, nay,
+almost for life itself--so long as it entailed no breaking of the
+intrinsic isolation of Lilly's soul.  But this condition was also
+hateful.  And there was also a great fascination in it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+THE MARCHESA
+
+
+So Aaron dined with the Marchesa and Manfredi.  He was quite startled
+when his hostess came in: she seemed like somebody else.  She seemed
+like a demon, her hair on her brows, her terrible modern elegance.
+She wore a wonderful gown of thin blue velvet, of a lovely colour,
+with some kind of gauzy gold-threaded filament down the sides.  It
+was terribly modern, short, and showed her legs and her shoulders and
+breast and all her beautiful white arms.  Round her throat was a collar
+of dark-blue sapphires.  Her hair was done low, almost to the brows,
+and heavy, like an Aubrey Beardsley drawing.  She was most carefully
+made up--yet with that touch of exaggeration, lips slightly too red,
+which was quite intentional, and which frightened Aaron.  He thought
+her wonderful, and sinister.  She affected him with a touch of horror.
+She sat down opposite him, and her beautifully shapen legs, in frail,
+goldish stockings, seemed to glisten metallic naked, thrust from out
+of the wonderful, wonderful skin, like periwinkle-blue velvet.  She
+had tapestry shoes, blue and gold: and almost one could see her toes:
+metallic naked.  The gold-threaded gauze slipped at her side.  Aaron
+could not help watching the naked-seeming arch of her foot.  It was
+as if she were dusted with dark gold-dust upon her marvellous nudity.
+
+She must have seen his face, seen that he was _ebloui_.
+
+"You brought the flute?" she said, in that toneless, melancholy,
+unstriving voice of hers.  Her voice alone was the same: direct
+and bare and quiet.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Perhaps I shall sing later on, if you'll accompany me.  Will you?"
+
+"I thought you hated accompaniments."
+
+"Oh, no--not just unison.  I don't mean accompaniment.  I mean unison.
+I don't know how it will be.  But will you try?"
+
+"Yes, I'll try."
+
+"Manfredi is just bringing the cocktails.  Do you think you'd prefer
+orange in yours?"
+
+"Ill have mine as you have yours."
+
+"I don't take orange in mine.  Won't you smoke?"
+
+The strange, naked, remote-seeming voice!  And then the beautiful firm
+limbs thrust out in that dress, and nakedly dusky as with gold-dust.
+Her beautiful woman's legs, slightly glistening, duskily.  His one
+abiding instinct was to touch them, to kiss them.  He had never known
+a woman to exercise such power over him.  It was a bare, occult force,
+something he could not cope with.
+
+Manfredi came in with the little tray.  He was still in uniform.
+
+"Hello!" cried the little Italian.  "Glad to see you--well, everything
+all right?  Glad to hear it.  How is the cocktail, Nan?"
+
+"Yes," she said.  "All right."
+
+"One drop too much peach, eh?"
+
+"No, all right."
+
+"Ah," and the little officer seated himself, stretching his gaitered
+legs as if gaily.  He had a curious smiling look on his face, that
+Aaron thought also diabolical--and almost handsome.  Suddenly the
+odd, laughing, satanic beauty of the little man was visible.
+
+"Well, and what have you been doing with yourself?" said he.  "What
+did you do yesterday?"
+
+"Yesterday?" said Aaron.  "I went to the Uffizi."
+
+"To the Uffizi?  Well!  And what did you think of it?"
+
+"Very fine."
+
+"I think it is.  I think it is.  What pictures did you look at?"
+
+"I was with Dekker.  We looked at most, I believe."
+
+"And what do you remember best?"
+
+"I remember Botticelli's Venus on the Shell."
+
+"Yes!  Yes!--" said Manfredi.  "I like her.  But I like others better.
+You thought her a pretty woman, yes?"
+
+"No--not particularly pretty.  But I like her body.  And I like the
+fresh air.  I like the fresh air, the summer sea-air all through it--
+through her as well."
+
+"And her face?" asked the Marchesa, with a slow, ironic smile.
+
+"Yes--she's a bit baby-faced," said Aaron.
+
+"Trying to be more innocent than her own common-sense will let her,"
+said the Marchesa.
+
+"I don't agree with you, Nan," said her husband.  "I think it is just
+that wistfulness and innocence which makes her the true Venus: the
+true modern Venus.  She chooses NOT to know too much.  And that is her
+attraction.  Don't you agree, Aaron?  Excuse me, but everybody speaks
+of you as Aaron.  It seems to come naturally.  Most people speak of me
+as Manfredi, too, because it is easier, perhaps, than Del Torre.  So
+if you find it easier, use it.  Do you mind that I call you Aaron?"
+
+"Not at all.  I hate Misters, always."
+
+"Yes, so do I.  I like one name only."
+
+The little officer seemed very winning and delightful to Aaron this
+evening--and Aaron began to like him extremely.  But the dominating
+consciousness in the room was the woman's.
+
+"DO you agree, Mr. Sisson?" said the Marchesa.  "Do you agree that the
+mock-innocence and the sham-wistfulness of Botticelli's Venus are her
+great charms?"
+
+"I don't think she is at all charming, as a person," said Aaron.  "As
+a particular woman, she makes no impression on me at all.  But as a
+picture--and the fresh air, particularly the fresh air.  She doesn't
+seem so much a woman, you know, as the kind of out-of-doors morning-
+feelings at the seaside."
+
+"Quite!  A sort of sea-scape of a woman.  With a perfectly sham
+innocence.  Are you as keen on innocence as Manfredi is?"
+
+"Innocence?" said Aaron.  "It's the sort of thing I don't have much
+feeling about."
+
+"Ah, I know you," laughed the soldier wickedly.  "You are the sort of
+man who wants to be Anthony to Cleopatra.  Ha-ha!"
+
+Aaron winced as if struck.  Then he too smiled, flattered.  Yet he felt
+he had been struck!  Did he want to be Anthony to Cleopatra?  Without
+knowing, he was watching the Marchesa.  And she was looking away, but
+knew he was watching her.  And at last she turned her eyes to his,
+with a slow, dark smile, full of pain and fuller still of knowledge.
+A strange, dark, silent look of knowledge she gave him: from so far
+away, it seemed.  And he felt all the bonds that held him melting away.
+His eyes remained fixed and gloomy, but with his mouth he smiled back
+at her.  And he was terrified.  He knew he was sulking towards her--
+sulking towards her.  And he was terrified.  But at the back of his
+mind, also, he knew there was Lilly, whom he might depend on.  And
+also he wanted to sink towards her.  The flesh and blood of him simply
+melted out, in desire towards her.  Cost what may, he must come to her.
+And yet he knew at the same time that, cost what may, he must keep the
+power to recover himself from her.  He must have his cake and eat it.
+
+And she became Cleopatra to him.  "Age cannot wither, nor custom
+stale--"  To his instinctive, unwilled fancy, she was Cleopatra.
+
+They went in to dinner, and he sat on her right hand.  It was a
+smallish table, with a very few daisy-flowers: everything rather
+frail, and sparse.  The food the same--nothing very heavy, all rather
+exquisite.  They drank hock.  And he was aware of her beautiful arms,
+and her bosom; her low-crowded, thick hair, parted in the centre: the
+sapphires on her throat, the heavy rings on her fingers: and the
+paint on her lips, the fard.  Something deep, deep at the bottom of
+him hovered upon her, cleaved to her.  Yet he was as if sightless,
+in a stupor.  Who was she, what was she?  He had lost all his grasp.
+Only he sat there, with his face turned to hers, or to her, all the
+time.  And she talked to him.  But she never looked at him.
+
+Indeed she said little.  It was the husband who talked.  His manner
+towards Aaron was almost caressive.  And Aaron liked it.  The woman
+was silent mostly, and seemed remote.  And Aaron felt his life ebb
+towards her.  He felt the marvellousness, the rich beauty of her arms
+and breast.  And the thought of her gold-dusted smooth limbs beneath
+the table made him feel almost an idiot.
+
+The second wine was a gold-coloured Moselle, very soft and rich and
+beautiful.  She drank this with pleasure, as one who understands.  And
+for dessert there was a dish of cacchi--that orange-coloured, pulpy
+Japanese fruit--persimmons.  Aaron had never eaten these before.  Soft,
+almost slimy, of a wonderful colour, and of a flavour that had sunk
+from harsh astringency down to that first decay-sweetness which is all
+autumn-rich.  The Marchese loved them, and scooped them out with his
+spoon.  But she ate none.
+
+Aaron did not know what they talked about, what was said.  If someone
+had taken his mind away altogether, and left him with nothing but a
+body and a spinal consciousness, it would have been the same.
+
+But at coffee the talk turned to Manfredi's duties.  He would not be
+free from the army for some time yet.  On the morrow, for example, he
+had to be out and away before it was day.  He said he hated it, and
+wanted to be a free man once more.  But it seemed to Aaron he would be
+a very bored man, once he was free.  And then they drifted on to talk
+of the palazzo in which was their apartment.
+
+"We've got such a fine terrace--you can see it from your house where
+you are," said Manfredi.  "Have you noticed it?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Near that tuft of palm-trees.  Don't you know?"
+
+"No," said Aaron.
+
+"Let us go out and show it him," said the Marchesa.
+
+Manfredi fetched her a cloak, and they went through various doors,
+then up some steps.  The terrace was broad and open.  It looked
+straight across the river at the opposite Lungarno: and there was the
+thin-necked tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the great dome of the
+cathedral in the distance, in shadow-bulk in the cold-aired night of
+stars.  Little trams were running brilliant over the flat new bridge
+on the right.  And from a garden just below rose a tuft of palm-trees.
+
+"You see," said the Marchesa, coming and standing close to Aaron, so
+that she just touched him, "you can know the terrace, just by these
+palm trees.  And you are in the Nardini just across there, are you?
+On the top floor, you said?"
+
+"Yes, the top floor--one of the middle windows, I think."
+
+"One that is always open now--and the others are shut.  I have noticed
+it, not connecting it with you."
+
+"Yes, my window is always open."
+
+She was leaning very slightly against him, as he stood.  And he knew,
+with the same kind of inevitability with which he knew he would one
+day die, that he would be the lover of this woman.  Nay, that he was
+her lover already.
+
+"Don't take cold," said Manfredi.
+
+She turned at once indoors.  Aaron caught a faint whiff of perfume
+from the little orange trees in tubs round the wall.
+
+"Will you get the flute?" she said as they entered.
+
+"And will you sing?" he answered.
+
+"Play first," she said.
+
+He did as she wished.  As the other night, he went into the big music-
+room to play.  And the stream of sound came out with the quick wild
+imperiousness of the pipe.  It had an immediate effect on her.  She
+seemed to relax the peculiar, drug-like tension which was upon her at
+all ordinary times.  She seemed to go still, and yielding.  Her red
+mouth looked as if it might moan with relief.  She sat with her chin
+dropped on her breast, listening.  And she did not move.  But she sat
+softly, breathing rather quick, like one who has been hurt, and is
+soothed.  A certain womanly naturalness seemed to soften her.
+
+And the music of the flute came quick, rather brilliant like a call-
+note, or like a long quick message, half command.  To her it was like
+a pure male voice--as a blackbird's when he calls: a pure male voice,
+not only calling, but telling her something, telling her something,
+and soothing her soul to sleep.  It was like the fire-music putting
+Brunnhilde to sleep.  But the pipe did not flicker and sink.  It
+seemed to cause a natural relaxation in her soul, a peace.  Perhaps
+it was more like waking to a sweet, morning awakening, after a night
+of tormented, painful tense sleep.  Perhaps more like that.
+
+When Aaron came in, she looked at him with a gentle, fresh smile that
+seemed to make the fard on her face look like a curious tiredness,
+which now she might recover from.  And as the last time, it was
+difficult for her to identify this man with the voice of the flute.
+It was rather difficult.  Except that, perhaps, between his brows was
+something of a doubt, and in his bearing an aloofness that made her
+dread he might go away and not come back.  She could see it in him,
+that he might go away and not come back.
+
+She said nothing to him, only just smiled.  And the look of knowledge
+in her eyes seemed, for the moment, to be contained in another look: a
+look of faith, and at last happiness.  Aaron's heart stood still.  No,
+in her moment's mood of faith and at last peace, life-trust, he was
+perhaps more terrified of her than in her previous sinister elegance.
+His spirit started and shrank.  What was she going to ask of him?
+
+"I am so anxious that you should come to play one Saturday morning,"
+said Manfredi.  "With an accompaniment, you know.  I should like so
+much to hear you with piano accompaniment."
+
+"Very well," said Aaron.
+
+"Will you really come?  And will you practise with me, so that I can
+accompany you?" said Manfredi eagerly.
+
+"Yes.  I will," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, good!  Oh, good!  Look here, come in on Friday morning and let us
+both look through the music."
+
+"If Mr. Sisson plays for the public," said the Marchesa, "he must not
+do it for charity.  He must have the proper fee."
+
+"No, I don't want it," said Aaron.
+
+"But you must earn money, mustn't you?" said she.
+
+"I must," said Aaron.  "But I can do it somewhere else."
+
+"No.  If you play for the public, you must have your earnings.  When
+you play for me, it is different."
+
+"Of course," said Manfredi.  "Every man must have his wage.  I have
+mine from the Italian government---"
+
+After a while, Aaron asked the Marchesa if she would sing.
+
+"Shall I?" she said.
+
+"Yes, do."
+
+"Then I will sing alone first, to let you see what you think of it--
+I shall be like Trilby--I won't say like Yvette Guilbert, because I
+daren't.  So I will be like Trilby, and sing a little French song.
+Though not Malbrouck, and without a Svengali to keep me in tune."
+
+She went near the door, and stood with heir hands by her side.  There
+was something wistful, almost pathetic now, in her elegance.
+
+
+                    "Derriere chez mon pere
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Derriere chez mon pere
+                     Il y a un pommier doux.
+                       _Tout doux, et iou
+                        Et iou, tout doux.
+                        Il y a unpommier doux_.
+
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                      _Vole vole mon coeur, vole_!
+                     Trois belles princesses
+                     Sont assis dessous.
+                      _Tout doux, et iou
+                       Et iou, tout doux.
+                       Sont asses dessous._"
+
+
+She had a beautiful, strong, sweet voice.  But it was faltering,
+stumbling and sometimes it seemed to drop almost to speech.  After
+three verses she faltered to an end, bitterly chagrined.
+
+"No," she said.  "It's no good.  I can't sing."  And she dropped in
+her chair.
+
+"A lovely little tune," said Aaron.  "Haven't you got the music?"
+
+She rose, not answering, and found him a little book.
+
+"What do the words mean?" he asked her.
+
+She told him.  And then he took his flute.
+
+"You don't mind if I play it, do you?" he said.
+
+So he played the tune.  It was so simple.  And he seemed to catch the
+lilt and the timbre of her voice.
+
+"Come and sing it while I play--" he said.
+
+"I can't sing," she said, shaking her head rather bitterly.
+
+"But let us try," said he, disappointed.
+
+"I know I can't," she said.  But she rose.
+
+He remained sitting at the little table, the book propped up under the
+reading lamp.  She stood at a little distance, unhappy.
+
+"I've always been like that," she said.  "I could never sing music,
+unless I had a thing drilled into me, and then it wasn't singing
+any more."
+
+But Aaron wasn't heeding.  His flute was at his mouth, he was watching
+her.  He sounded the note, but she did not begin.  She was twisting her
+handkerchief.  So he played the melody alone.  At the end of the verse,
+he looked up at her again, and a half mocking smile played in his eyes.
+Again he sounded the note, a challenge.  And this time, as at his
+bidding, she began to sing.  The flute instantly swung with a lovely
+soft firmness into the song, and she wavered only for a minute or two.
+Then her soul and her voice got free, and she sang--she sang as she
+wanted to sing, as she had always wanted to sing, without that awful
+scotch, that impediment inside her own soul, which prevented her.
+
+She sang free, with the flute gliding along with her.  And oh, how
+beautiful it was for her!  How beautiful it was to sing the little song
+in the sweetness of her own spirit.  How sweet it was to move pure and
+unhampered at last in the music!  The lovely ease and lilt of her own
+soul in its motion through the music!  She wasn't aware of the flute.
+She didn't know there was anything except her own pure lovely song-
+drift.  Her soul seemed to breathe as a butterfly breathes, as it rests
+on a leaf and slowly breathes its wings.  For the first time!  For the
+first time her soul drew its own deep breath.  All her life, the breath
+had caught half-way.  And now she breathed full, deep, to the deepest
+extent of her being.
+
+And oh, it was so wonderful, she was dazed.  The song ended, she stood
+with a dazed, happy face, like one just coming awake.  And the fard on
+her face seemed like the old night-crust, the bad sleep.  New and
+luminous she looked out.  And she looked at Aaron with a proud smile.
+
+"Bravo, Nan!  That was what you wanted," said her husband.
+
+"It was, wasn't it?" she said, turning a wondering, glowing face
+to him.
+
+His face looked strange and withered and gnome-like, at the moment.
+
+She went and sat in her chair, quite silent, as if in a trance.  The
+two men also sat quite still.  And in the silence a little drama played
+itself between the three, of which they knew definitely nothing.  But
+Manfredi knew that Aaron had done what he himself never could do, for
+this woman.  And yet the woman was his own woman, not Aaron's.  And so,
+he was displaced.  Aaron, sitting there, glowed with a sort of triumph.
+He had performed a little miracle, and felt himself a little wonder-
+worker, to whom reverence was due.  And as in a dream the woman sat,
+feeling what a joy it was to float and move like a swan in the high
+air, flying upon the wings of her own spirit.  She was as a swan which
+never before could get its wings quite open, and so which never could
+get up into the open, where alone it can sing.  For swans, and storks
+make their music only when they are high, high up in the air.  Then
+they can give sound to their strange spirits.  And so, she.
+
+Aaron and Manfredi kept their faces averted from one another and
+hardly spoke to one another.  It was as if two invisible hands pushed
+their faces apart, away, averted.  And Aaron's face glimmered with a
+little triumph, and a little grimace of obstinacy.  And the Italian's
+face looked old, rather monkey-like, and of a deep, almost stone-bare
+bitterness.  The woman looked wondering from one man to the other--
+wondering.  The glimmer of the open flower, the wonder-look, still
+lasted.  And Aaron said in his heart, what a goodly woman, what a
+woman to taste and enjoy.  Ah, what a woman to enjoy!  And was it not
+his privilege?  Had he not gained it?
+
+His manhood, or rather his maleness, rose powerfully in him, in a sort
+of mastery.  He felt his own power, he felt suddenly his own virile
+title to strength and reward.  Suddenly, and newly flushed with his
+own male super-power, he was going to have his reward.  The woman was
+his reward.  So it was, in him.  And he cast it over in his mind.  He
+wanted her--ha, didn't he!  But the husband sat there, like a soap-
+stone Chinese monkey, greyish-green.  So, it would have to be another
+time.
+
+He rose, therefore, and took his leave.
+
+"But you'll let us do that again, won't you?" said she.
+
+"When you tell me, I'll come," said he.
+
+"Then I'll tell you soon," said she.
+
+So he left, and went home to his own place, and there to his own
+remote room.  As he laid his flute on the table he looked at it
+and smiled.  He remembered that Lilly had called it Aaron's Rod.
+
+"So you blossom, do you?--and thorn as well," said he.
+
+For such a long time he had been gripped inside himself, and withheld.
+For such a long time it had been hard and unyielding, so hard and
+unyielding.  He had wanted nothing, his desire had kept itself back,
+fast back.  For such a long time his desire for woman had withheld
+itself, hard and resistant.  All his deep, desirous blood had been
+locked, he had wanted nobody, and nothing.  And it had been hard to
+live, so.  Without desire, without any movement of passionate love,
+only gripped back in recoil!  That was an experience to endure.
+
+And now came his desire back.  But strong, fierce as iron.  Like the
+strength of an eagle with the lightning in its talons.  Something to
+glory in, something overweening, the powerful male passion, arrogant,
+royal, Jove's thunderbolt.  Aaron's black rod of power, blossoming
+again with red Florentine lilies and fierce thorns.  He moved about
+in the splendour of his own male lightning, invested in the thunder
+of the male passion-power.  He had got it back, the male godliness,
+the male godhead.
+
+So he slept, and dreamed violent dreams of strange, black strife,
+something like the street-riot in Milan, but more terrible.  In the
+morning, however, he cared nothing about his dreams.  As soon as it was
+really light, he rose, and opened his window wide.  It was a grey, slow
+morning.  But he saw neither the morning nor the river nor the woman
+walking on the gravel river-bed with her goose nor the green hill up
+to San Miniato.  He watched the tuft of palm-trees, and the terrace
+beside it.  He could just distinguish the terrace clearly, among the
+green of foliage.  So he stood at his window for a full hour, and did
+not move.  Motionless, planted, he stood and watched that terrace
+across above the Arno.  But like a statue.
+
+After an hour or so, he looked at his watch.  It was nine o'clock.  So
+he rang for his coffee, and meanwhile still stood watching the terrace
+on the hill.  He felt his turn had come.  The phoenix had risen in fire
+again, out of the ashes.
+
+Therefore at ten o'clock he went over the bridge.  He wrote on the back
+of his card a request, would she please let him have the little book
+of songs, that he might practise them over.  The manservant went, and
+came back with the request that Aaron should wait.  So Aaron entered,
+while the man took his hat.
+
+The manservant spoke only French and Spanish, no English.  He was a
+Spaniard, with greyish hair and stooping shoulders, and dark, mute-
+seeming eyes.  He spoke as little as possible.  The Marchesa had
+inherited him from her father.
+
+Aaron sat in the little sitting-room and waited.  After a rather long
+time the Marchesa came in--wearing a white, thin blouse and a blue
+skirt.  She was hardly made up at all.  She had an odd pleased, yet
+brooding look on her face as she gave Aaron her hand.  Something
+brooded between her brows.  And her voice was strange, with a strange,
+secret undertone, that he could not understand.  He looked up at her.
+And his face was bright, and his knees, as he sat, were like the knees
+of the gods.
+
+"You wanted the book of _chansons_?" she said.
+
+"I wanted to learn your tunes," he replied.
+
+"Yes.  Look--here it is!"  And she brought him the little yellow book.
+It was just a hand-book, with melody and words only, no accompaniment.
+So she stood offering him the book, but waiting as if for something
+else, and standing as if with another meaning.
+
+He opened the leaves at random.
+
+"But I ought to know which ones you sing," said he, rising and standing
+by her side with the open book.
+
+"Yes," she said, looking over his arm.  He turned the pages one by
+one.  "_Trois jeunes tambours_," said she.  "Yes, that. . . . Yes,
+_En passant par la Lorraine_. . . . _Aupres de ma blonde_. . . . Oh,
+I like that one so much--"  He stood and went over the tune in his
+mind.
+
+"Would you like me to play it?" he said.
+
+"Very much," said she.
+
+So he got his flute, propped up the book against a vase, and played
+the tune, whilst she hummed it fragmentarily.  But as he played, he
+felt that he did not cast the spell over her.  There was no connection.
+She was in some mysterious way withstanding him.  She was withstanding
+him, and his male super-power, and his thunderbolt desire.  She was,
+in some indescribable way, throwing cold water over his phoenix newly
+risen from the ashes of its nest in flames.
+
+He realised that she did not want him to play.  She did not want him
+to look at the songs.  So he put the book away, and turned round,
+rather baffled, not quite sure what was happening, yet feeling she was
+withstanding him.  He glanced at her face: it was inscrutable: it was
+her Cleopatra face once more, yet with something new and warm in it.
+He could not understand it.  What was it in her face that puzzled him?
+Almost angered him?  But she could not rob him of his male power, she
+could not divest him of his concentrated force.
+
+"Won't you take off your coat?" she said, looking at him with strange,
+large dark eyes.  A strange woman, he could not understand her.  Yet,
+as he sat down again, having removed his overcoat, he felt her looking
+at his limbs, his physical body.  And this went against him, he did
+not want it.  Yet quite fixed in him too was the desire for her, her
+beautiful white arms, her whole soft white body.  And such desire he
+would not contradict nor allow to be contradicted.  It was his will
+also.  Her whole soft white body--to possess it in its entirety, its
+fulness.
+
+"What have you to do this morning?" she asked him.
+
+"Nothing," he said.  "Have you?"  He lifted his head and looked at her.
+
+"Nothing at all," said she.
+
+And then they sat in silence, he with his head dropped.  Then again he
+looked at her.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" he said.
+
+She sat with her face averted, and did not answer.  His heart struck
+heavily, but he did not relax.
+
+"Shall we be lovers?" came his voice once more, with the faintest
+touch of irony.
+
+Her face gradually grew dusky.  And he wondered very much to see it.
+
+"Yes," said she, still not looking at him.  "If you wish."
+
+"I do wish," he said.  And all the time he sat with his eyes fixed on
+her face, and she sat with her face averted.
+
+"Now?" he said.  "And where?"
+
+Again she was silent for some moments, as if struggling with herself.
+Then she looked at him--a long, strange, dark look, incomprehensible,
+and which he did not like.
+
+"You don't want emotions?  You don't want me to say things, do you?"
+he said.
+
+A faint ironic smile came on her face.
+
+"I know what all that is worth," she said, with curious calm
+equanimity.  "No, I want none of that."
+
+"Then--?"
+
+But now she sat gazing on him with wide, heavy, incomprehensible eyes.
+It annoyed him.
+
+"What do you want to see in me?" he asked, with a smile, looking
+steadily back again.
+
+And now she turned aside her face once more, and once more the dusky
+colour came in her cheek.  He waited.
+
+"Shall I go away?" he said at length.
+
+"Would you rather?" she said, keeping her face averted.
+
+"No," he said.
+
+Then again she was silent.
+
+"Where shall I come to you?" he said.
+
+She paused a moment still, then answered:
+
+"I'll go to my room."
+
+"I don't know which it is," he said.
+
+"I'll show it you," she said.
+
+"And then I shall come to you in ten minutes.  In ten minutes," he
+reiterated.
+
+So she rose, and led the way out of the little salon.  He walked
+with her to the door of her room, bowed his head as she looked at
+him, holding the door handle; and then he turned and went back to
+the drawing-room, glancing at his watch.
+
+In the drawing-room he stood quite still, with his feet apart, and
+waited.  He stood with his hands behind him, and his feet apart, quite
+motionless, planted and firm.  So the minutes went by unheeded.  He
+looked at his watch.  The ten minutes were just up.  He had heard
+footsteps and doors.  So he decided to give her another five minutes.
+He wished to be quite sure that she had had her own time for her own
+movements.
+
+Then at the end of the five minutes he went straight to her room,
+entered, and locked the door behind him.  She was lying in bed, with
+her back to him.
+
+He found her strange, not as he had imagined her.  Not powerful, as
+he had imagined her.  Strange, in his arms she seemed almost small
+and childish, whilst in daily life she looked a full, womanly woman.
+Strange, the naked way she clung to him!  Almost like a sister, a
+younger sister!  Or like a child!  It filled him with a curious wonder,
+almost a bewilderment.  In the dark sightlessness of passion, she
+seemed almost like a clinging child in his arms.  And yet like a child
+who in some deep and essential way mocked him.  In some strange and
+incomprehensible way, as a girl-child blindly obstinate in her deepest
+nature, she was against him.  He felt she was not his woman.  Through
+him went the feeling, "This is not my woman."
+
+When, after a long sleep, he awoke and came fully to himself, with
+that click of awakeness which is the end, the first shades were
+closing on the afternoon.  He got up and reached for his watch.
+
+"Quarter past four," he said.
+
+Her eyes stretched wide with surprise as she looked at him.  But she
+said nothing.  The same strange and wide, perhaps insatiable child-
+like curiosity was in her eyes as she watched him.  He dressed very
+quickly.  And her eyes were wide, and she said no single word.
+
+But when he was dressed, and bent over her to say goodbye, she put
+her arms round him, that seemed such frail and childish arms now, yet
+withal so deadly in power.  Her soft arms round his neck, her tangle
+of hair over his face.  And yet, even as he kissed her, he felt her
+deadly.  He wanted to be gone.  He wanted to get out of her arms and
+her clinging and her tangle of hair and her curiosity and her strange
+and hateful power.
+
+"You'll come again.  We'll be like this again?" she whispered.
+
+And it was hard for him to realise that this was that other woman, who
+had sat so silently on the sofa, so darkly and reservedly, at the tea
+at Algy's.
+
+"Yes!  I will!  Goodbye now!"  And he kissed her, and walked straight
+out of the room.  Quickly he took his coat and his hat, quickly, and
+left the house.  In his nostrils was still the scent with which the
+bed linen was faintly scented--he did not know what it was.  But now
+he wiped his face and his mouth, to wipe it away.
+
+He had eaten nothing since coffee that morning, and was hungry, faint-
+feeling.  And his face, and his mind, felt withered.  Curiously he felt
+blasted as if blighted by some electricity.  And he knew, he knew quite
+well he was only in possession of a tithe of his natural faculties.
+And in his male spirit he felt himself hating her: hating her deeply,
+damnably.  But he said to himself: "No, I won't hate her.  I won't
+hate her."
+
+So he went on, over the Ponte Vecchio, where the jeweller's windows
+on the bridge were already blazing with light, on into the town.  He
+wanted to eat something, so he decided to go to a shop he knew, where
+one could stand and eat good tiny rolls split into truffle or salami
+sandwiches, and drink Marsala.  So one after the other he ate little
+truffle rolls, and drank a few glasses of Marsala.  And then he did
+not know what to do.  He did not want to eat any more, he had had what
+he wanted.  His hunger had been more nervous than sensual.
+
+So he went into the street.  It was just growing dark and the town was
+lighting up.  He felt curiously blazed, as if some flame or electric
+power had gone through him and withered his vital tissue.  Blazed, as
+if some kind of electric flame had run over him and withered him.  His
+brain felt withered, his mind had only one of its many-sighted eyes
+left open and unscorched.  So many of the eyes of his mind were
+scorched now and sightless.
+
+Yet a restlessness was in his nerves.  What should he do?  He
+remembered he had a letter in his pocket from Sir William Franks.
+Sir William had still teased him about his fate and his providence,
+in which he, Aaron, was supposed to trust.  "I shall be very glad to
+hear from you, and to know how your benevolent Providence--or was
+yours a Fate--has treated you since we saw you---"
+
+So, Aaron turned away, and walked to the post office.  There he took
+paper, and sat down at one of the tables in the writing room, and
+wrote his answer.  It was very strange, writing thus when most of his
+mind's eyes were scorched, and it seemed he could hardly see to hold
+the pen, to drive it straight across the paper.  Yet write he must.
+And most of his faculties being quenched or blasted for the moment,
+he wrote perhaps his greatest, or his innermost, truth.--"I don't
+want my Fate or my Providence to treat me well.  I don't want kindness
+or love.  I don't believe in harmony and people loving one another.  I
+believe in the fight and in nothing else.  I believe in the fight which
+is in everything.  And if it is a question of women, I believe in the
+fight of love, even if it blinds me.  And if it is a question of the
+world, I believe in fighting it and in having it hate me, even if it
+breaks my legs.  I want the world to hate me, because I can't bear the
+thought that it might love me.  For of all things love is the most
+deadly to me, and especially from such a repulsive world as I think
+this is. . . ."
+
+Well, here was a letter for a poor old man to receive.  But, in the
+dryness of his withered mind, Aaron got it out of himself.  When a
+man writes a letter to himself, it is a pity to post it to somebody
+else.  Perhaps the same is true of a book.
+
+His letter written, however, he stamped it and sealed it and put it in
+the box.  That made it final.  Then he turned towards home.  One fact
+remained unbroken in the debris of his consciousness: that in the town
+was Lilly: and that when he needed, he could go to Lilly: also, that
+in the world was Lottie, his wife: and that against Lottie, his heart
+burned with a deep, deep, almost unreachable bitterness.--Like a deep
+burn on his deepest soul, Lottie.  And like a fate which he resented,
+yet which steadied him, Lilly.
+
+He went home and lay on his bed.  He had enough self-command to hear
+the gong and go down to dinner.  White and abstract-looking, he sat
+and ate his dinner.  And then, thank God, he could go to bed, alone,
+in his own cold bed, alone, thank God.  To be alone in the night!
+For this he was unspeakably thankful.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+CLEOPATRA, BUT NOT ANTHONY
+
+
+Aaron awoke in the morning feeling better, but still only a part
+himself.  The night alone had restored him.  And the need to be alone
+still was his greatest need.  He felt an intense resentment against
+the Marchesa.  He felt that somehow, she had given him a scorpion.
+And his instinct was to hate her.  And yet he avoided hating her.  He
+remembered Lilly--and the saying that one must possess oneself, and be
+alone in possession of oneself.  And somehow, under the influence of
+Lilly, he refused to follow the reflex of his own passion.  He refused
+to hate the Marchesa.  He _did_ like her.  He did _esteem_ her.  And
+after all, she too was struggling with her fate.  He had a genuine
+sympathy with her.  Nay, he was not going to hate her.
+
+But he could not see her.  He could not bear the thought that she
+might call and see him.  So he took the tram to Settignano, and
+walked away all day into the country, having bread and sausage in
+his pocket.  He sat for long hours among the cypress trees of Tuscany.
+And never had any trees seemed so like ghosts, like soft, strange,
+pregnant presences.  He lay and watched tall cypresses breathing and
+communicating, faintly moving and as it were walking in the small
+wind.  And his soul seemed to leave him and to go far away, far back,
+perhaps, to where life was all different and time passed otherwise
+than time passes now.  As in clairvoyance he perceived it: that our
+life is only a fragment of the shell of life.  That there has been
+and will be life, human life such as we do not begin to conceive.
+Much that is life has passed away from men, leaving us all mere bits.
+In the dark, mindful silence and inflection of the cypress trees,
+lost races, lost language, lost human ways of feeling and of knowing.
+Men have known as we can no more know, have felt as we can no more
+feel.  Great life-realities gone into the darkness.  But the cypresses
+commemorate.  In the afternoon, Aaron felt the cypresses rising dark
+about him, like so many high visitants from an old, lost, lost subtle
+world, where men had the wonder of demons about them, the aura of
+demons, such as still clings to the cypresses, in Tuscany.
+
+All day, he did not make up his mind what he was going to do.  His
+first impulse was never to see her again.  And this was his intention
+all day.  But as he went home in the tram he softened, and thought.
+Nay, that would not be fair.  For how had she treated him, otherwise
+than generously.
+
+She had been generous, and the other thing, that he felt blasted
+afterwards, which was his experience, that was fate, and not her
+fault.  So he must see her again.  He must not act like a churl.
+But he would tell her--he would tell her that he was a married man,
+and that though he had left his wife, and though he had no dogma of
+fidelity, still, the years of marriage had made a married man of him,
+and any other woman than his wife was a strange woman to him, a
+violation.  "I will tell her," he said to himself, "that at the bottom
+of my heart I love Lottie still, and that I can't help it.  I believe
+that is true.  It isn't love, perhaps.  But it is marriage.  I am
+married to Lottie.  And that means I can't be married to another woman.
+It isn't my nature.  And perhaps I can't bear to live with Lottie now,
+because I am married and not in love.  When a man is married, he is
+not in love.  A husband is not a lover.  Lilly told me that: and I
+know it's true now.  Lilly told me that a husband cannot be a lover,
+and a lover cannot be a husband.  And that women will only have lovers
+now, and never a husband.  Well, I am a husband, if I am anything.
+And I shall never be a lover again, not while I live.  No, not to
+anybody.  I haven't it in me.  I'm a husband, and so it is finished
+with me as a lover.  I can't be a lover any more, just as I can't be
+aged twenty any more.  I am a man now, not an adolescent.  And to my
+sorrow I am a husband to a woman who wants a lover: always a lover.
+But all women want lovers.  And I can't be it any more.  I don't
+want to.  I have finished that.  Finished for ever: unless I become
+senile---"
+
+Therefore next day he gathered up his courage.  He would not have had
+courage unless he had known that he was not alone.  The other man was
+in the town, and from this fact he derived his strength: the fact that
+Lilly was there.  So at teatime he went over the river, and rang at
+her door.  Yes, she was at home, and she had other visitors.  She was
+wearing a beautiful soft afternoon dress, again of a blue like chicory-
+flowers, a pale, warm blue.  And she had cornflowers in her belt:
+heaven knows where she had got them.
+
+She greeted Aaron with some of the childish shyness.  He could tell
+that she was glad he had come, and that she had wondered at his not
+coming sooner.  She introduced him to her visitors: two young ladies
+and one old lady and one elderly Italian count.  The conversation was
+mostly in French or Italian, so Aaron was rather out of it.
+
+However, the visitors left fairly early, so Aaron stayed them out.
+When they had gone, he asked:
+
+"Where is Manfredi?"
+
+"He will come in soon.  At about seven o'clock."
+
+Then there was a silence again.
+
+"You are dressed fine today," he said to her.
+
+"Am I?" she smiled.
+
+He was never able to make out quite what she felt, what she was
+feeling.  But she had a quiet little air of proprietorship in him,
+which he did not like.
+
+"You will stay to dinner tonight, won't you?" she said.
+
+"No--not tonight," he said.  And then, awkwardly, he added: "You know.
+I think it is better if we are friends--not lovers.  You know--I don't
+feel free.  I feel my wife, I suppose, somewhere inside me.  And I
+can't help it---"
+
+She bent her head and was silent for some moments.  Then she lifted her
+face and looked at him oddly.
+
+"Yes," she said.  "I am sure you love your wife."
+
+The reply rather staggered him--and to tell the truth, annoyed him.
+
+"Well," he said.  "I don't know about love.  But when one has been
+married for ten years--and I did love her--then--some sort of bond
+or something grows.  I think some sort of connection grows between
+us, you know.  And it isn't natural, quite, to break it.--Do you
+know what I mean?"
+
+She paused a moment.  Then, very softly, almost gently, she said:
+
+"Yes, I do.  I know so well what you mean."
+
+He was really surprised at her soft acquiescence.  What _did_ she mean?
+
+"But we can be friends, can't we?" he said.
+
+"Yes, I hope so.  Why, yes!  Goodness, yes!  I should be sorry if we
+couldn't be friends."
+
+After which speech he felt that everything was all right--everything
+was A-one.  And when Manfredi came home, the first sound he heard was
+the flute and his wife's singing.
+
+"I'm so glad you've come," his wife said to him.  "Shall we go into
+the sala and have real music?  Will you play?"
+
+"I should love to," replied the husband.
+
+Behold them then in the big drawing-room, and Aaron and the Marchese
+practising together, and the Marchesa singing an Italian folk-song
+while her husband accompanied her on the pianoforte.   But her singing
+was rather strained and forced.  Still, they were quite a little
+family, and it seemed quite nice.  As soon as she could, the Marchesa
+left the two men together, whilst she sat apart.  Aaron and Manfredi
+went through old Italian and old German music, tried one thing and
+then another, and seemed quite like brothers.  They arranged a piece
+which they should play together on a Saturday morning, eight days
+hence.
+
+The next day, Saturday, Aaron went to one of the Del Torre music
+mornings.  There was a string quartette--and a violin soloist--and the
+Marchese at the piano.  The audience, some dozen or fourteen friends,
+sat at the near end of the room, or in the smaller salotta, whilst the
+musicians performed at the further end of the room.  The Lillys were
+there, both Tanny and her husband.  But apart from these, Aaron knew
+nobody, and felt uncomfortable.  The Marchesa gave her guests little
+sandwiches and glasses of wine or Marsala or vermouth, as they chose.
+And she was quite the hostess: the well-bred and very simple, but still
+the conventional hostess.  Aaron did not like it.  And he could see
+that Lilly too was unhappy.  In fact, the little man bolted the moment
+he could, dragging after him the indignant Tanny, who was so looking
+forward to the excellent little sandwiches.  But no--Lilly just rudely
+bolted.  Aaron followed as soon as he could.
+
+"Will you come to dinner tomorrow evening?" said his hostess to him as
+he was leaving.  And he agreed.  He had really resented seeing her as
+a conventional hostess, attending so charmingly to all the other people,
+and treating him so merely as one of the guests, among many others.  So
+that when at the last moment she quietly invited him to dinner next
+day, he was flattered and accepted at once.
+
+The next day was Sunday--the seventh day after his coming together
+with the Marchesa--which had taken place on the Monday.  And already
+he was feeling much less dramatic in his decision to keep himself
+apart from her, to be merely friends.  Already the memory of the
+last time was fanning up in him, not as a warning but as a terrible
+incitement.  Again the naked desire was getting hold of him, with
+that peculiar brutal powerfulness which startled him and also pleased
+him.
+
+So that by the time Sunday morning came, his recoil had exhausted
+itself, and he was ready again, eager again, but more wary this time.
+He sat in his room alone in the morning, playing his flute, playing
+over from memory the tunes she loved, and imagining how he and she
+would get into unison in the evening.  His flute, his Aaron's rod,
+would blossom once again with splendid scarlet flowers, the red
+Florentine lilies.  It was curious, the passion he had for her: just
+unalloyed desire, and nothing else.  Something he had not known in his
+life before.  Previously there had been always _some_ personal quality,
+some sort of personal tenderness.  But here, none.  She did not seem
+to want it.  She seemed to hate it, indeed.  No, all he felt was stark,
+naked desire, without a single pretension.  True enough, his last
+experience had been a warning to him.  His desire and himself likewise
+had broken rather disastrously under the proving.  But not finally
+broken.  He was ready again.  And with all the sheer powerful insolence 
+of desire he looked forward to the evening.  For he almost expected
+Manfredi would not be there.  The officer had said something about having
+to go to Padua on the Saturday afternoon.
+
+So Aaron went skipping off to his appointment, at seven o'clock.  Judge
+of his chagrin, then, when he found already seated in the salotta an
+elderly, quite well-known, very cultured and very well-connected
+English authoress.  She was charming, in her white hair and dress
+of soft white wool and white lace, with a long chain of filigree gold
+beads, like bubbles.  She was charming in her old-fashioned manner
+too, as if the world were still safe and stable, like a garden in
+which delightful culture, and choice ideas bloomed safe from wind and
+weather.  Alas, never was Aaron more conscious of the crude collapse
+in the world than when he listened to this animated, young-seeming
+lady from the safe days of the seventies.  All the old culture and
+choice ideas seemed like blowing bubbles.  And dear old Corinna Wade,
+she seemed to be blowing bubbles still, as she sat there so charming
+in her soft white dress, and talked with her bright animation about
+the influence of woman in Parliament and the influence of woman in
+the Periclean day.  Aaron listened spell-bound, watching the bubbles
+float round his head, and almost hearing them go pop.
+
+To complete the party arrived an elderly litterateur who was more proud
+of his not-very-important social standing than of his literature.  In
+fact he was one of those English snobs of the old order, living abroad.
+Perfectly well dressed for the evening, his grey hair and his prim face
+was the most well-dressed thing to be met in North Italy.
+
+"Oh, so glad to see you, Mr. French.  I didn't know you were in
+Florence again.  You make that journey from Venice so often.  I
+wonder you don't get tired of it," cried Corinna Wade.
+
+"No," he said.  "So long as duty to England calls me to Florence, I
+shall come to Florence.  But I can LIVE in no town but Venice."
+
+"No, I suppose you can't.  Well, there is something special about
+Venice: having no streets and no carriages, and moving about in a
+gondola.  I suppose it is all much more soothing."
+
+"Much less nerve-racking, yes.  And then there is a quality in the
+whole life.  Of course I see few English people in Venice--only the
+old Venetian families, as a rule."
+
+"Ah, yes.  That must be very interesting.  They are very exclusive
+still, the Venetian _noblesse_?" said Miss Wade.
+
+"Oh, very exclusive," said Mr. French.  "That is one of the charms.
+Venice is really altogether exclusive.  It excludes the world, really,
+and defies time and modern movement.  Yes, in spite of the steamers on
+the canal, and the tourists."
+
+"That is so.  That is so.  Venice is a strange back-water.  And the
+old families are very proud still, in these democratic days.  They
+have a great opinion of themselves, I am told."
+
+"Well," said Mr. French.  "Perhaps you know the rhyme:
+
+                     "'Veneziano gran' Signore
+                     Padovano buon' dotore.
+                     Vicenzese mangia il gatto
+                     Veronese tutto matto---'"
+
+"How very amusing!" said Miss Wade.  "_Veneziana_ gran' Signore.  The
+Venetian is a great gentleman!  Yes, I know they are all convinced of
+it.  Really, how very amusing, in these advanced days.  To be born a
+Venetian, is to be born a great gentleman!  But this outdoes divine
+right of king."
+
+"To be born a Venetian GENTLEMAN, is to be born a great gentleman,"
+said Mr. French, rather fussily.
+
+"You seriously think so?" said Miss Wade.  "Well now, what do you
+base your opinion on?"
+
+Mr. French gave various bases for his opinion.
+
+"Yes--interesting.  Very interesting.  Rather like the Byzantines--
+lingering on into far other ages.  Anna Comnena always charmed me very
+much.  HOW she despised the flower of the north--even Tancred!  And
+so the lingering Venetian families!  And you, in your palazzo on the
+Grand Canal: you are a northern barbarian civilised into the old
+Venetian Signoria.  But how very romantic a situation!"
+
+It was really amusing to see the old maid, how she skirmished and hit
+out gaily, like an old jaunty free lance: and to see the old bachelor,
+how prim he was, and nervy and fussy and precious, like an old maid.
+
+But need we say that Mr. Aaron felt very much out of it.  He sat and
+listened, with a sardonic small smile on his face and a sardonic gleam
+in his blue eyes, that looked so very blue on such an occasion.  He
+made the two elderly people uncomfortable with his silence: his
+democratic silence, Miss Wade might have said.
+
+However, Miss Wade lived out towards Galuzzo, so she rose early,
+to catch her tram.  And Mr. French gallantly and properly rose to
+accompany her, to see her safe on board.  Which left Aaron and the
+Marchesa alone.
+
+"What time is Manfredi coming back?" said he.
+
+"Tomorrow," replied she.
+
+There was a pause.
+
+"Why do you have those people?" he asked.
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Those two who were here this evening."
+
+"Miss Wade and Mr. French?--Oh, I like Miss Wade so very much.  She is
+so refreshing."
+
+"Those old people," said Aaron.  "They licked the sugar off the pill,
+and go on as if everything was toffee.  And we've got to swallow the
+pill.  It's easy to be refreshing---"
+
+"No, don't say anything against her.  I like her so much."
+
+"And him?"
+
+"Mr. French!--Well, he's perhaps a little like the princess who felt
+the pea through three feather-beds.  But he can be quite witty, and
+an excellent conversationalist, too.  Oh yes, I like him quite well."
+
+"Matter of taste," said Aaron.
+
+They had not much to say to one another.  The time passed, in the
+pauses.  He looked at his watch.
+
+"I shall have to go," he said.
+
+"Won't you stay?" she said, in a small, muted voice.
+
+"Stay all night?" he said.
+
+"Won't you?"
+
+"Yes," he said quietly.  Did he not feel the strength of his desire
+on him.
+
+After which she said no more.  Only she offered him whiskey and soda,
+which he accepted.
+
+"Go then," he said to her. "And I'll come to you.--Shall I come in
+fifteen minutes?"
+
+She looked at him with strange, slow dark eyes. And he could not
+understand.
+
+"Yes," she said.  And she went.
+
+And again, this night as before, she seemed strangely small and
+clinging in his arms.  And this night he felt his passion drawn from
+him as if a long, live nerve were drawn out from his body, a long
+live thread of electric fire, a long, living nerve finely extracted
+from him, from the very roots of his soul.  A long fine discharge of
+pure, bluish fire, from the core of his soul.  It was an excruciating,
+but also an intensely gratifying sensation.
+
+This night he slept with a deeper obliviousness than before.  But ah,
+as it grew towards morning how he wished he could be alone.
+
+They must stay together till the day was light.  And she seemed to love
+clinging to him and curling strangely on his breast.  He could never
+reconcile it with her who was a hostess entertaining her guests.  How
+could she now in a sort of little ecstasy curl herself and nestle
+herself on his, Aaron's breast, tangling his face all over with her
+hair.  He verily believed that this was what she really wanted of him:
+to curl herself on his naked breast, to make herself small, small, to
+feel his arms around her, while he himself was remote, silent, in some
+way inaccessible.  This seemed almost to make her beside herself with
+gratification.  But why, why?  Was it because he was one of her own
+race, and she, as it were, crept right home to him?
+
+He did not know.  He only knew it had nothing to do with him: and that,
+save out of _complaisance_, he did not want it.  It simply blasted his
+own central life.  It simply blighted him.
+
+And she clung to him closer.  Strange, she was afraid of him!  Afraid
+of him as of a fetish!  Fetish afraid, and fetish-fascinated!  Or was
+her fear only a delightful game of cat and mouse?  Or was the fear
+genuine, and the delight the greater: a sort of sacrilege?  The fear,
+and the dangerous, sacrilegious power over that which she feared.
+
+In some way, she was not afraid of him at all.  In some other way she
+used him as a mere magic implement, used him with the most amazing
+priestess-craft.  Himself, the individual man which he was, this she
+treated with an indifference that was startling to him.
+
+He forgot, perhaps, that this was how he had treated her.  His famous
+desire for her, what had it been but this same attempt to strike a
+magic fire out of her, for his own ecstasy.  They were playing the same
+game of fire.  In him, however, there was all the time something hard
+and reckless and defiant, which stood apart.  She was absolutely gone
+in her own incantations.  She was absolutely gone, like a priestess
+utterly involved in her terrible rites.  And he was part of the ritual
+only, God and victim in one.  God and victim!  All the time, God and
+victim.  When his aloof soul realised, amid the welter of incantation,
+how he was being used,--not as himself but as something quite different
+--God and victim--then he dilated with intense surprise, and his
+remote soul stood up tall and knew itself alone.  He didn't want it,
+not at all.  He knew he was apart.  And he looked back over the whole
+mystery of their love-contact.  Only his soul was apart.
+
+He was aware of the strength and beauty and godlikeness that his
+breast was then to her--the magic.  But himself, he stood far off,
+like Moses' sister Miriam.  She would drink the one drop of his
+innermost heart's blood, and he would be carrion.  As Cleopatra
+killed her lovers in the morning.  Surely they knew that death was
+their just climax.  They had approached the climax.  Accept then.
+
+But his soul stood apart, and could have nothing to do with it.  If he
+had really been tempted, he would have gone on, and she might have had
+his central heart's blood.  Yes, and thrown away the carrion.  He would
+have been willing.
+
+But fatally, he was not tempted.  His soul stood apart and decided.  At
+the bottom of his soul he disliked her.  Or if not her, then her whole
+motive.  Her whole life-mode.  He was neither God nor victim: neither
+greater nor less than himself.  His soul, in its isolation as she lay
+on his breast, chose it so, with the soul's inevitability.  So, there
+was no temptation.
+
+When it was sufficiently light, he kissed her and left her.  Quietly
+he left the silent flat.  He had some difficulty in unfastening the
+various locks and bars and catches of the massive door downstairs, and
+began, in irritation and anger, to feel he was a prisoner, that he was
+locked in.  But suddenly the ponderous door came loose, and he was out
+in the street.  The door shut heavily behind him, with a shudder.  He
+was out in the morning streets of Florence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE BROKEN ROD
+
+
+The day was rainy.  Aaron stayed indoors alone, and copied music and
+slept.  He felt the same stunned, withered feeling as before, but less
+intensely, less disastrously, this time.  He knew now, without argument
+or thought that he would never go again to the Marchesa: not as a
+lover.  He would go away from it all.  He did not dislike her.  But
+he would never see her again.  A great gulf had opened, leaving him
+alone on the far side.
+
+He did not go out till after dinner.  When he got downstairs he found
+the heavy night-door closed.  He wondered: then remembered the
+Signorina's fear of riots and disturbances.  As again he fumbled with
+the catches, he felt that the doors of Florence were trying to prevent
+his egress.  However, he got out.
+
+It was a very dark night, about nine o'clock, and deserted seeming.  He
+was struck by the strange, deserted feeling of the city's atmosphere.
+Yet he noticed before him, at the foot of the statue, three men, one
+with a torch: a long torch with naked flames.  The men were stooping
+over something dark, the man with the torch bending forward too.
+It was a dark, weird little group, like Mediaeval Florence.  Aaron
+lingered on his doorstep, watching.  He could not see what they were
+doing.  But now, the two were crouching down; over a long dark object
+on the ground, and the one with the torch bending also to look.  What
+was it?  They were just at the foot of the statue, a dark little group
+under the big pediment, the torch-flames weirdly flickering as the
+torch-bearer moved and stooped lower to the two crouching men, who
+seemed to be kneeling.
+
+Aaron felt his blood stir.  There was something dark and mysterious,
+stealthy, in the little scene.  It was obvious the men did not want to
+draw attention, they were so quiet and furtive-seeming.  And an eerie
+instinct prevented Aaron's going nearer to look.  Instead, he swerved
+on to the Lungarno, and went along the top of the square, avoiding the
+little group in the centre.  He walked the deserted dark-seeming street
+by the river, then turned inwards, into the city.  He was going to the
+Piazza Vittoria Emmanuele, to sit in the cafe which is the centre of
+Florence at night.  There he could sit for an hour, and drink his
+vermouth and watch the Florentines.
+
+As he went along one of the dark, rather narrow streets, he heard a
+hurrying of feet behind him.  Glancing round, he saw the torch-bearer
+coming along at a trot, holding his flaming torch up in front of him
+as he trotted down the middle of the narrow dark street.  Aaron shrank
+under the wall.  The trotting torch-bearer drew near, and now Aaron
+perceived the other two men slowly trotting behind, stealthily,
+bearing a stretcher on which a body was wrapped up, completely and
+darkly covered.  The torch-bearer passed, the men with the stretcher
+passed too, hastily and stealthily, the flickering flames revealing
+them.  They took no notice of Aaron, no notice of anything, but trotted
+softly on towards the centre of the city.  Their queer, quick footsteps
+echoed down the distance.  Then Aaron too resumed his way.
+
+He came to the large, brilliantly-lighted cafe.  It was Sunday evening,
+and the place was full.  Men, Florentines, many, many men sat in groups
+and in twos and threes at the little marble tables.  They were mostly
+in dark clothes or black overcoats.  They had mostly been drinking just
+a cup of coffee--others however had glasses of wine or liquor.  But
+mostly it was just a little coffee-tray with a tiny coffee pot and a
+cup and saucer.  There was a faint film of tobacco smoke.  And the men
+were all talking: talking, talking with that peculiar intensity of the
+Florentines.  Aaron felt the intense, compressed sound of many half-
+secret voices.  For the little groups and couples abated their voices,
+none wished that others should hear what they said.
+
+Aaron was looking for a seat--there was no table to him-�when suddenly
+someone took him by the arm.  It was Argyle.
+
+"Come along, now!  Come and join us.  Here, this way!  Come along!"
+
+Aaron let himself be led away towards a corner.  There sat Lilly and
+a strange man: called Levison.  The room was warm.  Aaron could never
+bear to be too hot.  After sitting a minute, he rose and took off his
+coat, and hung it on a stand near the window.  As he did so he felt the
+weight of his flute--it was still in his pocket.  And he wondered if it
+was safe to leave it.
+
+"I suppose no one will steal from the overcoat pockets," he said, as
+he sat down.
+
+"My dear chap, they'd steal the gold filling out of your teeth, if you
+happened to yawn," said Argyle.  "Why, have you left valuables in your
+overcoat?"
+
+"My flute," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, they won't steal that," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Lilly, "we should see anyone who touched it."
+
+And so they settled down to the vermouth.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "what have you been doing with yourself, eh?  I
+haven't seen a glimpse of you for a week.  Been going to the dogs, eh?"
+
+"Or the bitches," said Aaron.
+
+"Oh, but look here, that's bad!  That's bad!  I can see I shall have
+to take you in hand, and commence my work of reform.  Oh, I'm a great
+reformer, a Zwingli and Savonarola in one.  I couldn't count the number
+of people I've led into the right way.  It takes some finding, you
+know.  Strait is the gate--damned strait sometimes.  A damned tight
+squeeze. . . ."  Argyle was somewhat intoxicated.  He spoke with a
+slight slur, and laughed, really tickled at his own jokes.  The man
+Levison smiled acquiescent.  But Lilly was not listening.  His brow
+was heavy and he seemed abstracted.  He hardly noticed Aaron's arrival.
+
+"Did you see the row yesterday?" asked Levison.
+
+"No," said Aaron.  "What was it?"
+
+It was the socialists.  They were making a demonstration against the
+imprisonment of one of the railway-strikers.  I was there.  They went
+on all right, with a good bit of howling and gibing: a lot of young
+louts, you know.  And the shop-keepers shut up shop, and nobody showed
+the Italian flag, of course.  Well, when they came to the Via Benedetto
+Croce, there were a few mounted carabinieri.  So they stopped the
+procession, and the sergeant said that the crowd could continue, could
+go on where they liked, but would they not go down the Via Verrocchio,
+because it was being repaired, the roadway was all up, and there were
+piles of cobble stones.  These might prove a temptation and lead to
+trouble.  So would the demonstrators not take that road--they might
+take any other they liked.--Well, the very moment he had finished,
+there was a revolver shot, he made a noise, and fell forward over his
+horse's nose.  One of the anarchists had shot him.  Then there was
+hell let loose, the carabinieri fired back, and people were bolting
+and fighting like devils.  I cleared out, myself.  But my God--what
+do you think of it?"
+
+"Seems pretty mean," said Aaron.
+
+"Mean!--He had just spoken them fair--they could go where they liked,
+only would they not go down the one road, because of the heap of
+stones.  And they let him finish.  And then shot him dead."
+
+"Was he dead?" said Aaron.
+
+"Yes--killed outright, the Nazione says."
+
+There was a silence.  The drinkers in the cafe all continued to talk
+vehemently, casting uneasy glances.
+
+"Well," said Argyle, "if you let loose the dogs of war, you mustn't
+expect them to come to heel again in five minutes."
+
+"But there's no fair play about it, not a bit," said Levison.
+
+"Ah, my dear fellow, are you still so young and callow that you
+cherish the illusion of fair play?" said Argyle.
+
+"Yes, I am," said Levison.
+
+"Live longer and grow wiser," said Argyle, rather contemptuously.
+
+"Are you a socialist?" asked Levison.
+
+"Am I my aunt Tabitha's dachshund bitch called Bella," said Argyle,
+in his musical, indifferent voice.  "Yes, Bella's her name.  And if
+you can tell me a damneder name for a dog, I shall listen, I assure
+you, attentively."
+
+"But you haven't got an aunt called Tabitha," said Aaron.
+
+"Haven't I?  Oh, haven't I?  I've got TWO aunts called Tabitha: if
+not more."
+
+"They aren't of any vital importance to you, are they?" said Levison.
+
+"Not the very least in the world--if it hadn't been that my elder Aunt
+Tabitha had christened her dachshund bitch Bella.  I cut myself off
+from the family after that.  Oh, I turned over a new leaf, with not
+a family name on it.  Couldn't stand Bella amongst the rest."
+
+"You must have strained most of the gnats out of your drink, Argyle,"
+said Lilly, laughing.
+
+"Assiduously!  Assiduously!  I  can't stand these little vermin.
+Oh, I am quite indifferent about swallowing  a camel or two--or even
+a whole string of dromedaries.  How charmingly Eastern that sounds!
+But gnats!   Not for anything in the world would I swallow one."
+
+"You're a bit of a SOCIALIST though, aren't you?" persisted Levison,
+now turning to Lilly.
+
+"No," said Lilly.  "I was."
+
+"And am no more," said Argyle sarcastically.  "My dear fellow, the only
+hope of salvation for the world lies in the re-institution of slavery."
+
+"What kind of slavery?" asked Levison.
+
+"Slavery!  SLAVERY!  When I say SLAVERY I don't mean any of your damned
+modern reform cant.  I mean solid sound slavery on which the Greek and
+the Roman world rested.  FAR finer worlds than ours, my dear chap!  Oh
+FAR finer!  And can't be done without slavery.  Simply can't be done.--
+Oh, they'll all come to realise it, when they've had a bit more of this
+democratic washer-women business."
+
+Levison was laughing, with a slight sneer down his nose.  "Anyhow,
+there's no immediate danger--or hope, if you prefer it--of the re-
+instituting of classic slavery," he said.
+
+"Unfortunately no.  We are all such fools," said Argyle.
+
+"Besides," said Levison, "who would you make slaves of?"
+
+"Everybody, my dear chap: beginning with the idealists and the
+theorising Jews, and after them your nicely-bred gentlemen, and then
+perhaps, your profiteers and Rothschilds, and ALL politicians, and
+ending up with the proletariat," said Argyle.
+
+"Then who would be the masters?--the professional classes, doctors and
+lawyers and so on?"
+
+"What?  Masters.  They would be the sewerage slaves, as being those
+who had made most smells."  There was a moment's silence.
+
+"The only fault I have to find with your system," said Levison, rather
+acidly, "is that there would be only one master, and everybody else
+slaves."
+
+"Do you call that a fault?  What do you want with more than one master?
+Are you asking for several?--Well, perhaps there's cunning in THAT.--
+Cunning devils, cunning devils, these theorising slaves--"  And Argyle
+pushed his face with a devilish leer into Aaron's face.  "Cunning
+devils!" he reiterated, with a slight tipsy slur.  "That be-fouled
+Epictetus wasn't the last of 'em--nor the first.  Oh, not by any
+means, not by any means."
+
+Here Lilly could not avoid a slight spasm of amusement.  "But returning
+to serious conversation," said Levison, turning his rather sallow face
+to Lilly.  "I think you'll agree with me that socialism is the
+inevitable next step--"
+
+Lilly waited for some time without answering.  Then he said, with
+unwilling attention to the question: "I suppose it's the logically
+inevitable next step."
+
+"Use logic as lavatory paper," cried Argyle harshly. "Yes--logically
+inevitable--and humanly inevitable at the same time.  Some form of
+socialism is bound to come, no matter how you postpone it or try
+variations," said Levison.
+
+"All right, let it come," said Lilly.  "It's not my affair, neither
+to help it nor to keep it back, or even to try varying it."
+
+"There I don't follow you," said Levison.  "Suppose you were in
+Russia now--"
+
+"I watch it I'm not."
+
+"But you're in Italy, which isn't far off.  Supposing a socialist
+revolution takes place all around you.  Won't that force the problem
+on you?--It is every man's problem," persisted Levison.
+
+"Not mine," said Lilly.
+
+"How shall you escape it?" said Levison.
+
+"Because to me it is no problem.  To Bolsh or not to Bolsh, as far as
+my mind goes, presents no problem.  Not any more than to be or not to
+be.  To be or not to be is simply no problem--"
+
+"No, I quite agree, that since you are already existing, and since
+death is ultimately inevitable, to be or not to be is no sound
+problem," said Levison.  "But the parallel isn't true of socialism.
+That is not a problem of existence, but of a certain mode of existence
+which centuries of thought and action on the part of Europe have now
+made logically inevitable for Europe.  And therefore there is a
+problem.  There is more than a problem, there is a dilemma.  Either
+we must go to the logical conclusion--or--"
+
+"Somewhere else," said Lilly.
+
+"Yes--yes.  Precisely!  But where ELSE?  That's the one half of the
+problem: supposing you do not agree to a logical progression in human
+social activity.  Because after all, human society through the course
+of ages only enacts, spasmodically but still inevitably, the logical
+development of a given idea."
+
+"Well, then, I tell you.--The idea and the ideal has for me gone dead--
+dead as carrion--"
+
+"Which idea, which ideal precisely?"
+
+"The ideal of love, the ideal that it is better to give than to
+receive, the ideal of liberty, the ideal of the brotherhood of man,
+the ideal of the sanctity of human life, the ideal of what we call
+goodness, charity, benevolence, public spirited-ness, the ideal of
+sacrifice for a cause, the ideal of unity and unanimity--all the
+lot--all the whole beehive of ideals--has all got the modern bee-
+disease, and gone putrid, stinking.--And when the ideal is dead and
+putrid, the logical sequence is only stink.--Which, for me, is the
+truth concerning the ideal of good, peaceful, loving humanity and its
+logical sequence in socialism and equality, equal opportunity or
+whatever you like.--But this time he stinketh--and I'm sorry for any
+Christus who brings him to life again, to stink livingly for another
+thirty years: the beastly Lazarus of our idealism."
+
+"That may be true for you--"
+
+"But it's true for nobody else," said Lilly.  "All the worse for them.
+Let them die of the bee-disease."
+
+"Not only that," persisted Levison, "but what is your alternative?  Is
+it merely nihilism?"
+
+"My alternative," said Lilly, "is an alternative for no one but myself,
+so I'll keep my mouth shut about it."
+
+"That isn't fair."
+
+"I tell you, the ideal of fairness stinks with the rest.--I have no
+obligation to say what I think."
+
+"Yes, if you enter into conversation, you have--"
+
+"Bah, then I didn't enter into conversation.--The only thing is, I
+agree in the rough with Argyle.  You've got to have a sort of slavery
+again.  People are not MEN: they are insects and instruments, and
+their destiny is slavery.  They are too many for me, and so what I
+think is ineffectual.  But ultimately they will be brought to agree--
+after sufficient extermination--and then they will elect for themselves
+a proper and healthy and energetic slavery."
+
+"I should like to know what you mean by slavery.  Because to me it is
+impossible that slavery should be healthy and energetic.  You seem to
+have some other idea in your mind, and you merely use the word slavery
+out of exasperation--"
+
+"I mean it none the less.  I mean a real committal of the life-issue of
+inferior beings to the responsibility of a superior being."
+
+"It'll take a bit of knowing, who are the inferior and which is the
+superior," said Levison sarcastically.
+
+"Not a bit.  It is written between a man's brows, which he is."
+
+"I'm afraid we shall all read differently."
+
+"So long as we're liars."
+
+"And putting that question aside: I presume that you mean that this
+committal of the life-issue of inferior beings to someone higher shall
+be made voluntarily--a sort of voluntary self-gift of the inferiors--"
+
+"Yes--more or less--and a voluntary acceptance.  For it's no pretty
+gift, after all.--But once made it must be held fast by genuine power.
+Oh yes--no playing and fooling about with it.  Permanent and very
+efficacious power."
+
+"You mean military power?"
+
+"I do, of course."
+
+Here Levison smiled a long, slow, subtle smile of ridicule.  It all
+seemed to him the preposterous pretentiousness of a megalomaniac--one
+whom, after a while, humanity would probably have the satisfaction
+of putting into prison, or into a lunatic asylum.  And Levison felt
+strong, overwhelmingly strong, in the huge social power with which
+he, insignificant as he was, was armed against such criminal-imbecile
+pretensions as those above set forth.  Prison or the lunatic asylum.
+The face of the fellow gloated in these two inevitable engines of
+his disapproval.
+
+"It will take you some time before you'll get your doctrines accepted,"
+he said.
+
+"Accepted!  I'd be sorry.  I don't want a lot of swine snouting and
+sniffing at me with their acceptance.--Bah, Levison--one can easily
+make a fool of you.  Do you take this as my gospel?"
+
+"I take it you are speaking seriously."
+
+Here Lilly broke into that peculiar, gay, whimsical smile.
+
+"But I should say the blank opposite with just as much fervour," he
+declared.
+
+"Do you mean to say you don't MEAN what you've been saying?" said
+Levison, now really looking angry.
+
+"Why, I'll tell you the real truth," said Lilly.  "I think every
+man is a sacred and holy individual, NEVER to be violated; I think
+there is only one thing I hate to the verge of madness, and that is
+BULLYING.  To see any living creature BULLIED, in any way, almost
+makes a murderer of me.  That is true.  Do you believe it--?"
+
+"Yes," said Levison unwillingly.  That may be true as well.  You have
+no doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which--"
+
+C R A S H!
+
+There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in
+darkness.
+
+Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible
+sensations: the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the
+hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful
+gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.
+
+He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos.  Then as he began
+to recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar
+some distance from where he had been sitting: he saw a place where
+tables and chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris
+of glass and breakage: he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody
+gone: he saw the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place
+of debris: he saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and
+as if unconscious.  And still he had no idea of what had happened.  He
+thought perhaps something had broken down.  He could not understand.
+
+Lilly began to look round.  He caught Aaron's eye.  And then Aaron
+began to approach his friend.
+
+"What is it?" he asked.
+
+"A bomb," said Lilly.
+
+The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now
+advanced to the place of debris.  And now Aaron saw that a man was
+lying there--and horror, blood was running across the floor of the
+cafe.  Men began now hastily to return to the place.  Some seized
+their hats and departed again at once.  But many began to crowd in--
+a black eager crowd of men pressing to where the bomb had burst--
+where the man was lying.  It was rather dark, some of the lamps were
+broken--but enough still shone.  Men surged in with that eager, excited
+zest of people, when there has been an accident.  Grey carabinieri, and
+carabinieri in the cocked hat and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward
+officiously.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung.  But Aaron looked in
+vain for his own hat.  The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had
+hung it and his overcoat.
+
+"My hat and coat?" he said to Lilly.
+
+Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe.  Then he climbed on a chair and
+looked round.  Then he squeezed past the crowd.
+
+Aaron followed.  On the other side of the crowd excited angry men
+were wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble
+table-top.  Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the
+wall.  He waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward
+to where the coats were.  Someone had dragged out his, and it lay
+on the floor under many feet.  He managed, with a struggle, to get
+it from under the feet of the crowd.  He felt at once for his flute.
+But his trampled, torn coat had no flute in its pocket.  He pushed
+and struggled, caught sight of a section, and picked it up.  But it
+was split right down, two silver stops were torn out, and a long thin
+spelch of wood was curiously torn off.  He looked at it, and his heart
+stood still.  No need to look for the rest.
+
+He felt utterly, utterly overcome--as if he didn't care what became
+of him any further.  He didn't care whether he were hit by a bomb,
+or whether he himself threw the next bomb, and hit somebody.  He just
+didn't care any more about anything in life or death.  It was as if the
+reins of his life slipped from his hands.  And he would let everything
+run where it would, so long as it did run.
+
+Then he became aware of Lilly's eyes on him--and automatically he
+joined the little man.
+
+"Let us go," said Lilly.
+
+And they pushed their way through the door.  The police were just
+marching across the square.  Aaron and Lilly walked in the opposite
+direction.  Groups of people were watching.  Suddenly Lilly swerved
+-- in the middle of the road was a large black glisten of blood,
+trickling horribly.  A wounded man had run from the blow and fallen
+here.
+
+Aaron did not know where he was going.  But in the Via Tournabuoni
+Lilly turned towards the Arno, and soon they were on the Ponte Santa
+Trinita.
+
+"Who threw the bomb?" said Aaron.
+
+"I suppose an anarchist."
+
+"It's all the same," said Aaron.
+
+The two men, as if unable to walk any further, leaned on the broad
+parapet of the bridge and looked at the water in the darkness of the
+still, deserted night.  Aaron still had his flute section in his hand,
+his overcoat over his arm.
+
+"Is that your flute?" asked Lilly.
+
+"Bit of it.  Smashed."
+
+"Let me look."
+
+He looked, and gave it back.
+
+"No good," he said.
+
+"Oh, no," said Aaron.
+
+"Throw it in the river, Aaron," said Lilly.
+
+Aaron turned and looked at him.
+
+"Throw it in the river," repeated Lilly.  "It's an end."
+
+Aaron nervelessly dropped the flute into the stream.  The two men
+stood leaning on the bridge-parapet, as if unable to move.
+
+"We shall have to go home," said Lilly.  "Tanny may hear of it and be
+anxious."
+
+Aaron was quite dumbfounded by the night's event: the loss of his
+flute.  Here was a blow he had not expected.  And the loss was for
+him symbolistic.  It chimed with something in his soul: the bomb,
+the smashed flute, the end.
+
+"There goes Aaron's Rod, then," he said to Lilly.
+
+"It'll grow again.  It's a reed, a water-plant--you can't kill it,"
+said Lilly, unheeding.
+
+"And me?"
+
+"You'll have to live without a rod, meanwhile."
+
+To which pleasant remark Aaron made no reply.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+WORDS
+
+
+He went home to bed: and dreamed a strange dream.  He dreamed that he
+was in a country with which he was not acquainted.  Night was coming
+on, and he had nowhere to sleep.  So he passed the mouth of a sort
+of cave or house, in which a woman, an old woman, sat.  Therefore he
+entered, and though he could not understand the language, still his
+second self understood.  The cave was a house: and men came home from
+work.  His second self assumed that they were tin-miners.
+
+He wandered uneasily to and fro, no one taking any particular notice
+of him.  And he realized that there was a whole vast country spreading,
+a sort of underworld country, spreading away beyond him.  He wandered
+from vast apartment to apartment, down narrow corridors like the roads
+in a mine.  In one of the great square rooms, the men were going to
+eat.  And it seemed to him that what they were going to eat was a man,
+naked man.  But his second self knew that what appeared to his eyes as
+a man was really a man's skin stuffed tight with prepared meat, as the
+skin of a Bologna sausage.  This did not prevent his seeing the naked
+man who was to be eaten walk slowly and stiffly across the gangway and
+down the corridor.  He saw him from behind.  It was a big handsome man
+in the prime of life, quite naked and perhaps stupid.  But of course he
+was only a skin stuffed with meat, whom the grey tin-miners were going
+to eat.
+
+Aaron, the dream-Aaron, turned another way, and strayed along the vast
+square rooms, cavern apartments.  He came into one room where there
+were many children, all in white gowns.  And they were all busily
+putting themselves to bed, in the many beds scattered about the room
+at haphazard.  And each child went to bed with a wreath of flowers
+on its head, white flowers and pink, so it seemed.  So there they all
+lay, in their flower-crowns in the vast space of the rooms.  And Aaron
+went away.
+
+He could not remember the following part.  Only he seemed to have
+passed through many grey domestic apartments, where were all women,
+all greyish in their clothes and appearance, being wives of the
+underground tin-miners.  The men were away and the dream-Aaron
+remembered with fear the food they were to eat.
+
+The next thing he could recall was, that he was in a boat.  And now he
+was most definitely two people.  His invisible, _conscious_ self, what
+we have called his second self, hovered as it were before the prow of
+the boat, seeing and knowing, but unseen.  His other self, the palpable
+Aaron, sat as a passenger in the boat, which was being rowed by the
+unknown people of this underworld.  They stood up as they thrust the
+boat along.  Other passengers were in the boat too, women as well,
+but all of them unknown people, and not noticeable.
+
+The boat was upon a great lake in the underworld country, a lake of
+dark blue water, but crystal clear and very beautiful in colour.  The
+second or invisible Aaron sat in the prow and watched the fishes
+swimming suspended in the clear, beautiful dark-blue water.  Some
+were pale fish, some frightening-looking, like centipedes swimming,
+and some were dark fish, of definite form, and delightful to watch.
+
+The palpable or visible Aaron sat at the side of the boat, on the end
+of the middle seat, with his naked right elbow leaning out over the
+side.  And now the boat entered upon shallows.  The impalpable Aaron in
+the bows saw the whitish clay of the bottom swirl up in clouds at each
+thrust of the oars, whitish-clayey clouds which would envelope the
+strange fishes in a sudden mist.  And on the right hand of the course
+stakes stood up in the water, at intervals, to mark the course.
+
+The boat must pass very near these stakes, almost touching.  And
+Aaron's naked elbow was leaning right over the side.  As they
+approached the first stake, the boatmen all uttered a strange cry of
+warning, in a foreign language.  The flesh-and-blood Aaron seemed not
+even to hear.  The invisible Aaron heard, but did not comprehend the
+words of the cry.
+
+So the naked elbow struck smartly against the stake as the boat passed.
+
+The rowers rowed on.  And still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat with his
+arm over the side.  Another stake was nearing.  "Will he heed, will he
+heed?" thought the anxious second self.  The rowers gave the strange
+warning cry.  He did not heed, and again the elbow struck against the
+stake as the boat passed.  And yet the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on
+and made no sign.  There were stakes all along this shallow part of
+the lake.  Beyond was deep water again.  The invisible Aaron was
+becoming anxious.  "Will he never hear?  Will he never heed?  Will he
+never understand?" he thought.  And he watched in pain for the next
+stake.  But still the flesh-and-blood Aaron sat on, and though the
+rowers cried so acutely that the invisible Aaron almost understood
+their very language, still the Aaron seated at the side heard nothing,
+and his elbow struck against the third stake.
+
+This was almost too much.  But after a few moments, as the boat rowed
+on, the palpable Aaron changed his position as he sat, and drew in
+his arm: though even now he was not aware of any need to do so.  The
+invisible Aaron breathed with relief in the bows, the boat swung
+steadily on, into the deep, unfathomable water again.
+
+They were drawing near a city.  A lake-city, like Mexico.  They must
+have reached a city, because when Aaron woke up and tried to piece
+together the dream of which these are mere fragments, he could
+remember having just seen an idol.  An Astarte he knew it as, seated
+by the road, and in her open lap, were some eggs: smallish hen's eggs,
+and one or two bigger eggs, like swan's, and one single little roll of
+bread.  These lay in the lap of the roadside Astarte. . . . And then
+he could remember no more.
+
+He woke, and for a minute tried to remember what he had been dreaming,
+and what it all meant.  But he quickly relinquished the effort.  So he
+looked at his watch: it was only half-past three.  He had one of those
+American watches with luminous, phosphorescent figures and fingers.
+And tonight he felt afraid of its eerily shining face.
+
+He was awake a long time in the dark--for two hours, thinking and
+not thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full
+wakefulness, and which is a painful strain.  At length he went to
+sleep again, and did not wake till past eight o'clock.  He did not
+ring for his coffee till nine.
+
+Outside was a bright day--but he  hardly heeded it.  He lay
+profitlessly thinking.  With the breaking of the flute, that which was
+slowly breaking had finally shattered at last.  And there was nothing
+ahead: no plan, no prospect.  He knew quite well that people would
+help him: Francis Dekker or Angus Guest or the Marchese or Lilly.
+They would get him a new flute, and find him engagements.  But what
+was the good?  His flute was broken, and broken finally.  The bomb had
+settled it.  The bomb had settled it and everything.  It was an end,
+no matter how he tried to patch things up.  The only thing he felt
+was a thread of destiny attaching him to Lilly.  The rest had all
+gone as bare and bald as the dead orb of the moon.  So he made up
+his mind, if he could, to make some plan that would bring his life
+together with that of his evanescent friend.
+
+Lilly was a peculiar bird.  Clever and attractive as he undoubtedly
+was, he was perhaps the most objectionable person to know.  It was
+stamped on his peculiar face.  Aaron thought of Lilly's dark, ugly
+face, which had something that lurked in it as a creature under
+leaves.  Then he thought of the wide-apart eyes, with their curious
+candour and surety.  The peculiar, half-veiled surety, as if nothing,
+nothing could overcome him.  It made people angry, this look of silent,
+indifferent assurance.  "Nothing can touch him on the quick, nothing
+can really GET at him," they felt at last.  And they felt it with
+resentment, almost with hate.  They wanted to be able to get at him.
+For he was so open-seeming, so very outspoken.  He gave himself away
+so much.  And he had no money to fall back on.  Yet he gave himself
+away so easily, paid such attention, almost deference to any chance
+friend.  So they all thought: Here is a wise person who finds me the
+wonder which I really am.--And lo and behold, after he had given them
+the trial, and found their inevitable limitations, he departed and
+ceased to heed their wonderful existence.  Which, to say the least
+of it, was fraudulent and damnable.  It was then, after his departure,
+that they realised his basic indifference to them, and his silent
+arrogance.  A silent arrogance that knew all their wisdom, and left
+them to it.
+
+Aaron had been through it all.  He had started by thinking Lilly a
+peculiar little freak: gone on to think him a wonderful chap, and a
+bit pathetic: progressed, and found him generous, but overbearing:
+then cruel and intolerant, allowing no man to have a soul of his own:
+then terribly arrogant, throwing a fellow aside like an old glove
+which is in holes at the finger-ends.  And all the time, which was
+most beastly, seeing through one.  All the time, freak and outsider
+as he was, Lilly _knew_.  He knew, and his soul was against the whole
+world.
+
+Driven to bay, and forced to choose.  Forced to choose, not between
+life and death, but between the world and the uncertain, assertive
+Lilly.  Forced to choose, and yet, in the world, having nothing left
+to choose.  For in the world there was nothing left to choose, unless
+he would give in and try for success.  Aaron knew well enough that
+if he liked to do a bit of buttering, people would gladly make a
+success of him, and give him money and success.  He could become
+quite a favourite.
+
+But no!  If he had to give in to something: if he really had to give
+in, and it seemed he had: then he would rather give in to the little
+Lilly than to the beastly people of the world.  If he had to give in,
+then it should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no
+social institution.  No!--if he had to yield his wilful independence,
+and give himself, then he would rather give himself to the little,
+individual man than to any of the rest.  For to tell the truth, in the
+man was something incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he
+chose to allow it.
+
+As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the _cul de sac_ in which
+he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:
+yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man's nature rather than to
+the quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society: yielding,
+since yield he must, in some direction or other: yielding in a new
+direction now, to one strange and incalculable little individual: as
+Aaron lay so relaxing, finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul
+to his mind's hero, the self-same hero tapped and entered.
+
+"I wondered," he said, "if you'd like to walk into the country with
+me: it is such a nice day.  I thought you might have gone out already.
+But here you are in bed like a woman who's had a baby.--You're all
+right, are you?"
+
+"Yes," said Aaron.  "I'm all right."
+
+"Miserable about your flute?--Ah, well, there are more flutes.  Get
+up then."  And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at
+the river.
+
+"We're going away on Thursday," he said.
+
+"Where to?" said Aaron.
+
+"Naples.  We've got a little house there for the winter--in the
+country, not far from Sorrento--I must get a bit of work done, now
+the winter is coming.  And forget all about everything and just live
+with life.  What's the good of running after life, when we've got it
+in us, if nobody prevents us and obstructs us?"
+
+Aaron felt very queer.
+
+"But for how long will you settle down--?" he asked.
+
+"Oh, only the winter.  I am a vagrant really: or a migrant.  I must
+migrate.  Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one
+AND the same bird?  Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and
+south, so oscillate I do.  It's just my nature.  All people don't have
+the same needs."
+
+"Perhaps not," said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side
+of the bed.
+
+"I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another
+race.  I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me.  Europe may be all
+right in herself.  But I find myself chafing.  Another year I shall
+get out.  I shall leave Europe.  I begin to feel caged."
+
+"I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you," said Aaron.
+
+"I guess there are."
+
+"And maybe they haven't a chance to get out."
+
+Lilly was silent a moment.  Then he said:
+
+"Well, I didn't make life and society.  I can only go my own way."
+
+Aaron too was silent.  A deep disappointment was settling over his
+spirit.
+
+"Will you be alone all winter?"
+
+"Just myself and Tanny," he answered.  "But people always turn up."
+
+"And then next year, what will you do?"
+
+"Who knows?  I may sail far off.  I should like to.  I should like to
+try quite a new life-mode.  This is finished in me--and yet perhaps
+it is absurd to go further.  I'm rather sick of seekers.  I hate a
+seeker."
+
+"What," said Aaron rather sarcastically--"those who are looking for a
+new religion?"
+
+"Religion--and love--and all that.  It's a disease now."
+
+"Oh, I don't know," said Aaron.  "Perhaps the lack of love and religion
+is the disease."
+
+"Ah--bah!  The grinding the old millstones of love and God is what ails
+us, when there's no more grist between the stones.  We've ground love
+very small.  Time to forget it.  Forget the very words religion, and
+God, and love--then have a shot at a new mode.  But the very words
+rivet us down and don't let us move.  Rivets, and we can't get them
+out."
+
+"And where should we be if we could?" said Aaron.
+
+"We might begin to be ourselves, anyhow."
+
+"And what does that mean?" said Aaron.  "Being yourself--what does it
+mean?"
+
+"To me, everything."
+
+"And to most folks, nothing.  They've got to have a goal."
+
+"There is no goal.  I loathe goals more than any other impertinence.
+Gaols, they are.  Bah--jails and jailers, gaols and gaolers---"
+
+"Wherever you go, you'll find people with their noses tied to some
+goal," said Aaron.
+
+"Their wagon hitched to a star--which goes round and round like an ass
+in a gin," laughed Lilly.  "Be damned to it."
+
+Aaron got himself dressed, and the two men went out, took a tram and
+went into the country.  Aaron could not help it--Lilly put his back up.
+They came to a little inn near a bridge, where a broad stream rustled
+bright and shallow.  It was a sunny warm day, and Aaron and Lilly had
+a table outside under the thin trees at the top of the bank above the
+river.  The yellow leaves were falling--the Tuscan sky was turquoise
+blue.  In the stream below three naked boys still adventurously bathed,
+and lay flat on the shingle in the sun.  A wagon with two pale, loving,
+velvety oxen drew slowly down the hill, looking at each step as if
+they were going to come to rest, to move no more.  But still they
+stepped forward.  Till they came to the inn, and there they stood at
+rest.  Two old women were picking the last acorns under three scrubby
+oak-trees, whilst a girl with bare feet drove her two goats and a
+sheep up from the water-side towards the women.  The girl wore a
+dress that had been blue, perhaps indigo, but which had faded to the
+beautiful lavender-purple colour which is so common, and which always
+reminded Lilly of purple anemones in the south.
+
+The two friends sat in the sun and drank red wine.  It was midday.
+From the thin, square belfry on the opposite hill the bells had rung.
+The old women and the girl squatted under the trees, eating their bread
+and figs.  The boys were dressing, fluttering into their shirts on the
+stream's shingle.  A big girl went past, with somebody's dinner tied
+in a red kerchief and perched on her head.  It was one of the most
+precious hours: the hour of pause, noon, and the sun, and the quiet
+acceptance of the world.  At such a time everything seems to fall into
+a true relationship, after the strain of work and of urge.
+
+Aaron looked at Lilly, and saw the same odd, distant look on his
+face as on the face of some animal when it lies awake and alert,
+yet perfectly at one with its surroundings.  It was something quite
+different from happiness: an alert enjoyment of rest, an intense and
+satisfying sense of centrality.  As a dog when it basks in the sun with
+one eye open and winking: or a rabbit quite still and wide-eyed, with
+a faintly-twitching nose.  Not passivity, but alert enjoyment of being
+central, life-central in one's own little circumambient world.
+
+They sat thus still--or lay under the trees--for an hour and a half.
+Then Lilly paid the bill, and went on.
+
+"What am I going to do this winter, do you think?" Aaron asked.
+
+"What do you want to do?"
+
+"Nay, that's what I want to know."
+
+"Do you want anything?  I mean, does something drive you from inside?"
+
+"I can't just rest," said Aaron.
+
+"Can't you settle down to something?--to a job, for instance?"
+
+"I've not found the job I could settle down to, yet," said Aaron.
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"It's just my nature."
+
+"Are you a seeker?  Have you got a divine urge, or need?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron.  "Perhaps I've got a DAMNED urge, at
+the bottom of me.  I'm sure it's nothing divine."
+
+"Very well then.  Now, in life, there are only two great dynamic
+urges--do you believe me--?"
+
+"How do I know?" laughed Aaron.  "Do you want to be believed?"
+
+"No, I don't care a straw.  Only for your own sake, you'd better
+believe me."
+
+"All right then--what about it?"
+
+"Well, then, there are only two great dynamic urges in LIFE: love and
+power."
+
+"Love and power?" said Aaron.  "I don't see power as so very
+important."
+
+"You don't see because you don't look.  But that's not the point.  What
+sort of urge is your urge?  Is it the love urge?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Yes, you do.  You know that you have got an urge, don't you?"
+
+"Yes--" rather unwillingly Aaron admitted it.
+
+"Well then, what is it?  Is it that you want to love, or to be obeyed?"
+
+"A bit of both."
+
+"All right--a bit of both.  And what are you looking for in love?--A
+woman whom you can love, and who will love you, out and out and all in
+all and happy ever after sort of thing?"
+
+"That's what I started out for, perhaps," laughed Aaron.
+
+"And now you know it's all my eye!"  Aaron looked at Lilly, unwilling
+to admit it.  Lilly began to laugh.
+
+"You know it well enough," he said.  "It's one of your lost illusions,
+my boy.  Well, then, what next?  Is it a God you're after?  Do you want
+a God you can strive to and attain, through love, and live happy ever
+after, countless millions of eternities, immortality and all that?  Is
+this your little dodge?"
+
+Again Aaron looked at Lilly with that odd double look of mockery and
+unwillingness to give himself away.
+
+"All right then.  You've got a love-urge that urges you to God; have
+you?  Then go and join the Buddhists in Burmah, or the newest fangled
+Christians in Europe.  Go and stick your head in a bush of Nirvana or
+spiritual perfection.  Trot off."
+
+"I won't," said Aaron.
+
+"You must.  If you've got a love-urge, then give it its fulfilment."
+
+"I haven't got a love-urge."
+
+"You have.  You want to get excited in love.  You want to be carried
+away in love.  You want to whoosh off in a nice little love whoosh and
+love yourself.  Don't deny it.  I know you do.  You want passion to
+sweep you off on wings of fire till you surpass yourself, and like the
+swooping eagle swoop right into the sun.  I know you, my love-boy."
+
+"Not any more--not any more.  I've been had too often," laughed Aaron.
+
+"Bah, it's a lesson men never learn.  No matter how sick they make
+themselves with love, they always rush for more, like a dog to his
+vomit."
+
+"Well, what am I to do then, if I'm not to love?" cried Aaron.
+
+"You want to go on, from passion to passion, from ecstasy to ecstasy,
+from triumph to triumph, till you can whoosh away into glory, beyond
+yourself, all bonds loosened and happy ever after.  Either that or
+Nirvana, opposite side of the medal."
+
+"There's probably more hate than love in me," said Aaron.
+
+"That's the recoil of the same urge.  The anarchist, the criminal, the
+murderer, he is only the extreme lover acting on the recoil.  But it
+is love: only in recoil.  It flies back, the love-urge, and becomes
+a horror."
+
+"All right then.  I'm a criminal and a murderer," said Aaron.
+
+"No, you're not.  But you've a love-urge.  And perhaps on the recoil
+just now.  But listen to me.  It's no good thinking the love-urge
+is the one and only.  _Niente_!  You can whoosh if you like, and get
+excited and carried away loving a woman, or humanity, or God.  Swoop
+away in the love direction till you lose yourself.  But that's where
+you're had.  You can't lose yourself.  You can try.  But you might
+just as well try to swallow yourself.  You'll only bite your fingers
+off in the attempt.  You can't lose yourself, neither in woman nor
+humanity nor in God.  You've always got yourself on your hands in the
+end: and a very raw and jaded and humiliated and nervous-neurasthenic
+self it is, too, in the end.  A very nasty thing to wake up to is one's
+own raw self after an excessive love-whoosh.  Look even at President
+Wilson: he love-whooshed for humanity, and found in the end he'd only
+got a very sorry self on his hands.
+
+"So leave off.  Leave off, my boy.  Leave off love-whooshing.  You
+can't lose yourself, so stop trying.  The responsibility is on your
+own shoulders all the time, and no God which man has ever struck can
+take it off.  You ARE yourself and so BE yourself.  Stick to it and
+abide by it.  Passion or no passion, ecstasy or no ecstasy, urge or no
+urge, there's no goal outside you, where you can consummate like an
+eagle flying into the sun, or a moth into a candle.  There's no goal
+outside you--and there's no God outside you.  No God, whom you can get
+to and rest in.  None.  It's a case of:
+
+
+          'Trot, trot to market, to buy a penny bun,
+           And trot, trot back again, as fast as you can run.'
+
+
+But there's no God outside you, whom you can rise to or sink to or
+swoop away to.  You can't even gum yourself to a divine Nirvana moon.
+Because all the time you've got to eat your dinner and digest it.
+There is no goal outside you.  None.
+
+"There is only one thing, your own very self.  So you'd better stick
+to it.  You can't be any bigger than just yourself, so you needn't
+drag God in.  You've got one job, and no more.  There inside you lies
+your own very self, like a germinating egg, your precious Easter egg
+of your own soul.  There it is, developing bit by bit, from one single
+egg-cell which you were at your conception in your mother's womb, on
+and on to the strange and peculiar complication in unity which never
+stops till you die--if then.  You've got an innermost, integral unique
+self, and since it's the only thing you have got or ever will have,
+don't go trying to lose it.  You've got to develop it, from the egg
+into the chicken, and from the chicken into the one-and-only phoenix,
+of which there can only be one at a time in the universe.  There can
+only be one of you at a time in the universe--and one of me.  So don't
+forget it.  Your own single oneness is your destiny.  Your destiny
+comes from within, from your own self-form.  And you can't know it
+beforehand, neither your destiny nor your self-form.  You can only
+develop it.  You can only stick to your own very self, and NEVER
+betray it.  And by so sticking, you develop the one and only phoenix
+of your own self, and you unfold your own destiny, as a dandelion
+unfolds itself into a dandelion, and not into a stick of celery.
+
+"Remember this, my boy: you've never got to deny the Holy Ghost which
+is inside you, your own soul's self.  Never.  Or you'll catch it.  And
+you've never got to think you'll dodge the responsibility of your own
+soul's self, by loving or sacrificing or Nirvaning--or even anarchising
+and throwing bombs.  You never will. . . ."
+
+Aaron was silenced for a moment by this flood of words.  Then he said
+smiling:
+
+"So I'd better sit tight on my soul, till it hatches, had I?"
+
+"Oh, yes.  If your soul's urge urges you to love, then love.  But
+always know that what you are doing is the fulfilling of your own
+soul's impulse.  It's no good trying to act by prescription: not a
+bit.  And it's no use getting into frenzies.  If you've got to go
+in for love and passion, go in for them.  But they aren't the goal.
+They're a mere means: a life-means, if you will.  The only goal is
+the fulfilling of your own soul's active desire and suggestion.  Be
+passionate as much as ever it is your nature to be passionate, and
+deeply sensual as far as you can be.  Small souls have a small
+sensuality, deep souls a deep one.  But remember, all the time, the
+responsibility is upon your own head, it all rests with your own
+lonely soul, the responsibility for your own action."
+
+"I never said it didn't," said Aaron.
+
+"You never said it did.  You never accepted.  You thought there was
+something outside, to justify you: God, or a creed, or a prescription.
+But remember, your soul inside you is your only Godhead.  It develops
+your actions within you as a tree develops its own new cells.  And
+the cells push on into buds and boughs and flowers.  And these are
+your passion and your acts and your thoughts and expressions, your
+developing consciousness.  You don't know beforehand, and you can't.
+You can only stick to your own soul through thick and thin.
+
+"You are your own Tree of Life, roots and limbs and trunk.  Somewhere
+within the wholeness of the tree lies the very self, the quick: its
+own innate Holy Ghost.  And this Holy Ghost puts forth new buds, and
+pushes past old limits, and shakes off a whole body of dying leaves.
+And the old limits hate being empassed, and the old leaves hate to
+fall.  But they must, if the tree-soul says so. . . ."
+
+They had sat again during this harangue, under a white wall.  Aaron
+listened more to the voice than the words.  It was more the sound
+value which entered his soul, the tone, the strange speech-music which
+sank into him.  The sense he hardly heeded.  And yet he understood, he
+knew.  He understood, oh so much more deeply than if be had listened
+with his head.  And he answered an objection from the bottom of his
+soul.
+
+"But you talk," he said, "as if we were like trees, alone by ourselves
+in the world.  We aren't.  If we love, it needs another person than
+ourselves.  And if we hate, and even if we talk."
+
+"Quite," said Lilly.  "And that's just the point.  We've got to love
+and hate moreover--and even talk.  But we haven't got to fix on any
+one of these modes, and say that's the only mode.  It is such
+imbecility to say that love and love alone must rule.  It is so
+obviously not the case.  Yet we try and make it so."
+
+"I feel that," said Aaron.  "It's all a lie."
+
+"It's worse.  It's a half lie.  But listen.  I told you there were
+two urges--two great life-urges, didn't I?  There may be more.  But
+it comes on me so strongly, now, that there are two: love, and power.
+And we've been trying to work ourselves, at least as individuals, from
+the love-urge exclusively, hating the power-urge, and repressing it.
+And now I find we've got to accept the very thing we've hated.
+
+"We've exhausted our love-urge, for the moment.  And yet we try to
+force it to continue working.  So we get inevitably anarchy and murder.
+It's no good.  We've got to accept the power motive, accept it in deep
+responsibility, do you understand me?  It is a great life motive.  It
+was that great dark power-urge which kept Egypt so intensely living
+for so many centuries.  It is a vast dark source of life and strength
+in us now, waiting either to issue into true action, or to burst into
+cataclysm.  Power--the power-urge.  The will-to-power--but not in
+Nietzsche's sense.  Not intellectual power.  Not mental power.  Not
+conscious will-power.  Not even wisdom.  But dark, living, fructifying
+power.  Do you know what I mean?"
+
+"I don't know," said Aaron.
+
+"Take what you call love, for example.  In the real way of love, the
+positive aim is to make the other person--or persons--happy.  It
+devotes itself to the other or to others.  But change the mode.  Let
+the urge be the urge of power.  Then the great desire is not happiness,
+neither of the beloved nor of oneself.  Happiness is only one of many
+states, and it is horrible to think of fixing us down to one state.
+The urge of power does not seek for happiness any more than for any
+other state.  It urges from within, darkly, for the displacing of
+the old leaves, the inception of the new.  It is powerful and self-
+central, not seeking its centre outside, in some God or some beloved,
+but acting indomitably from within itself.
+
+"And of course there must be one who urges, and one who is impelled.
+Just as in love there is a beloved and a lover: The man is supposed to
+be the lover, the woman the beloved.  Now, in the urge of power, it is
+the reverse.  The woman must submit, but deeply, deeply submit.  Not
+to any foolish fixed authority, not to any foolish and arbitrary will.
+But to something deep, deeper.  To the soul in its dark motion of power
+and pride.  We must reverse the poles.  The woman must now submit--
+but deeply, deeply, and richly!  No subservience.  None of that.  No
+slavery.  A deep, unfathomable free submission."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, if you abandon the love idea and the love motive, and if
+you stand apart, and never bully, never force from the conscious will.
+That's where Nietzsche was wrong.  His was the conscious and benevolent
+will, in fact, the love-will.  But the deep power-urge is not conscious
+of its aims: and it is certainly not consciously benevolent or love-
+directed.--Whatever else happens, somewhere, sometime, the deep power-
+urge in man will have to issue forth again, and woman will submit,
+livingly, not subjectedly."
+
+"She never will," persisted Aaron.  "Anything else will happen, but
+not that."
+
+"She will," said Lilly, "once man disengages himself from the love-
+mode, and stands clear.  Once he stands clear, and the other great
+urge begins to flow in him, then the woman won't be able to resist.
+Her own soul will wish to yield itself."
+
+"Woman yield--?" Aaron re-echoed.
+
+"Woman--and man too.  Yield to the deep power-soul in the individual
+man, and obey implicitly.  I don't go back on what I said before.  I do
+believe that every man must fulfil his own soul, every woman must be
+herself, herself only, not some man's instrument, or some embodied
+theory.  But the mode of our being is such that we can only live and
+have our being whilst we are implicit in one of the great dynamic
+modes.  We MUST either love, or rule.  And once the love-mode changes,
+as change it must, for we are worn out and becoming evil in its
+persistence, then the other mode will take place in us.  And there
+will be profound, profound obedience in place of this love-crying,
+obedience to the incalculable power-urge.  And men must submit to the
+greater soul in a man, for their guidance: and women must submit to
+the positive power-soul in man, for their being."
+
+"You'll never get it," said Aaron.
+
+"You will, when all men want it.  All men say, they want a leader.
+Then let them in their souls submit to some greater soul than theirs.
+At present, when they say they want a leader, they mean they want an
+instrument, like Lloyd George.  A mere instrument for their use.  But
+it's more than that.  It's the reverse.  It's the deep, fathomless
+submission to the heroic soul in a greater man.  You, Aaron, you too
+have the need to submit.  You, too, have the need livingly to yield to
+a more heroic soul, to give yourself.  You know you have.  And you know
+it isn't love.  It is life-submission.  And you know it.  But you kick
+against the pricks.  And perhaps you'd rather die than yield.  And so,
+die you must.  It is your affair."
+
+There was a long pause.  Then Aaron looked up into Lilly's face.
+It was dark and remote-seeming.  It was like a Byzantine eikon at
+the moment.
+
+"And whom shall I submit to?" he said.
+
+"Your soul will tell you," replied the other.
+
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg Etext of Aaron's Rod, by D. H. Lawrence
+
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