A. V. LAIDER--I had looked him up in the visitors'-book on the night of
his arrival. I myself had arrived the day before, and had been rather sorry
there was no one else staying here. A convalescent by the sea likes to
have some one to observe, to wonder about, at meal-time. I was glad
when, on my second evening, I found seated at the table opposite to mine
another guest. I was the gladder because he was just the right kind of
guest. He was enigmatic. By this I mean that he did not look soldierly or
financial or artistic or anything definite at all. He offered a clean slate
for speculation. And, thank heaven! he evidently wasn't going to spoil
the fun by engaging me in conversation later on. A decently unsociable
man, anxious to be left alone.

The heartiness of his appetite, in contrast with his extreme fragility
of aspect and limpness of demeanor, assured me that he, too, had just had
influenza. I liked him for that. Now and again our eyes met and were
instantly parted. We managed, as a rule, to observe each other indirectly.
I was sure it was not merely because he had been ill that he looked
interesting. Nor did it seem to me that a spiritual melancholy,
though I imagined him sad at the best of times, was his sole asset.
I conjectured that he was clever. I thought he might also be
imaginative. At first glance I had mistrusted him. A shock of
white hair, combined with a young face and dark eyebrows, does somehow
make a man look like a charlatan. But it is foolish to be guided by an
accident of color. I had soon rejected my first impression of my
fellow-diner. I found him very sympathetic.

Anywhere but in England it would be impossible for two solitary
men, howsoever much reduced by influenza, to spend five or six days in
the same hostel and not exchange a single word. That is one of the
charms of England. Had Laider and I been born and bred in any other