come round and sit with me.
I've only to shut my eyes to see him standing by the fireplace, with his
elbow on the mantel-piece and his cheek on his hand, talking to me. And
I'd give a great deal to have him here to-night._

"_But I'm afraid I'm occupying an unfair proportion of your time and
strength at a season when you've faithfully promised to take care of
yourself and to have a proper rest. I hope you didn't get carried beyond
Crawleigh station; it's been rather on my conscience that I got out at
Winchester instead of coming on with you the whole way. Are you aware
that you collapsed from sheer exhaustion almost before we were out of
Waterloo? I thought you'd fainted and, as you have my only flask of
brandy, I had a bad fright. Isn't it worth while to take a little care
of yourself? You're so intolerably vain that I needn't remind you that
you're very young, extraordinarily lovely at times, very clever and
utterly wasted. However, that's your affair, and you're not likely to be
much impressed by any advice I give you, nor am I much impressed by my
right to give you advice. If I hear any news of Jack, you may be sure
that I shall let you know. Now, good-night, good-bye and a speedy
recovery._"

In reading through his letter, Eric could not help feeling that, where
he had sown decorum, a certain intimacy had shot up. But at three
o'clock in the morning he could not bother about that.

5

In the first drowsy moments after waking, Eric realized that he was
starting at a disadvantage. It was half-past ten. He had therefore
missed breakfast, disorganized the housemaids' programme for the day and
made himself too late to accompany his mother to church.

"I seem to have broken all the rules of the place before getting out of
bed," he told himself, as he rang for hot water.

Then he laughed as he recalled an old "Punch" drawing of an intoxicated
reveller in a Tube lift, who also contrived simultaneously to break all
the rules by smoking, by not "standing clear of the gates" and,
pre-eminently, by not being beware of pickpockets. The laugh put him in
good humour and reminded him that good humour must be his sword and
shield, if he hoped to get back to London that night without a struggle.
He sauntered in search of his brother with a razor in one hand and a
shaving-brush in the other to ask which night he would like to dine and
have his promised box at the Regency.

When he entered the dining-room, a pencilled note i