Conrad drifted from the Riviera with the rest, and lingered through
June in Paris; not on the left bank this time--in the Paris of the
Boulevards and the Bois, where he was a world away from the quarter
where he had run to clasp the illusions of his youth, and stayed to
mourn them. Although he was finding life pleasant, there were moments
when he looked at the bridges, and felt wistful; but he never crossed
one--he knew now that he could not walk over the Pont Neuf into the
Past.
Nor was it with any definite purpose that he returned to London.
Amusement, agreeable society had lulled that desire to revisit old
scenes. And his experiments had been such failures: the endeavour to
recapture his fervour as an art-student; the ludicrous attempt to
revive in cynical adults the buoyant comradery of childhood; the
interest in the little girl whom time had turned into the least
interesting of women--it was with a mental blush that he recalled these
follies. If he thought no less tenderly of his youth, he thought of it
less often; if he was still liable to a sense of bereavement, he was
now idling as conventionally as any other man of his class.
He arrived in London while the sun shone, and told the cabman to drive
to the Carlton, where some Americans whom he liked in Monte Carlo had
talked of staying. After he had made himself presentable, he descended
to the palm court, and ordered tea, since tea was in evidence, and
glanced round the groups that sipped and chatted. His Americans were
not there--perhaps they had been faithful to the American hotel.
By-and-by he inquired about them, and learnt that they were unknown.
He was hipped, for they had been companionable, and one of the women
was very pretty. He felt rather "out of it" among the dawdling groups.
During dinner he asked himself to what theatre he should go. He
remembered reading recently that a farcical comedy had scored a great
success, and decided to go to see that. One of his oddities was a
reluctance to inconvenience people by passing in front of them in a
theatre after the curtain had risen, so he didn't dally at the table.
The piece began at a quarter past eight. He had a cup of coffee, and a
red Grand Marnier, and slid into a hansom. There would be just time to
smoke a cigarette comfortably during the drive.
Hansoms darted everywhere in the pale evening--a man and a friend, a
man and a girl, a man going to meet a girl. From Pall Mall the line of
liveries rolled up endlessly, the broughams and landaus flashing
glimpses of coiffures, and jewelled ears, and flowers. Where a block
occurred in the traffic, a young man, who had paused on the curb, in a
dress-suit that looked rather tight for him, bowed delightedly to the
occupants of a victoria, and they beamed in response. The encounter
was gratifying on both sides, for the young man had not often occasion
to put on a dress-suit, and his acquaintances had not long acquired a
carriage. Conrad, who missed the humour of the incident, was again
sensible of loneliness in an atmosphere where everybody seemed to know
someone but himself. But as he passed a barrow at the corner of a side
street he appreciated the humour of a costermonger shouting, "Liedy, I
can sell you some o' the finest cherries that was ever brought into
this country!"
When he entered the house the overture was being played, and as he
squeezed towards his chair a faint hope rose of discerning his Monte
Carlo companions among the audience. He sat down, between a lady with
a moustache and a youth who was trying to cultivate one, and scanned
the profiles that were visible, but there was none he recognised.
The attendants were still busy; in his velvet fauteuil he watched the
arrivals almost as eagerly as the Poor had watched them on the
pavement. What white backs the women had when they slipped them out of
their cloaks! he wondered if it was safe for them to lean against the
seats. With what geometrical perfection the hair margined the napes of
their slender necks! how did they do it?
The rising excitement of the overture warned him that it was about to
bang to an end. His programme had fallen to the floor. He stooped for
it with the idea of looking at the cast before the lights were lowered.
At this moment the lady in the stall next to him took out her
handkerchief.