Tonight he spoke of it, as he sat with Morton after everyone else had gone to bed.  They had talked of Hugh Carnaby (each divining in the other a suspicion they were careful not to avow), and their mood led naturally to interchange of thoughts on grave subjects.

‘Everyone knows that state of mind, more or less,’ said Morton, in his dreamy voice —­ a voice good for the nerves.  ’It comes generally when one’s stomach is out of order.  You wake at half-past two in the morning, and suffer infernally from the blackest pessimism.  It’s morbid —­ yes; but for all that it may be a glimpse of the truth.  Health and good spirits, just as likely as not, are the deceptive condition.’

’Exactly.  But for the power of deceiving ourselves, we couldn’t live at all.  It’s not a question of theory, but of fact.’

‘I fought it out with myself,’ said Basil, after a sip of whisky, ’at the time of my “exodus from Houndsditch”.  There’s a point in the life of every man who has brains, when it becomes a possibility that he may kill himself.  Most of us have it early, but it depends on circumstances.  I was like Johnson’s friend:  be as philosophical as I might, cheerfulness kept breaking in.  And at last I let cheerfulness have its way.  As far as I know’ —­ he gurgled a laugh —­ ‘Schopenhauer did the same.’

Harvey puffed at his pipe before answering.

’Yes; and I suppose we may call that intellectual maturity.  It’s bad for a man when he can’t mature —­ which is my case.  I seem to be as far from it as ever.  Seriously, I should think few men ever had so slow a development.  I don’t stagnate:  there’s always movement; but —­ putting aside the religious question —­ my stage at present is yours of twenty years ago.  Yet, not even that; for you started better than I did.  You were never a selfish lout —­ a half-baked blackguard ——­’

‘Nor you either, my dear fellow.’

’But I was!  I’ve got along fairly well in self-knowledge; I can follow my course in the past clearly enough.  If I had my rights, I should live to about a hundred and twenty, and go on ripening to the end.  That would be a fair proportion.  It’s confoundedly hard to think that I’m a good deal past the middle of life, yet morally and intellectually am only beginning it.’

’It only means, Rolfe, that we others have a pretty solid conceit of ourselves. —­ Listen!  “We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.”  I don’t apply the name to you; but you’ll be none the worse for a good night’s sleep.  Let us be off.’

Harvey slept much better than of late.  There was an air of comfort in this guest-chamber which lulled the mind.  Not that the appointments were more luxurious than in his own bedroom, for Morton had neither the means nor the desire to equip his house with perfections of modern upholstery; but every detail manifested a care and taste and delicacy found only in homes which are homes indeed, and not mere