old man, chafed by the
result of his own ill-nature, and helpless to bring back his partner,
was forced to betake himself to chess. I left him grumbling away to
Lawrence about the vanity of authors, and went out in the hope of
finding Derrick. As I left the house I saw someone turn the corner into
the Circus, and starting in pursuit, overtook the tall, dark figure
where Bennett Street opens on to the Lansdowne Hill.

"I'm glad you spoke up, old fellow," I said, taking his arm.

He modified his pace a little. "Why is it," he exclaimed, "that every
other profession can be taken seriously, but that a novelist's work is
supposed to be mere play? Good God! don't we suffer enough? Have we
not hard brain work and drudgery of desk work and tedious gathering of
statistics and troublesome search into details? Have we not an appalling
weight of responsibility on us?--and are we not at the mercy of a
thousand capricious chances?"

"Come now," I exclaimed, "you know that you are never so happy as when
you are writing."

"Of course," he replied; "but that doesn't make me resent such an attack
the less. Besides, you don't know what it is to have to write in such an
atmosphere as ours; it's like a weight on one's pen. This life here is
not life at all--it's a daily death, and it's killing the book too; the
last chapters are wretched--I'm utterly dissatisfied with them."

"As for that," I said calmly, "you are no judge at all. You can never
tell the worth of your own work; the last bit is splendid."

"I could have done it better," he groaned. "But there is always a
ghastly depression dragging one back here--and then the time is so
short; just as one gets into the swing of it the breakfast bell rings,
and then comes--" He broke off.

I could well supply the end of the sentence, however, for I knew that
then came the slow torture of a tete-a-tete day with the Major, stinging
sarcasms, humiliating scoldings, vexations and difficulties innumerable.

I drew him to the left, having no mind to go to the top of the hill.
We slackened our pace again and walked to and fro along the broad level
pavement of Lansdowne Crescent. We had it entirely to ourselves--not
another creature was in sight.

"I could bear it all," he burst forth, "if only there was a chance of
seeing Freda. Oh, you are better off than I am--at least, you know the
worst. Your hope is killed, but mine lives on a tortured, starved life!
Would to God I had never seen her!