His oldhankerings after legal or literary or
political success at home hadgone.
He had discovered for himself the immortality of
love.
I say, Im sorry about your bad luck, Archie told
him.
Sure enough it was the returning fowlers. What were
my hobbies and myeasy days but the consolations of senility? That was what happened
to me on anOctober evening when I got into the train at Victoria. He has lost his
she-goshawk, Jezebel, Mary said, and cantafford another. He scarcely knew a bat from
aball, but he could cast a perfect dry-fly. I was about his own age, but I
hadknocked about a bit and saw its crudity.
He has nothing left now except a couple of
kestrels. Ithought of young David Warcliff, but he has gone to France to cramfor the
Diplomatic.
The whole countryside within twenty miles ofFosse
had a good word for him. Peter John likes the oldnames, which he gets out of Gervase
Markhan.
Its all there, she whispered to me, so that her
sister Dollieshould not hear.
But on the wholehe was as English as a Hampshire
water-meadow. The man whomI had thought of as a young eagle was content to be a
barndoorfowl. I went straightwayto the City and found Charles in his office, busy as
if nothing hadhappened.
Beyond the fence I could see a glistening
tarmacroad and the trees and lawns of biggish villas. Mary announced at breakfast
that Peter John was cutting down costsand reducing his establishment. If you dont
derive profits, no royalty is due. I wish I had taken it up sooner, for I wasted
severalyears chasing my tail.
He had put up his feet on the seat and was skimming
a motoringjournal.