I
I FIRST met him outside the Tube Station at Hampstead; he had travelled
on my train, and I had noticed him particularly because, like me, he was
wearing a rather shabby overcoat over a dress-suit. At the corner of
Rosslyn Hill I went into a shop for some tobacco, and when I came out he
was waiting for me. He asked me in a rather shy voice if I could direct
him to the End House.
I told him that I could, and that since I was going to the End House
myself he had better come with me. We walked quite a long way without
saying a word. Every now and then as we neared lamp-posts or
brilliantly-lit shops I glanced sideways at him, and each time he was
looking grimly ahead, as if life were a tremendous ordeal. He was rather
good-looking, in a restrained sort of way; tall, well-proportioned,
fair-haired and blue-eyed, he had all the attributes of the matinee idol
except that he didn't look like one. Towards the top of Heath Street I
tried to get him into conversation. "I suppose we're both guests at
Severn's dinner-party to-night?" I remarked. "I suppose so," he answered
rather gloomily, and then suddenly, with a sort of shy vehemence, he
added: "I hate dinner-parties."
"Oh, but you won't hate this one," I assured him. "Severn's people are
always interesting.... By the way, haven't you been before?"
"No. I didn't meet Severn till last week--didn't particularly want to,
either. Somebody introduced us at the College--just casually, that was
all--and then, a couple of days later, he sent me this invitation."
"Just what he _would_ do. But you needn't worry--you won't be bored."