“I don’t know hedonistic.  And supposing I am as you say—­are you any different?”

“No, I’m not very different.  But I always persuade myself there’s a bit of difference.  Do you know what Josephine Ford confessed to me?  She’s had her lovers enough.  ’There isn’t any such thing as love, Lilly,’ she said.  ’Men are simply afraid to be alone.  That is absolutely all there is in it:  fear of being alone.’”

“What by that?” said Aaron.

“You agree?”

“Yes, on the whole.”

“So do I—­on the whole.  And then I asked her what about woman.  And then she said with a woman it wasn’t fear, it was just boredom.  A woman is like a violinist:  any fiddle, any instrument rather than empty hands and no tune going.”

“Yes—­what I said before:  getting as much amusement out of life as possible,” said Aaron.

“You amuse me—­and I’ll amuse you.”

“Yes—­just about that.”

“All right, Aaron,” said Lilly.  “I’m not going to amuse you, or try to amuse you any more.”

“Going to try somebody else; and Malta.”

“Malta, anyhow.”

“Oh, and somebody else—­in the next five minutes.”

“Yes—­that also.”

“Goodbye and good luck to you.”

“Goodbye and good luck to you, Aaron.”

With which Lilly went aside to wash the dishes.  Aaron sat alone under the zone of light, turning over a score of Pelleas.  Though the noise of London was around them, it was far below, and in the room was a deep silence.  Each of the men seemed invested in his own silence.

Aaron suddenly took his flute, and began trying little passages from the opera on his knee.  He had not played since his illness.  The noise came out a little tremulous, but low and sweet.  Lilly came forward with a plate and a cloth in his hand.

“Aaron’s rod is putting forth again,” he said, smiling.

“What?” said Aaron, looking up.

“I said Aaron’s rod is putting forth again.”

“What rod?”

“Your flute, for the moment.”

“It’s got to put forth my bread and butter.”

“Is that all the buds it’s going to have?”

“What else!”

“Nay—­that’s for you to show.  What flowers do you imagine came out of the rod of Moses’s brother?”

“Scarlet runners, I should think if he’d got to live on them.”

“Scarlet enough, I’ll bet.”

Aaron turned unnoticing back to his music.  Lilly finished the wiping of the dishes, then took a book and sat on the other side of the table.

“It’s all one to you, then,” said Aaron suddenly, “whether we ever see one another again?”

“Not a bit,” said Lilly, looking up over his spectacles.  “I very much wish there might be something that held us together.”

“Then if you wish it, why isn’t there?”

“You might wish your flute to put out scarlet-runner flowers at the joints.”