lt at
the same time irritated by it. This state of mind was by no means
acceptable. Wherever he was he liked to be given, tacitly, the
first place--or a place among the first. Among the musical people
he frequented, he found himself on a callow kind of equality with
everybody, even the stars and aristocrats, at one moment, and a
backstairs outsider the next. It was all just as the moment demanded.
There was a certain excitement in slithering up and down the social
scale, one minute chatting in a personal tete-a-tete with the most
famous, or notorious, of the society beauties: and the next walking in
the rain, with his flute in a bag, to his grubby lodging in Bloomsbury.
Only the excitement roused all the savage sarcasm that lay at the bottom
of his soul, and which burned there like an unhealthy bile.

Therefore he determined to clear out--to disappear. He had a letter from
Lilly, from Novara. Lilly was drifting about. Aaron wrote to Novara, and
asked if he should come to Italy, having no money to speak of. "Come
if you want to. Bring your flute. And if you've no money, put on a good
suit of clothes and a big black hat, and play outside the best cafe in
any Italian town, and you'll collect enough to get on with."

It was a sporting chance. Aaron packed his bag and got a passport, and
wrote to Lilly to say he would join him, as invited, at Sir William
Franks'. He hoped Lilly's answer would arrive before he left London. But
it didn't.

Therefore behold our hero alighting at Novara, two hours late, on a
wet, dark evening. He hoped Lilly would be there: but nobody. With some
slight dismay he faced the big, crowded station. The stream of people
carried him automatically through the barrier, a porter having seized
his bag, and volleyed various unintelligible questions at him. Aaron
understood not one word. So he just wandered after the blue blouse of
the porter.

The porter deposited the bag on the steps of the station front, fired
off more questions and gesticulated into the half-illuminated space of
darkness outside the station. Aaron decided it meant a cab, so he nodded
and said "Yes." But there were no cabs. So once more the blue-bloused
porter slung the big bag and the little bag on the strap over his
shoulder, and they plunged into the night, towards some lights and a
sort of theatre place.

One carriage stood there in the rain--yes, and it was free.

"Keb? Yes--orright--sir. Whe'to? Where you go? Sir William Fran