His mind shifted very suddenly from these large proposals to an entirely different theme.  These mental landslips are not unusual when men are thinking hard and wandering.  He found himself holding a trial upon himself for Presumptuousness, for setting himself up against the wisdom of the ages, and the decisions of all the established men in the world, for being in short a Presumptuous Sort of Ass.  He was judge and jury and prosecutor, but rather inexplicably the defence was conducted in an irregular and undignified way by some inferior stratum of his being.

At first the defence contented itself with arguments that did at least aim to rebut the indictment.  The decisions of all the established men in the world were notoriously in conflict.  However great was the gross wisdom of the ages the net wisdom was remarkably small.  Was it after all so very immodest to believe that the Liberals were right in what they said about Tariff Reform, and the Tories right in their criticism of Home Rule?

And then suddenly the defence threw aside its mask and insisted that Benham had to take this presumptuous line because there was no other tolerable line possible for him.

“Better die with the Excelsior chap up the mountains,” the defence interjected.

Than what?

Consider the quality Benham had already betrayed.  He was manifestly incapable of a decent modest mediocre existence.  Already he had ceased to be—­if one may use so fine a word for genteel abstinence—­ virtuous.  He didn’t ride well, he hadn’t good hands, and he hadn’t good hands for life.  He must go hard and harsh, high or low.  He was a man who needed bite in his life.  He was exceptionally capable of boredom.  He had been bored by London.  Social occasions irritated him, several times he had come near to gross incivilities, art annoyed him, sport was an effort, wholesome perhaps, but unattractive, music he loved, but it excited him.  The defendant broke the sunset calm by uttering amazing and improper phrases.

“I can’t smug about in a state of falsified righteousness like these Crampton chaps.

“I shall roll in women.  I shall rollick in women.  If, that is, I stay in London with nothing more to do than I have had this year past.

“I’ve been sliding fast to it. . . .

“No!  I’m damned if I do! . . .”

16

For some time he had been bothered by a sense of something, something else, awaiting his attention.  Now it came swimming up into his consciousness.  He had forgotten.  He was, of course, going to sleep out under the stars.

He had settled that overnight, that was why he had this cloak in his rucksack, but he had settled none of the details.  Now he must find some place where he could lie down.  Here, perhaps, in this strange forgotten wilderness of rhododendra.

He turned off from the track and wandered among the bushes.  One might lie down anywhere here.  But not yet; it was as yet barely twilight.  He consulted his watch.  Half-past seven.