say at the tops of their voices, and
were understood to be auctioneers; a family from Bayswater named
Krausskopf. I was among those whom he had marked as men he would like
to fraternise with. As often as our paths crossed, his eyes told me
that he longed to stop and speak, and continue the promenade abreast.
I was under the control of a demon of mischief; I took a malicious
pleasure in eluding and baffling him--in passing on with a nod. It had
become a kind of game; I was curious to see whether he would ever
develop sufficient hardihood to take the bull by the horns. After
all, from a conventional point of view, my conduct was quite
justifiable. I always meant to do better by him next time, and then I
always deferred it to the next. But, from a conventional point of
view, my conduct was quite unassailable. I said this to myself when I
had momentary qualms of conscience. Now, rather late in the day, it
strikes me that the conventional point of view should have been
re-adjusted to the special case. I should have allowed for his
personal equation.

My cousin Wilford came to Biarritz about this time, stopping for a
week, on his way home from a tour in Spain. I couldn't find a room for
him at the Hotel d'Angleterre, so he put up at a rival hostelry over
the way; but he dined with me on the evening of his arrival, a place
being made for him between mine and Monsieur's. He hadn't been at the
table five minutes before the rumour went abroad who he was--somebody
had recognised him. Then those who were within reach of his voice
listened with all their ears--Colonel Escott, Flaherty, Maistre, and
Miss Hicks, of course, who even called him by name: 'Oh, Mr.
Wilford,' 'Now, Mr. Wilford,' &c. After dinner, in the smoking-room,
a cluster of people hung round us; men with whom I had no acquaintance
came merrily up and asked to be introduced. Colonel Escott and
Flaherty joined us. At the outskirts of the group I beheld Sir Richard
Maistre. His eyes (without his realising it perhaps) begged me to
invite him, to present him; and I affected not to understand! This is
one of the little things I find hardest to forgive myself. My whole
behaviour towards the young man is now a subject of self-reproach; if
it had been different, who knows that the tragedy of yesterday would
ever have happened? If I had answered his timid overtures, walked with
him, talked with him, cultivated his friendship, given him mine,
established a kindly human relation