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wrong. Only we cannot begin while we are so few. It is Those

Others."



"Precisely," said Widgery. "It is Those Others. They must begin

first."



"And meanwhile you go on banking--"

"If I didn't, some one else would."



"And I live on Mr. Milton's Lotion while I try to gain a footing

in Literature."



"TRY!" said Phipps. "You HAVE done so." And, "That's different,"

said Dangle, at the same time.



"You are so kind to me. But in this matter. Of course Georgina

Griffiths in my book lived alone in a flat in Paris and went to



life classes and had men visitors, but then she was over

twenty-one."



"Jessica is only seventeen, and girlish for that," said Dangle.

"It alters everything. That child! It is different with a woman.



And Georgina Griffiths never flaunted her freedom-- on a bicycle,

in country places. In this country. Where every one is so



particular. Fancy, SLEEPING away from home. It's dreadful-- If it

gets about it spells ruin for her."



"Ruin," said Widgery.

"No man would marry a girl like that," said Phipps.



"It must be hushed up," said Dangle.

"It always seems to me that life is made up of individuals, of



individual cases. We must weigh each person against his or her

circumstances. General rules don't apply--"



"I often feel the force of that," said Widgery. "Those are my

rules. Of course my books--"



"It's different, altogether different," said Dangle. "A novel

deals with typical cases."



"And life is not typical," said Widgery, with immense profundity.

Then suddenly, unintentionally, being himself most surprised and



shocked of any in the room, Phipps yawned. The failing was

infectious, and the gathering having, as you can easily



understand, talked itself weary, dispersed on trivial pretences.

But not to sleep immediately. Directly Dangle was alone he began,



with infinitedisgust, to scrutinise his darkling eye, for he was

a neat-minded little man in spite of his energy. The whole



business--so near a capture--was horribly vexatious. Phipps sat

on his bed for some time examining, with equal disgust, a collar



he would have thought incredible for Sunday twenty-four hours

before. Mrs. Milton fell a-musing on the mortality of even big,



fat men with dog-like eyes, and Widgery was unhappy because he

had been so cross to her at the station, and because so far he



did not feel that he had scored over Dangle. Also he was angry

with Dangle. And all four of them, being souls living very much



upon the appearances of things, had a painful, mental middle

distance of Botley derisive and suspicious, and a remoter



background of London humorous, and Surbiton speculative. Were

they really, after all, behaving absurdly?



MR. HOOPDRIVER, KNIGHT ERRANT

XXXII



As Mr. Dangle bad witnessed, the fugitives had been left by him

by the side of the road about two miles from Botley. Before Mr.



Dangle's appearance, Mr. Hoopdriver had been learning with great

interest that mere roadside flowers had names,--star-flowers,



wind-stars, St. John's wort, willow herb, lords and ladies,

bachelor's buttons,--most curious names, some of them. "The



flowers are all different in South Africa, y'know," he was

explaining with a happy fluke of his imagination to account for



his ignorance. Then suddenly, heralded by clattering sounds and a

gride of wheels, Dangle had flared and thundered across the



tranquillity of the summer evening; Dangle, swaying and

gesticulating behind a corybantic black horse, had hailed Jessie



by her name, had backed towards the hedge for no ostensible

reason, and vanished to the accomplishment of the Fate that had



been written down for him from the very beginning of things.

Jessie and Hoopdriver had scarcely time to stand up and seize



their machines, before this tumultuous, this swift and wonderful

passing of Dangle was achieved. He went from side to side of the



road,--worse even than the riding forth of Mr. Hoopdriver it was,




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