He remembered in the street, however, that a tie between him and an authoress was not what Tozer wanted; he had received no plot or even literary hint. Had he retained his clear senses during the séance, and had he possessed a knowledge of Julia Delyse's brilliant and cynical books, he might have wondered where the brilliancy and cynicism came from. In love, Julia was absolutely unliterary—and a bit heavy—clinging, as it were.
The momentary idea of running back to ask for the forgotten plot, as for a hat left behind, was dispelled by this sudden feeling that she was heavy.
Under the fascination of her eyes and in that weird room she seemed light; in St. James's Street, where he now was, she seemed heavy. And he would have to go on with the attachment for awhile or be a brute. That recognition, with the remembrance of Tozer and a recognition of his failure in his search for the one essential thing, depressed him for a moment. Then he determined to forget about everything and go and have dinner. In other words, failing in his search for the thing he wanted, he stopped searching, leaving the matter in the hands of blind chance.
CHAPTER II UNCLE SIMON
Or fate, if you like it better, for it was fated that Bobby should find that day the thing he was in search of.
He dined at a little club he patronised in a street off St. James's Street, met a friend named Foulkes, and adjourned to the Alhambra, Foulkes insisting on doing all the paying.
They left the Alhambra at half-past ten.
"I must be getting back to the Albany," said Bobby. "I'm sharing rooms with a chap, and he's an early bird."