‘Do you know anything of the School of Mines in London?’ Godwin inquired, abruptly.

‘I worked there myself for a short time.’

‘Then you could tell me about the—­the fees, and soon?’

Christian readily gave the desired information, and the listener mused over it.

‘Have you any friends in London?’ Moxey asked, at length.

‘No.  But I don’t think that matters.  I shall work all the harder.’  ‘Perhaps so,’ said the other, with some hesitation.  And he added thoughtfully, ’It depends on one’s temperament.  Doesn’t answer to be too much alone—­I speak for myself at all events.  I know very few people in London—­very few that I care anything about.  That, in fact, is one reason why I am staying here longer than I intended.’  He seemed to speak rather to himself than to Godwin; the half-smile on his lips expressed a wish to disclose circumstances and motives which were yet hardly a suitable topic in a dialogue such as this.  ’I like the atmosphere of a—­of a comfortable home.  No doubt I should get on better—­with things in general—­if I had a home of my own.  I live in lodgings, you know; my sister lives with friends.  Of course one has a sense of freedom, but then’—­

His voice murmured off into silence, and again he beat the ground with his cane.  Godwin was strongly interested in this broken revelation; he found it difficult to understand Moxey’s yearning for domesticity, all his own impulses leading towards quite a contrary ideal.  To him, life in London lodgings made rich promise; that indeed would be freedom, and full of all manner of high possibilities!

Each communed with his thoughts.  Happening to glance at Christian, Godwin was struck with the graceful attitude in which the young man reclined; he himself squatted awkwardly on the grass, unable to abandon himself in natural repose, even as he found it impossible to talk with the ease of unconsciousness.  The contrast, too, between his garments, his boots, and those of the Londoner was painful enough to him.  Without being a dandy, Christian, it was evident, gave a good deal of thought to costume.  That kind of thing had always excited Godwin’s contempt, but now he confessed himself envious; doubtless, to be well dressed was a great step towards the finished ease of what is called a gentlemanly demeanour, which he knew he was very far from having attained.

‘Well,’ exclaimed Christian, unexpectedly, ’if I can be of ever so little use to you, pray let me.  I must get back to town in a few days, but you know my address.  Write to me, I beg, if you wish for any more information.’

The talk turned to less difficult topics.  Godwin made inquiries about Zurich, then about Switzerland in general.

‘Did you see much of the Alps?’

’Not as a climber sees them.  That sort of thing isn’t in my way; I haven’t the energy—­more’s the pity.  Would you like to see a lot of good photographs I brought back?  I have them here; brought them to show the girls.’