same time, the very possibility of establishing more
or less intimate relations with her made him distrustful
of his judgment. In spite of himself, he tried
to disparage her qualities. She was pretty, he
admitted, but then of such a feeble, characterless
type; doubtless her understanding corresponded with
the weakness of her outward appearance. None the
less, he had continued to observe her keenly, and had
noted with pleasure every circumstance which contradicted
his wilful depreciation of her. His state of
mind after the thrashing he gave to young Tootle had
been characteristic. What had been the cause of
his violence? Certainly not uncontrollable anger,
for he had in reality been perfectly cool throughout
the affair; simply, then, the pleasure of avenging
Miss Enderby. And for this he had sacrificed
his place, and left himself without resources.
He had acted absurdly; certainly would not have repeated
the absurdity had the scene been to act over again.
This was not the attitude of one in love, and he knew
it. Moreover, though he had thought of writing
to her, it would in reality have cost him nothing
if she had forthwith passed out of his sight and knowledge.
Now how all this had been altered, by a mere chance
meeting. The doubts had left him; she was indeed
the being from a higher world that he would have liked
to believe her from the first; the mysterious note
of true sympathy had been struck in that short exchange
of words and looks, and, though they had taken leave
of each other for who could say how long, mutual knowledge
was just beginning, real intercourse about to be established
between them. He might write to her, and of course
she would reply.
He walked without much perception of time or distance,
and found himself at home just before nightfall.
He felt disposed for a quiet evening, to be spent
in the companionship of his thoughts. But when
he had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after
the day’s rambling, restlessness again possessed
him. After all, it was not retirement that he
needed; these strange new Imaginings would consort
best with motion and the liveliness of the streets.
So he put out his lamp, and once more set forth.
The night air freshened his spirits; he sang to himself
as he went along. It was long since he had been
to a theatre, and just now he ’vas so hopelessly
poor that he could really afford a little extravagance.
So he was soon sitting before the well-known drop
of a favourite play-house, as full of light-hearted
expectancy as a boy who is enjoying a holiday.
The evening was delightful, and passed all too quickly.