But no!  If he had to give in to something:  if he really had to give in, and it seemed he had:  then he would rather give in to the little Lilly than to the beastly people of the world.  If he had to give in, then it should be to no woman, and to no social ideal, and to no social institution.  No!—­if he had to yield his wilful independence, and give himself, then he would rather give himself to the little, individual man than to any of the rest.  For to tell the truth, in the man was something incomprehensible, which had dominion over him, if he chose to allow it.

As he lay pondering this over, escaping from the cul de sac in which he had been running for so long, by yielding to one of his pursuers:  yielding to the peculiar mastery of one man’s nature rather than to the quicksands of woman or the stinking bogs of society:  yielding, since yield he must, in some direction or other:  yielding in a new direction now, to one strange and incalculable little individual:  as Aaron lay so relaxing, finding a peculiar delight in giving his soul to his mind’s hero, the self-same hero tapped and entered.

“I wondered,” he said, “if you’d like to walk into the country with me:  it is such a nice day.  I thought you might have gone out already.  But here you are in bed like a woman who’s had a baby.—­You’re all right, are you?”

“Yes,” said Aaron.  “I’m all right.”

“Miserable about your flute?—­Ah, well, there are more flutes.  Get up then.”  And Lilly went to the window, and stood looking out at the river.

“We’re going away on Thursday,” he said.

“Where to?” said Aaron.

“Naples.  We’ve got a little house there for the winter—­in the country, not far from Sorrento—­I must get a bit of work done, now the winter is coming.  And forget all about everything and just live with life.  What’s the good of running after life, when we’ve got it in us, if nobody prevents us and obstructs us?”

Aaron felt very queer.

“But for how long will you settle down—?” he asked.

“Oh, only the winter.  I am a vagrant really:  or a migrant.  I must migrate.  Do you think a cuckoo in Africa and a cuckoo in Essex is one AND the same bird?  Anyhow, I know I must oscillate between north and south, so oscillate I do.  It’s just my nature.  All people don’t have the same needs.”

“Perhaps not,” said Aaron, who had risen and was sitting on the side of the bed.

“I would very much like to try life in another continent, among another race.  I feel Europe becoming like a cage to me.  Europe may be all right in herself.  But I find myself chafing.  Another year I shall get out.  I shall leave Europe.  I begin to feel caged.”

“I guess there are others that feel caged, as well as you,” said Aaron.

“I guess there are.”

“And maybe they haven’t a chance to get out.”

Lilly was silent a moment.  Then he said: