Hardly had I spoken than I regretted the hastiness of my remark. I could see at a glance that my friend was pained, more at feeling that I was out of sympathy with him than at my actual words. He suggested that we should turn homewards. We were nearing Fitzroy Square when he exclaimed—
"You know, Isabel, that I have always had a great admiration for you. I have thought you would prove one of the great figures of the coming Revolution; I still think so, but I see that our ways are parting. You laugh at me; yet I feel sure that my position is right. I am sorry I have not your sympathy in my work. I had counted on it; I had come this evening to tell you so. Perhaps some day you will understand my views and agree with them. Till then, good-bye. I am due at a comrade's house at Willesden; he is going in for the No Rent Campaign, and I have promised to help him move to-night, but first I must go home and get out of these cumbersome clothes into a more rational dress; coats and trousers impede one's every thought and movement. Good-bye," and he grasped my hand and was off, walking with a rapid, almost feverish stride.
On reaching home the servant informed me that a gentleman had called for me, and that on hearing I was out he had expressed his intention of returning. The girl could not remember his name, but I gathered from her description that he was a foreigner.
Just then a ring at the door interrupted her remarks, and I was surprised to see Kosinski enter the room. He walked straight up to me with an unwonted look of perturbation about him.
"Could you come with me at once?" he said in low, hurried tones.
"Where?" said I, feeling quite alarmed. "What is the matter?"
"With me, to my room. I need the help of some woman, but there is no time to waste. I will explain en route. Will you come?"
"Certainly, at once," and I walked out with him.
I had not chanced to see him since Giannoli's last letter in which he was denounced as belonging to the ranks of the Italian's false friends, since when I had only heard the insinuations of Short, which, as can easily be imagined, had not deeply impressed me, coming from such a quarter. Still I should not have been surprised had I felt a momentary embarrassment at finding myself suddenly in his company, and under such decidedly unusual circumstances, but such was not the case. No one could look into Kosinski's steady grey eyes and earnest face, pale with the inward fire of enthusiasm, and not feel conscious of standing face to face with one of those rare natures who have dedicated themselves, body and soul, to the service of an ideal. I walked on hurriedly, keeping up with his swinging stride, wondering where we were going, but not liking to break in on his reserve by probing questions. Suddenly he seemed to wake to a sense of reality, and turned sharply round to me.
"We are going to my room in Hammersmith," he said. "I want your assistance, if you care to come; there is a woman there dying, a friend of mine. You are the only person of whom I should care to ask such a favour. Will you come? I hardly think it will be for many hours."