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meaning； he had thought； so very much to him nor so very much to
heruntil forty…eight hours ago he told her； and she had shrunk；
and wilted； and gone all to pieces。 And what was it he had told
her？
A long storythat！
Sitting there by the fire； with nothing yet decided； he could see
it all from the start； with its devilish； delicate intricacy； its
subtle slow enchantment spinning itself out of him； out of his own
state of mind and body； rather than out of the spell cast over him；
as though a sort of fatal force； long dormant； were working up
again to burst into dark flower。 。 。 。
II
Yes； it had begun within him over a year ago； with a queer unhappy
restlessness； a feeling that life was slipping； ebbing away within
reach of him； and his arms never stretched out to arrest it。 It
had begun with a sort of long craving； stilled only when he was
working harda craving for he knew not what； an ache which was
worst whenever the wind was soft。
They said that about forty…five was a perilous age for a man
especially for an artist。 All the autumn of last year he had felt
this vague misery rather badly。 It had left him alone most of
December and January； while he was working so hard at his group of
lions； but the moment that was finished it had gripped him hard
again。 In those last days of January he well remembered wandering
about in the parks day after day； trying to get away from it。 Mild
weather； with a scent in the wind！ With what avidity he had
watched children playing； the premature buds on the bushes；
anything； everything youngwith what an ache； too； he had been
conscious of innumerable lives being lived round him； and loves
loved； and he outside； unable to know； to grasp； to gather them；
and all the time the sands of his hourglass running out！ A most
absurd and unreasonable feeling for a man with everything he
wanted； with work that he loved； quite enough money； and a wife so
good as Sylviaa feeling that no Englishman of forty…six； in
excellent health； ought for a moment to have been troubled with。 A
feeling such as； indeed； no Englishman ever admitted havingso
that there was not even； as yet； a Society for its suppression。
For what was this disquiet feeling； but the sense that he had had
his day； would never again know the stir and fearful joy of falling
in love； but only just hanker after what was past and gone！ Could
anything be more reprehensible in a married man？
It wasyesthe last day of January； when； returning from one of
those restless rambles in Hyde Park； he met Dromore。 Queer to
recognize a man hardly seen since school…days。 Yet unmistakably；
Johnny Dromore； sauntering along the rails of Piccadilly on the
Green Park side； with that slightly rolling gait of his thin；
horseman's legs； his dandified hat a little to one side； those
strange； chaffing； goggling eyes； that look； as if making a
perpetual bet。 Yesthe very same teasing； now moody； now
reckless； always astute Johnny Dromore； with a good heart beneath
an outside that seemed ashamed of it。 Truly to have shared a room
at schoolto have been at College together； were links
mysteriously indestructible。
〃Mark Lennan！ By gum！ haven't seen you for ages。 Not since you
turned out a full…blownwhat d'you call it？ Awfully glad to meet
you； old chap！〃 Here was the past indeed； long vanished in feeling
and thought and all； and Lennan's head buzzed； trying to find some
common interest with this hunting； racing man…about…town。
Johnny Dromore come to life againhe whom the Machine had stamped
with astute simplicity by the time he was twenty…two； and for ever
after left untouched in thought and feelingJohnny Dromore； who
would never pass beyond the philosophy that all was queer and
freakish which had not to do with horses； women； wine； cigars；
jokes； good…heartedness； and that perpetual bet； Johnny Dromore；
who； somewhere in him； had a pocket of depth； a streak of hunger；
that was not just Johnny Dromore。
How queer was the sound of that jerky talk！
〃You ever see old Fookes now？ Been racin' at all？ You live in
Town？ Remember good old Blenker？〃 And then silence； and then
another spurt： 〃Ever go down to 'Bambury's？' Ever go racin'？ 。 。 。
Come on up to my 'digs。' You've got nothin' to do。〃 No persuading
Johnny Dromore that a 'what d'you call it' could have anything to
do。 〃Come on； old chap。 I've got the hump。 It's this damned east
wind。〃
Well he remembered it； when they shared a room at 'Bambury's'that
hump of Johnny Dromore's； after some reckless spree or bout of
teasing。
And down that narrow bye…street of Piccadilly he had gone； and up
into those 'digs' on the first floor； with their little dark hall；
their Van Beers' drawing and Vanity Fair cartoons； and prints of
racehorses； and of the old Nightgown Steeplechase； with the big
chairs； and all the paraphernalia of Race Guides and race…glasses；
fox…masks and stags'…horns； and hunting…whips。 And yet； something
that from the first moment struck him as not quite in keeping；
foreign to the picturea little jumble of books； a vase of
flowers； a grey kitten。
〃Sit down； old chap。 What'll you drink？〃
Sunk into the recesses of a marvellous chair； with huge arms of
tawny leather； he listened and spoke drowsily。 'Bambury's；'
Oxford； Gordy's clubsdear old Gordy； gone now！things long
passed by； they seemed all round him once again。 And yet； always
that vague sense； threading this resurrection； threading the smoke
of their cigars； and Johnny Dromore's clipped talkof something
that did not quite belong。 Might it be； perhaps； that sepia
drawingabove the 'Tantalus' on the oak sideboard at the far end
of a woman's face gazing out into the room？ Mysteriously unlike
everything else； except the flowers； and this kitten that was
pushing its furry little head against his hand。 Odd how a single
thing sometimes took possession of a room； however remote in
spirit！ It seemed to reach like a shadow over Dromore's
outstretched limbs； and weathered； long…nosed face； behind his huge
cigar； over the queer； solemn； chaffing eyes； with something
brooding in the depths of them。
〃Ever get the hump？ Bally awful； isn't it？ It's getting old。
We're bally old； you know； Lenny！〃 Ah！ No one had called him
'Lenny' for twenty years。 And it was true； they were unmentionably
old。
〃When a fellow begins to feel old； you know； it's time he went
brokeor something； doesn't bear sittin' down and lookin' at。
Come out to 'Monte' with me！〃
'Monte！' That old wound； never quite healed； started throbbing at
the word； so that he could hardly speak his： 〃No； I don't care for
'Monte。'〃
And； at once； he saw Dromore's eyes probing； questioning：
〃You married？〃
〃Yes。〃
〃Never thought of you as married！〃
So Dromore did think of him。 Queer！ He never thought of Johnny
Dromore。
〃Winter's bally awful； when you're not huntin'。 You've changed a
lot； should hardly have known you。 Last time I saw you； you'd just
come back from Rome or somewhere。 What's it like bein' aa
sculptor？ Saw something of yours once。 Ever do things of horses？〃
Yes； he had done a 'relief' of ponies only last year。
〃You do w