“Julian died last night in Paris,” she told Sir Charles. “He was just coming over to London to kill you. Isn’t it idiotic? I don’t say he loves you now, but he’s willing to consider an intelligent friendship. Aren’t you, Julian? Death isn’t at all what the Salvation Army thinks, Charles. You’ll be surprised. You’re just yourself, that’s all. Funny you have to die before you’re allowed to be yourself. Oh, look! Look, Charles! Isn’t it beautiful! Charles, let’s walk and walk and walk!”
“Just look at those asses behind!” cried Julian Raphael, shouting with laughter. But now the people at the head of St. James’s Street were very faint, the clear golden air of the sun triumphant was falling between Sir Charles’s eyes and the people grouped round the prostrate figure that looked oddly like a dingy travesty of himself.
“If they only knew,” said Manana gravely, “that living is worth while just because one has to die! Come on, Charles, let’s walk!”
“Here, and me!” cried Julian Raphael.
“Young man,” said the Admiral severely, “you just stay where you are. I have been waiting a long time for this walk with Manana.”
“I’ll follow you. Where are you going to walk to?”
“You can’t follow us, Julian,” laughed Manana. “They won’t let you, yet. Naturally, dear, considering how awful you’ve been. You can have a drink while we’re gone.”
“A drink?” said Sir Charles. “But, good Lord, he can’t have a drink here, can he?”
“But why not?” Manana laughed. “There’s only one hell, dear, and that’s on earth. Come on, come on! We’ll walk towards that golden cloud and back!”