themselves. But let them be united and continuous, and you have a
hell that no grown-up devil can devise. Between Rickie and Gerald
there lay a shadow that darkens life more often than we suppose.
The bully and his victim never quite forget their first
relations. They meet in clubs and country houses, and clap one
another on the back; but in both the memory is green of a more
strenuous day, when they were boys together.

He tried to say, "He was the right kind of boy, and I was the
wrong kind." But Cambridge would not let him smooth the situation
over by self-belittlement. If he had been the wrong kind of boy,
Gerald had been a worse kind. He murmured, "We are different,
very," and Miss Pembroke, perhaps suspecting something, asked no
more. But she kept to the subject of Mr. Dawes, humorously
depreciating her lover and discussing him without reverence.
Rickie laughed, but felt uncomfortable. When people were engaged,
he felt that they should be outside criticism. Yet here he was
criticizing. He could not help it. He was dragged in.

"I hope his ankle is better."

"Never was bad. He's always fussing over something."

"He plays next week in a match, I think Herbert says."

"I dare say he does."

"Shall we be going?"

"Pray go if you like. I shall stop at home. I've had enough of