n remark, when he would retire into his formidable arsenal
of facts and figures, and returning with a large and hard chunk of
information, throw it at you and knock you down with it. His
unreasonableness lay in his failure to realize that a man cannot be your
friend and your enemy at the same time, that people are never grateful
for being set right. He had a dry and creaking efficiency which made him
silently detested. I for one rejoiced when I heard indirectly, at a
later period, that a widow of forty, with seven children, had sued him
for breach-of-promise.

"Young Siddons was unaware of the Second's disapproval, and would slip
down after supper, ready to go on at eight, and smoke cigarettes on my
settee. You men know how, in fine weather, when you walk to and fro on
the bridge, the empty, dragging hours induce the shades of the past to
come up and keep you company. We in the engine-room generally have
enough to do to keep away the crowds of ghosts. We had fine weather most
of the time and young Siddons would come down with a fresh set of
impressions which he would try to explain to me. He had been down to see
his people while we were at home and I imagine the impact of cheerful,
prosperous, well-bred folk had done a lot to modify his views. It was
difficult, he confided one evening, to reconcile one's feelings for a
girl with the grave problem of one's 'people.' Some chaps had such
thundering luck. There was his brother, articled to a solicitor, who had
been engaged for three years to a doctor's daughter. They were just
waiting until he was admitted. Now, what luck that was! Everything in
good taste. She lived in the same road. He saw her every day. Her people
were well off. When the time came the brother would have the usual
wedding, go to Cromer for a honeymoon, and--start life. Young Siddons
was puzzled by the fact that he himself had been bowled over by a girl
who, he couldn't help admitting, would not have been approved by the
'people' down in Herefordshire. He saw that! I could perceive in his air
a rather amusing amazement that love was apparently the antithesis
instead of the complement of happiness. Now how could that be? And yet
he admitted he had never seen his brother display any rapture over his
love affair with the doctor's daughter. Took it very much as a matter of
course. Oh, a very nice girl, very nice. But ... he would fall silent,
his chin on his hand, recalling the memory of Artemisia as she had
s