He could not bear to walk the streets where the faces of beautiful women would encounter him. When he must needs leave the house, he went about in the poor, narrow ways, where only spectacles of coarseness, and want, and toil would be presented to him. Yet even here he was too often reminded that the poverty-stricken of the class to which poverty is natural were not condemned to endure in solitude. Only he who belonged to no class, who was rejected alike by his fellows in privation and by his equals in intellect, must die without having known the touch of a loving woman’s hand.
The summer went by, and he was unconscious of its warmth and light. How his days passed he could not have said.
One evening in early autumn, as he stood before the book-stall at the end of Goodge Street, a familiar voice accosted him. It was Whelpdale’s. A month or two ago he had stubbornly refused an invitation to dine with Whelpdale and other acquaintances—you remember what the occasion was—and since then the prosperous young man had not crossed his path.
‘I’ve something to tell you,’ said the assailer, taking hold of his arm. ‘I’m in a tremendous state of mind, and want someone to share my delight. You can walk a short way, I hope? Not too busy with some new book?’
Biffen gave no answer, but went whither he was led.
‘You are writing a new book, I suppose? Don’t be discouraged, old fellow. “Mr Bailey” will have his day yet; I know men who consider it an undoubted work of genius. What’s the next to deal with?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ replied Harold, merely to avoid argument. He spoke so seldom that the sound of his own voice was strange to him.
‘Thinking over it, I suppose, in your usual solid way. Don’t be hurried. But I must tell you of this affair of mine. You know Dora Milvain? I have asked her to marry me, and, by the Powers! she has given me an encouraging answer. Not an actual yes, but encouraging! She’s away in the Channel Islands, and I wrote—’
He talked on for a quarter of an hour. Then, with a sudden movement, the listener freed himself.
‘I can’t go any farther,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Good-bye!’