Noll’s eyes came back from his thoughts to rest on the bent shoulders of the disconsolate man; and Netherby realized that the other had digested the situation.
He sighed sadly, his head in his hands:
“Poor Julia!” he said—“ she must never know. She has done this during our absence—as a surprise. And,” he added grimly: “it was!”
Noll smiled:
“But, Netherby, my dear old boy; you must not fret. You are famous, man——”
“Oh yes—quite. A duchess has asked me to dinner—without my wife.”
Noll put out the light:
“Let us sit in the dusk for awhile, Netherby, as we have sat many a day and settled the affairs of the state. We have laughed at care here; and kicked the world about like a football, and striven to dig up the roots of the Universe—the Why and the Wherefore and the Whence and the Whither.”
Netherby sighed:
“Ah, Noll, the old room is gone. I have to begin all over again. These stiff prude seats compel me to order—tell me harshly that I must not be dreaming overmuch, nor thinking—which is next door to dreaming—but nag me to be up and doing, boiling pots or eggs or hitting something or pushing at things. I don’t seem to fit in anywhere. The medieval rigours warn me to be done with visions and the reading of the visions of others; and their hard oaken seats rise up and assault me where I would sit upon them.... But that is nothing. They have left me not even my books. I am bewildered—bewildered—wholly bewildered.”