Victor hinted notes of the Conspiration Scene closing the Third Act of the Huguenots.  That sombre Chorus brought Mrs. Burman before him.  He drummed the Rataplan, which sent her flying.  The return of a lively disposition for dinner and music completed his emancipation from the yoke of the baleful creature sitting half her days in the chemist’s shop; save that a thought of drugs brought the smell, and the smell the picture; she threatened to be an apparition at any moment pervading him through his nostrils.  He spoke to Fenellan of hunger for dinner, a need for it; singular in one whose appetite ran to the stroke of the hour abreast with Armandine’s kitchen-clock.  Fenellan proposed a glass of sherry and bitters at his Club over the way.  He had forgotten a shower of black-balls (attributable to the conjurations of old Ate) on a certain past day.  Without word of refusal, Victor entered a wine-merchant’s office, where he was unknown, and stating his wish for bitters and dry sherry, presently received the glass, drank, nodded to the administering clerk, named the person whom he had obliged and refreshed, and passed out, remarking to Fenellan:  ’Colney on Clubs! he’s right; they’re the mediaeval in modern times, our Baron’s castles, minus the Baron; dead against public life and social duties.  Business excuses my City Clubs; but I shall take my name off my Club up West.’

’More like monasteries, with a Committee for Abbot, and Whist for the services,’ Fenellan said.  ’Or tabernacles for the Chosen, and Grangousier playing Divinity behind the veil.  Well, they’re social.’

’Sectionally social, means anything but social, my friend.  However—­and the monastery had a bell for the wanderer!  Say, I’m penniless or poundless, up and down this walled desert of a street, I feel, I must feel, these palaces—­if we’re Christian, not Jews:  not that the Jews are uncharitable; they set an:  example, in fact . . . . ’

He rambled, amusingly to the complacent hearing of Fenellan, who thought of his pursuit of wealth and grand expenditure.

Victor talked as a man having his mind at leaps beyond the subject.  He was nearing to the Idea he had seized and lost on London Bridge.

The desire for some good news wherewith to inspirit Nataly, withdrew him from his ineffectual chase.  He had nought to deliver; on the contrary, a meditation concerning her comfort pledged him to concealment which was the no step, or passive state, most abhorrent to him.

He snatched at the name of Themison.

With Dr. Themison fast in his grasp, there was a report of progress to be made to Nataly; and not at all an empty report.

Themison, then:  he leaned on Themison.  The woman’s doctor should have an influence approaching to authority with her.

Land-values in the developing Colonies, formed his theme of discourse to Fenellan:  let Banks beware.

Fenellan saw him shudder and rub the back of his head.  ‘Feel the wind?’ he said.