the mere change kills him! His epitaph ought to read: "Here lies the
plain man of common sense, whose life was all means and no end."

A remedy will be worth finding.




II - THE TASTE FOR PLEASURE



I


One evening--it is bound to happen in the evening when it does
happen--the plain man whose case I endeavoured to analyse in the
previous chapter will suddenly explode. The smouldering volcano within
that placid and wise exterior will burst forth, and the surrounding
country will be covered with the hot lava of his immense hidden
grievance. The business day has perhaps been marked by an unusual
succession of annoyances, exasperations, disappointments--but he has
met them with fine philosophic calm; fatigue has overtaken him--but it
has not overcome him; throughout the long ordeal at the office he has
remained master of himself, a wondrous example to the young and the
foolish. And then some entirely unimportant occurrence--say, an
invitation to a golf foursome which his duties forbid him to accept--a
trifle, a nothing, comes along and brings about the explosion, in a
fashion excessively disconcerting to the onlooker, and he exclaims,
acidly, savagely, with a profound pessimism: