’Well, there are plenty of, things to find out here.  No need to go away for that.’

He shook his head.

’Western Europe’s so hopeless just now.  So given over to muddle and lies.  Besides, I can’t trust myself, I shall talk if I stay.  I’m not a strong silent man.  I should find myself writing articles, or standing for Parliament, or something.’

‘And very nice too.  I’ve always said you ought to stand for Labour.’

’And I’ve sometimes agreed with you.  But now I know I oughtn’t.  That’s not the way.  I’m not going to join in that mess.  I’m not good enough to make it worth while.  I should either get swamped by it, or I should get so angry that I should murder some one.  No, I’m going right out of it all for a bit.  I want to find out a little, if I can, about how things are in other countries.  Central Europe.  Russia.  I shall go to Russia.’

‘Russia!  You’ll come back and write about it.  People do.’

’I shall not.  No, I think I can avoid that—­it’s too obvious a temptation to tumble into with one’s eyes shut.’

’"He travelled in Russia and never wrote of it.”  It would be a good epitaph....  But Arthur darling, is it wise, is it necessary, is it safe?  Won’t the Reds get you, or the Whites?  Which would be worse, I wonder?’

‘What should they want with me?’

’They’ll think you’re going to write about them, of course.  That’s why the Reds kidnapped Keeling, and the Whites W.T.  Goode.  They were quite right, too—­except that they didn’t go far enough and make a job of them.  Suppose they’ve learnt wisdom by now, and make a job of you?’

’Well then, I shall be made a job of.  Also a placard for our sensational press, which would be worse.  One must take a few risks....  It will be interesting, you know, to be there.  I shall visit my father’s old home near Odessa.  Possibly some of his people may be left round there.  I shall find things out—­what the conditions are, why things are happening as they are, how the people live.  I think I shall be better able after that to find out what the state of things is here.  One’s too provincial, too much taken up with one’s own corner.  Political science is too universal a thing to learn in that way.’

‘And when you’ve found out?  What next?’

’There’s no next.  It will take me all my life even to begin to find out.  I don’t know where I shall be—­in London, no doubt, mostly.’

’Do you mean, Arthur, that you’re going to chuck work for good?  Writing, I mean, or public work?’

’I hope so.  I mean to.  Oh, if ever, later on, I feel I have anything I want to say, I’ll say it.  But that won’t be for years.  First I’m going to learn....  You see, Jane, we can live all right.  Thank goodness, I don’t depend on what I earn....  You and I together—­we’ll learn a lot.’

’Oh, I’m going in for confused self-expression.  I’m not taking any vows of silence.  I’m going to write.’