It seemed to him that now he understood all the world, that he could be astonished and shocked by nothing, that every man, be he never so degraded, was his brother.... He was unaware that his tie was again above his collar and his shoe lace unfastened. He strode along, thinking to himself: “How glorious!... How splendid!... How glorious!”
Philip, too, although the Empire ballet had once been commonplace enough, although, moreover, he had come so little a time ago from the country where the ballet was in all the world supreme, had been plunged by the Pirate into a most sentimental attitude of mind. He was to-night terribly in love with Katherine, and, when the lights had been turned down and the easy, trifling music had floated out to him, caught him, soothed and whispered to him, he had held Katherine in his arms, her cheek touching his, her heart beating with his, his hand against her hair.
Her confidence in him that, at other times, frightened him, to-night thrilled him with a delicious pleasure. His old distrust of himself yielded, to-night, to a fine, determined assurance. “I will be all that she thinks I am. She shall see how I love her. They shall all see.”
“I think we’ll go down into the Grill Room,” said Philip, when they arrived at the Carlton. “We can talk better there.”
It was all the same to Henry, who was busy feasting with the Pirate upon the Adriatic Island, with the Princess dancing for them on the golden sand. They found a quiet little table in that corner which is one of the pleasantest places in London, so retired from the world are you and yet so easy is it to see all that goes on amongst your friends, enemies and neighbours.
“Oysters?... Must have oysters, Henry.... Then grilled bones ... then we’ll see. Whisky and soda—split soda, waiter, please....”
Henry had never eaten oysters before, and he would have drunk his whisky with them had Philip not stopped him. “Never drink whisky with oysters—you’d die—you would really.”
Henry did not like oysters very much, but he would have suffered the worst kind of torture rather than say so. The bones came, and the whisky with them. Henry drank his first glass very quickly in order to show that he was quite used to it. He thought, as he looked across the table, that Philip was the finest fellow in the world; no one had ever been so kind to him as Philip—How could he ever have disliked Philip? Philip was going to marry Katherine, and was the only man in all the world who was worthy of her. Henry felt a burning desire to confide in Philip, to tell him all his most secret thoughts, his ambitions, his troubles....
He drank his second glass of whisky, and began a long, rather stumbling narration.
“You know, I shall never be able to tell you how grateful I am to you for giving me such a ripping evening. All this time ... I’ve been very rude sometimes, I expect ... you must have thought me a dreadful ass, and I’ve wanted so much to show you that I’m not.”