“‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t work; I lead an aimless sort of life.’
“‘Great mistake,’ said he.
“I agreed.
“‘How did it come about?’ he asked.
“Somehow I found myself telling him.
“‘When I was young—that is to say, after I had left Oxford—I thought I’d like to see the world, so I started; I travelled, stopping sometimes for six months or two if I liked the place. Then when I got tired of that, I took to specialising in different subjects, giving a year, two years, three, to each. So I drifted on till the war, and here I am.’
“‘I see,’ he said. ‘And now you’re bored.’
“‘Yes,’ I said, adding, ‘and worse.’
“He made no comment on that; I don’t know whether he heard. He said presently, in the same tone as he would have used to remark on current politics,—
“‘I’m going to Ephesus to-morrow, you’d better come with me. My name’s MacPherson.’