with a troublesome dizziness, and of a morning his head generally
ached a little; but these were trifles. _Prisch zu_!--as a German
friend of his at Geneva used to say.

Even on the morning of the great day he worked; it was to prove his
will-power, his worthiness. After lunch, clad in the garb of
respectability, he went up by a quick train.

His evening suit he had previously despatched to Alexander's abode,
where he was to dine and dress.

At four o'clock he was in Bryanston Square, tremulous but sanguine,
a different man from him who had sneaked about here under the
umbrella. He knocked. The servant civilly informed him that Miss
Derwent was not at home, asked his name, and bowed him away.

It was a shock. This possibility had not entered his mind, so
engrossed was he in forecasting, in dramatising, the details of the
interview. Looking like one who has received some dreadful news, he
turned slowly from the door and walked away with head down. Probably
no event in all his life had given him such a sense of desolating
frustration. At once the sky was overcast, the ways were woebegone;
he shrank within his new garments, and endured once more the feeling
of personal paltriness.

Though the time before him was so long, he had no choice but to go
at once to Theobald's Road, where at all events friendly faces would
greet him. The streets of London are terrible to one who is both
lonely and unhappy; the indifference of their hard egotism becomes
fierce hostility; instead of merely disregarding, they crush. As