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about to raise his hand； when he saw that the young foreigner； noting
his instinctive feeling； had at once adapted himself to it。 They
passed again without a greeting； unless that swift inquisition；
followed by unconsciousness in Ferrand's eyes； could so be called。
But the feeling of idiotic happiness left Shelton； he grew irritated
at this silence。 It tantalised him more and more； for Bill Dennant
had lagged behind to chatter to a friend； Shelton and Antonia were
alone； walking their horses； without a word； not even looking at each
other。 At one moment he thought of galloping ahead and leaving her；
then of breaking the vow of muteness she seemed to be imposing on
him； and he kept thinking： 〃It ought to be either one thing or the
other。 I can't stand this。〃 Her calmness was getting on his nerves；
she seemed to have determined just how far she meant to go； to have
fixed cold…bloodedly a limit。 In her happy young beauty and radiant
coolness she summed up that sane consistent something existing in
nine out of ten of the people Shelton knew。 〃I can't stand it long；〃
he thought； and all of a sudden spoke； but as he did so she frowned
and cantered on。 When he caught her she was smiling； lifting her
face to catch the raindrops which were falling fast。 She gave him
just a nod； and waved her hand as a sign for him to go； and when he
would not； she frowned。 He saw Bill Dennant； posting after them；
and； seized by a sense of the ridiculous； lifted his hat； and
galloped off。
The rain was coming down in torrents now； and every one was scurrying
for shelter。 He looked back from the bend； and could still make out
Antonia riding leisurely； her face upturned； and revelling in the
shower。 Why had n't she either cut him altogether or taken the
sweets the gods had sent？ It seemed wicked to have wasted such a
chance； and； ploughing back to Hyde Park Corner； he turned his head
to see if by any chance she had relented。
His irritation was soon gone； but his longing stayed。 Was ever
anything so beautiful as she had looked with her face turned to the
rain？ She seemed to love the rain。 It suited hersuited her ever
so much better than the sunshine of the South。 Yes； she was very
English！ Puzzling and fretting； he reached his rooms。 Ferrand had
not arrived； in fact did not turn up that day。 His non…appearance
afforded Shelton another proof of the delicacy that went hand in hand
with the young vagrant's cynicism。 In the afternoon he received a
note。
。 。 。 You see； Dick ＇he read＇； I ought to have cut you； but I felt
too crazyeverything seems so jolly at home； even this stuffy old
London。 Of course； I wanted to talk to you badlythere are heaps of
things one can't say by letterbut I should have been sorry
afterwards。 I told mother。 She said I was quite right； but I don't
think she took it in。 Don't you feel that the only thing that really
matters is to have an ideal； and to keep it so safe that you can
always look forward and feel that you have beenI can't exactly
express my meaning。
Shelton lit a cigarette and frowned。 It seemed to him queer that she
should set more store by an 〃ideal〃 than by the fact that they had
met for the first and only time in many weeks。
〃I suppose she 's right；〃 he thoughts〃I suppose she 's right。 I
ought not to have tried to speak to her！〃 As a matter of fact； he
did not at all feel that she was right。
CHAPTER XIII
AN 〃AT HOME〃
On Tuesday morning he wandered off to Paddington； hoping for a chance
view of her on her way down to Holm Oaks； but the sense of the
ridiculous； on which he had been nurtured； was strong enough to keep
him from actually entering the station and lurking about until she
came。 With a pang of disappointment he retraced his steps from Praed
Street to the Park； and once there tried no further to waylay her。
He paid a round of calls in the afternoon； mostly on her relations；
and； seeking out Aunt Charlotte； he dolorously related his encounter
in the Row。 But she found it 〃rather nice；〃 and on his pressing her
with his views； she murmured that it was 〃quite romantic； don't you
know。〃
〃Still； it's very hard；〃 said Shelton； and he went away disconsolate。
As he was dressing for dinner his eye fell on a card announcing the
〃at home〃 of one of his own cousins。 Her husband was a composer； and
he had a vague idea that he would find at the house of a composer
some quite unusually free kind of atmosphere。 After dining at the
club； therefore； he set out for Chelsea。 The party was held in a
large room on the ground…floor； which was already crowded with people
when Shelton entered。 They stood or sat about in groups with smiles
fixed on their lips； and the light from balloon…like lamps fell in
patches on their heads and hands and shoulders。 Someone had just
finished rendering on the piano a composition of his own。 An expert
could at once have picked out from amongst the applauding company
those who were musicians by profession； for their eyes sparkled； and
a certain acidity pervaded their enthusiasm。 This freemasonry of
professional intolerance flew from one to the other like a breath of
unanimity； and the faint shrugging of shoulders was as harmonious as
though one of the high windows had been opened suddenly； admitting a
draught of chill May air。
Shelton made his way up to his cousina fragile； grey…haired woman
in black velvet and Venetian lace； whose starry eyes beamed at him；
until her duties； after the custom of these social gatherings；
obliged her to break off conversation just as it began to interest
him。 He was passed on to another lady who was already talking to two
gentlemen； and； their volubility being greater than his own； he fell
into the position of observer。 Instead of the profound questions he
had somehow expected to hear raised； everybody seemed gossiping； or
searching the heart of such topics as where to go this summer； or how
to get new servants。 Trifling with coffee…cups； they dissected their
fellow artists in the same way as his society friends of the other
night had dissected the fellow〃smart〃； and the varnish on the
floor； the pictures； and the piano were reflected on all the faces
around。 Shelton moved from group to group disconsolate。
A tall； imposing person stood under a Japanese print holding the palm
of one hand outspread； his unwieldy trunk and thin legs wobbled in
concert to his ingratiating voice。
〃War；〃 he was saying； 〃is not necessary。 War is not necessary。 I
hope I make myself clear。 War is not necessary； it depends on
nationality； but nationality is not necessary。〃 He inclined his head
to one side； 〃Why do we have nationality？ Let us do away with
boundarieslet us have the warfare of commerce。 If I see France
looking at Brighton〃he laid his head upon one side； and beamed at
Shelton；〃what do I do？ Do I say 'Hands off'？ No。 'Take it；'
I saytake it！'〃 He archly smi