not find that the illusions of life are its best part. If you leave me
the illusions, I'll give you all the realities. But how can we stay
babbling and quibbling here all this delicious afternoon? I must go out
and see green things and beasts. Come with me, Lefevre, to the
Zoological Gardens; it will do you good."

"I tell you what," said Lefevre, looking at the clock as they moved
away; "my mother and sister will call for me with the carriage in less
than half an hour: come with us for a drive."

"Oh yes," said Julius; "that's a good idea."

"And I," said Lefevre, "must have a cup of tea in the meantime. Come and
sit down, and tell me where you have been."

But when they had sat down, Julius was little inclined to divagate into
an account of his travels. His glance swept round and noted everything;
he remarked on a soft effect of a shaft of sunshine that lit up the
small conservatory, and burnished the green of a certain plant; he
perceived a fine black Persian cat, the latest pet of the Club, and
exclaimed, "What a beautiful, superb creature!" He called it, and it
came, daintily sniffed at his leg, and leaped on his lap, where he
stroked and fondled it. And all the while he continued to discuss
illusion, while Lefevre poured and drank tea (tea, which Julius would
not share: tea, he said, did not agree with him).

"It bothers me," he said, "to imagine how a man like Embro gets any
satisfaction out of life, for ever mumbling the bare dry bones of
science. Such a life as his might as well be passed in the receiver of
an air-pump."