But so hectic a life could hardly last. Although they ate their meals in the chicest restaurants, and their hotel was the largest and most replete with les conforts home in all the Gay City, Gaveston found himself beset with ennui. He felt very surely that a chapter in his life was drawing to a close; new interests would soon be clamorous for treatment. Besides, what had originally enchanted him in his companion now began to fray his nerves. It was distressing to find that Lord Vivian’s only idea of conversation was to ask questions. At last he felt driven to force a scene.
“Dans la longue course,” complained Gav one morning over their chocolat, “la luxure devient fatiguante.”
Lord Vivian looked at him not without anxiety, and turned the talk on to other lines.
“Vous manquez vos âgés amis à Oxford?” he asked.
“Possiblement,” Gaveston’s voice was cutting.
“Quel est votre chef ami à Oxford?”
“Réellement, je ne connais pas.”
“S’il vous plaît, dites à moi,” Lord Vivian implored.
“Vous me faites fatigué. Vous êtes trop curieux.”
The nobleman was touched to the quick.