write in such an atmosphere as ours; it's like a weight on one's
pen. This life here is not life at all--it's a daily death, and
it's killing the book too; the last chapters are wretched--I'm
utterly dissatisfied with them."

"As for that," I said calmly, "you are no judge at all. You can
never tell the worth of your own work; the last bit is splendid."

"I could have done it better," he groaned. "But there is always a
ghastly depression dragging one back here--and then the time is so
short; just as one gets into the swing of it the breakfast bell
rings, and then comes--" He broke off.

I could well supply the end of the sentence, however, for I knew
that then came the slow torture of a tete-a-tete day with the Major,
stinging sarcasms, humiliating scoldings, vexations and difficulties
innumerable.

I drew him to the left, having no mind to go to the top of the hill.
We slackened our pace again and walked to and fro along the broad
level pavement of Lansdowne Crescent. We had it entirely to
ourselves--not another creature was in sight.

"I could bear it all," he burst forth, "if only there was a chance
of seeing Freda. Oh, you are better off than I am--at least, you
know the worst. Your hope is killed, but mine lives on a tortured,
starved life! Would to God I had never seen her!"

Certainly before that night I had never quite realised the
irrevocableness of poor Derrick's passion. I had half hoped that