me however, by contrast, sufficiently. He assured me he was really
getting better, and his mother remarked that he would come round if
he could only get his spirits up. The aunt echoed this opinion,
and I became more sure that in her own case she knew where to go
for such a purpose. I'm afraid I was rather weak with my old
friend, for I neglected the opportunity, so exceptionally good, to
rebuke the levity which had led him to throw up honourable
positions--fine stiff steady berths in Bayswater and Belgravia,
with morning prayers, as I knew, attached to one of them. Very
likely his reasons had been profane and sentimental; he didn't want
morning prayers, he wanted to be somebody's dear fellow; but I
couldn't be the person to rebuke him. He shuffled these episodes
out of sight--I saw he had no wish to discuss them. I noted
further, strangely enough, that it would probably be a questionable
pleasure for him to see me again: he doubted now even of my power
to condone his aberrations. He didn't wish to have to explain; and
his behaviour was likely in future to need explanation. When I
bade him farewell he looked at me a moment with eyes that said
everything: "How can I talk about those exquisite years in this
place, before these people, with the old women poking their heads
in? It was very good of you to come to see me; it wasn't my idea--
SHE brought you. We've said everything; it's over; you'll lose all
patience with me, and I'd rather you shouldn't see the rest." I
sent him some money in a letter the next day, but I saw the rest
only in the light of a barren sequel.

A whole year after my visit to him I became aware once, in dining
out, that Brooksmith was one of the several servants who hovered
behind our chairs. He hadn't opened the door of the house to me,
nor had I recognised him in the array of retainers in the hall.