"I should like to very much, Felician."
"Well then, if it suits you I'll be at home at seven. We might go and have supper together—but alone, not at the club."
"Yes, with pleasure."
"And you might do me a favour," began Felician again after a short silence. "Remember me out there very very kindly ... tell her that I sympathise most sincerely."
"Thank you, Felician. I will tell her."
"Really, George, I can't tell you how much it touched me," continued Felician with warmth. "I only hope that she'll soon get over it.... And you, too."
George nodded. "Do you know," he said gently, "what it was going to be called?"
Felician looked at his brother's eyes very seriously, then he pressed his hand. "Next time," he said with a kindly smile. He shook hands with his brother again and went.
George looked after him, torn by varying emotions. Yet he's not altogether sorry, he thought, that it should have turned out like that.
He got ready quickly and decided to cycle into the country again to-day. It was only when he had got past most of the traffic that he really became conscious of himself. The sky had grown a little dull and a cool wind blew from the hills towards George, like an autumn greeting. He did not want to meet any one in the little village where yesterday's events were bound to be already known, and took the upper road between the meadows and the garden to the approach from the back. The nearer the moment came when he was to see Anna again, the heavier his heart grew. At the railing he dismounted from his cycle and hesitated a little. The garden was empty. At the bottom lay the house sunk in silence. George breathed deeply and painfully. How different it might have been! he thought, walked down and heard the gravel crunch beneath his feet. He went on to the verandah, leaned his cycle against the railing and looked into the room through the open window. Anna lay there with open eyes. "Good morning," he cried, as cheerfully as he could.