disappeared
towards north and south, disappeared into the darkness.

"I want to get into the light."

"Well, there it is before us."

Isaacson pointed to the brilliant illumination of Piccadilly Circus.

"I want to get into the real light, the light of the sun, and I want
every one else to get into it too."

"You carry your moral enthusiasm into all the details of your life,"
exclaimed Isaacson. "Would you carry the world to Egypt?"

Nigel took his arm.

"It seems so selfish to go alone."

"Are you going alone?"

The question was forced from Isaacson. His mind had held it all the
evening, and now irresistibly expelled it into words.

Nigel's strong fingers closed more tightly on his arm.

"I don't want to go alone."

"I would far rather be alone than not have the exactly right
companion--some one who could think and feel with me, and in the sort of
way I feel. Any other companionship is destructive."

Isaacson spoke with less than his usual self-possession, and there were
traces of heat in his manner.

"Don't you agree with me?" he added, as Nigel did not speak.

"People can learn to feel alike."

"You mean that when two natures come together, the stronger eventually
dominates the weaker. I should not like to be dominated, nor should I
like to dominate. I love mutual independence combined with perfect
sympathy."

Even while he was speaking, he was struck by his own exigence, and
laughed, almost ironically.

"But where to find it!" he exclaimed. "Those are right who put up with
less. But you--I think you want more than I do, in a way."

He added that lessening clause, remembering, quite simply, how much more
brilliant he was than Nigel.

"I like to give to people who don't expect it," Nigel said. "How hateful
the Circus is!"

"Shall we take a cab to Cleveland Square?"

"Yes--I'll come in for a little."

When they were in the house, Nigel said:

"I want to thank you for your visit to Mrs. Chepstow."

He spoke abruptly, as a man does who has been for some time intending to
say a thing, and who suddenly, but not without some difficulty, obeys
his resolution.

"Why on earth should you thank me?"

"Because I asked you to go."

"Is Mrs. Chepstow still in London?"

"Yes. I saw her to-day. She talks of coming to Egypt for the winter."

"Cairo, I suppose?"

"I think she is sick of towns."

"Then no doubt she'll go up the Nile."

There was a barrier between them. Both men felt it acute