le was of that other
vaster mass who accept everything for the thing it seems to be, hate
enquiry and analysis as a tramp hates washing, dread and resist change,
oppose experiment, despise science. The world is our battleground; and
all history, all literature that matters, all science, deals with this
conflict of the thing that is and the speculative "if" that will destroy
it.

But that is why I did not see Margaret Seddon again for five years.

CHAPTER THE SECOND ~~ MARGARET IN LONDON

1

I was twenty-seven when I met Margaret again, and the intervening
five years had been years of vigorous activity for me, if not of very
remarkable growth. When I saw her again, I could count myself a grown
man. I think, indeed, I counted myself more completely grown than I was.
At any rate, by all ordinary standards, I had "got on" very well, and
my ideas, if they had not changed very greatly, had become much more
definite and my ambitions clearer and bolder.

I had long since abandoned my fellowship and come to London. I had
published two books that had been talked about, written several
articles, and established a regular relationship with the WEEKLY REVIEW
and the EVENING GAZETTE. I was a member of the Eighty Club and learning
to adapt the style of the Cambridge Union to larger uses. The London
world had opened out to me very readily. I had developed a pleasant
variety of social connections. I had made the acquaintance of Mr.
Evesham, who had been attracted by my NEW RULER, and who talked about
it and me, and so did a very great deal to make a way for me into the
company of prominent and amusing people. I dined out quite frequently.
The glitter and interest of good London dinner parties became a common
experience. I liked the sort of conversation one got at them extremely,
the little glow of duologues burning up into more general discussions,
the closing-in of the men after the going of the women, the sage,
substantial masculine gossiping, the later resumption of effective talk
with some pleasant woman, graciously at her best. I had a wide range
of houses; Cambridge had linked me to one or two correlated sets of
artistic and literary people, and my books and Mr. Evesham and opened
to me the big vague world of "society." I wasn't aggressive nor
particularly snobbish nor troublesome, sometimes I talked well, and if I
had nothing interesting to say I said as little as possible, and I had
a youthful gravity of manner t