“It was?  You have felt that same desperate need of congenial society?”

“I have felt it very strongly indeed.  I live so very much alone, and have always done so.  Fortunately I am of a very cheerful disposition, or I might have suffered much.  The young fellows I see every day haven’t much intellect, it must be confessed.  I used to try to get them under the influence of my own enthusiasms, but they didn’t seem to understand me.  They care only for things which either repel me, or are utterly without interest.”

“Ha! you understand what that means!” Waymark had risen from his low chair, and stood with his back to the fire.  His eyes had a new life, and he spoke in a strong, emphatic way which suited well with his countenance.  “You know what it is to have to do exclusively with fools and brutes, to rave under the vile restraints of Philistine surroundings?  Then you can form some notion of the state I was in when I took the step of writing that advertisement; I was, I firmly believe, on the verge of lunacy!  For two or three days I had come back home from the school only to pace up and down the room in an indescribable condition.  I get often like that, but this time things seemed reaching a head.  Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd as it may sound.  My blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out the veins beyond endurance.  As a rule I get over these moods by furious walking about the streets half through the night, but I couldn’t even do that.  I had no money to go in for dissipation:  that often helps me.  Every book was loathsome to me.  My landlady must have overheard something, for she came in and began a conversation about God knows what; I fear I mortally offended her; I could have pitched the poor old woman out of the window!  Heavens, how did I get through those nights?”

“And the fit has passed?” inquired Julian when the other ceased.

“The Lord be praised; yes!” Waymark laughed half-scornfully.  “There came an editor’s note, accepting a thing that had been going from magazine to magazine for three months.  This snatched me up into furious spirits.  I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good for me, made a fool of myself in general,—­and then received your letter.  Good luck never comes singly.”

Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark’s face with close interest.  When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked away, but with a look of friendly sympathy.

“Do I shock you?” asked the other.  “Do you think me rather too much of an animal, for all my spiritual longings?”

“Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe.”

The conversation passed to quieter things.  Julian seemed afraid of saying too much about his own experiences, but found opportunities of showing his acquaintance with English poetry, which was quite as extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure.  He had taught himself Italian, too, and had read considerably in that language.  He explained that his father was an Italian, but had died when he himself was still an infant.