ome, Miss Julia, at my
right hand there. Ah! was I not right? The roses are creeping
already--creeping into their proper place. Sit back in your chair and
eat slowly and drink the yellow wine, and listen to the humming of those
bees. So soon you will become normal, a woman, just what you should be.
Heavens! It is well that I came to see Maraton. When I saw you this
morning in that room, I said to myself--'There is a human creature who
half lives. What a sin to half live!' . . . Taste that salad,
Maraton. Taste it, man, and admit that it is well that I came."

They were alone in the garden--the inn was a little way off the main
road and they had discovered it entirely by accident. Both Julia and
Maraton yielded gracefully enough to the influence of their companion's
personality.

"Whether it is well for us or not," Maraton remarked, as he watched the
wine flow into his glass, "to yield up one's will like this, to become
even as a docile child, I do not know, but it is very pleasant. It is
an hour of detachment."

"It is the secret of youth, the secret of life, the secret of joy,"
Selingman declared. "Detachment is the word. Life would make slaves of
all of us, if one did not sometimes square one's shoulders and say--'No,
thank you, I have had enough! Good-bye! I return presently.' One needs
a will, perhaps, but then, what is life without will? I myself was at
work. The greatest theatrical manager in the world kept sentry before
my door. The greatest genius who ever trod upon the stage sent me
frantic messages every few hours. Then they spoke to me of Maraton. I
heard the cry--'Maraton is here!' I heard the thunder from across the
seas. Up from my desk, out from my room--hysterics, entreaties, nothing
stopped me. No luggage worth mentioning. Away I come, to London, to
Sheffield--what a place! To-morrow--to-morrow or the next day I return,
full of life and vigour. It is splendid. I broke away. No one else
could have done it. I left them in tears. What did I care? It is for
myself--for myself I do these things. Unless I myself am at my best,
what have I to give the world? Miss Julia, your health! To the roses,
and may they never leave your cheeks! No, don't go yet. There are
strawberries coming."

Maraton and his host sat together for a few moments in the garden before
they started on their return journey. Selingman leaned across the
table. He had forgotten to put on his coat, and he sat unabashed in his
shirt sleeves.