as reclining in a chair； her elbows on its arms； the tips of her fingers pressed together。 Her face； with its dark hair； vivid colouring； and sharp lines； was touched with shadows； her head turned as though towards somebody beside her； her neck gleamed white。 So motionless； dimly seenshe was like a woman sitting alongside her own life； scrutinising； criticising； watching it live； taking no part in it。 Hilary wondered whether to go in or slip away from his strange visitor。
〃Ah！ it's you；〃 she said。
Hilary approached her。 For all her mocking of her own charms； this wife of his was strangely graceful。 After nineteen years in which to learn every line of her face and body； every secret of her nature； she still eluded him； that elusiveness； which had begun by being such a charm； had got on his nerves； and extinguished the flame it had once lighted。 He had so often tried to see； and never seen； the essence of her soul。 Why was she made like this？ Why was she for ever mocking herself； himself； and every other thing？ Why was she so hard to her own life； so bitter a foe to her own happiness？ Leonardo da Vinci might have painted her； less sensual and cruel than his women； more restless and disharmonic； but physically； spiritually enticing； and； by her refusals to surrender either to her spirit or her senses； baffling her own enticements。
〃I don't know why I came；〃 she said。
Hilary found no better answer than： 〃I am sorry I was out to dinner。〃
〃Has the wind gone round？ My room is cold。〃
〃Yes； north…east。 Stay here。〃
Her hand touched his； that warm and restless clasp was agitating。
〃It's good of you to ask me； but we'd better not begin what we can't keep up。〃
〃Stay here；〃 said Hilary again； kneeling down beside her chair。
And suddenly he began to kiss her face and neck。 He felt her answering kisses； for a moment they were clasped together in a fierce embrace。 Then； as though by mutual consent； their arms relaxed； their eyes grew furtive； like the eyes of children who have egged each other on to steal； and on their lips appeared the faintest of faint smiles。 It was as though those lips were saying： 〃Yes； but we are not quite animals！〃
Hilary got up and sat down on his bed。 Blanca stayed in the chair； looking straight before her； utterly inert； her head thrown back； her white throat gleaming； on her lips and in her eyes that flickering smile。 Not a word more； nor a look； passed between them。
Then rising； without noise； she passed behind him and went out。
Hilary had a feeling in his mouth as though he had been chewing ashes。 And a phraseas phrases sometimes fill the spirit of a man without rhyme or reasonkept forming on his lips： 〃The house of harmony！〃
Presently he went to her door； and stood there listening。 He could hear no sound whatever。 If she had been crying if she had been laughingit would have been better than this silence。 He put his hands up to his ears and ran down…stairs。
CHAPTER XIII
SOUND IN THE NIGHT
He passed his study door； and halted at Mr。 Stone's； the thought of the old man； so steady and absorbed in the face of all external things； refreshed him。
Still in his brown woollen gown； Mr。 Stone was sitting with his eyes fixed on something in the corner； whence a little perfumed steam was rising。
〃Shut the door；〃 he said； 〃I am making cocoa； will you have a cup？〃
〃Am I disturbing you？〃 asked Hilary。
Mr。 Stone looked at him steadily before answering：
〃If I work after cocoa； I find it clogs the liver。〃
〃Then； if you'll let me； sir； I'll stay a little。〃
〃It is boiling；〃 said Mr。 Stone。 He took the saucepan off the flame； and； distending his frail cheeks； blew。 Then； while the steam mingled with his frosty beard； he brought two cups from a cupboard； filled one of them； and looked at Hilary。
〃I should like you；〃 he said； 〃to hear three or four pages I have just completed； you may perhaps be able to suggest a word or two。〃
He placed the saucepan back on the stove； and grasped the cup he had filled。
〃I will drink my cocoa； and read them to you。〃
Going to the desk； he stood； blowing at the cup。
Hilary turned up the collar of his coat against the night wind which was visiting the room； and glanced at the empty cup； for he was rather hungry。 He heard a curious sound： Mr。 Stone was blowing his own tongue。 In his haste to read； he had drunk too soon and deeply of the cocoa。
〃I have burnt my mouth；〃 he said。
Hilary moved hastily towards him： 〃Badly？ Try cold milk； sir。〃
Mr。 Stone lifted the cup。
〃There is none；〃 he said； and drank again。
'What would I not give；' thought Hilary； 'to have his singleness of heart！'
There was the sharp sound of a cup set down。 Then； out of a rustling of papers； a sort of droning rose：
〃'The Proletariatwith a cynicism natural to those who really are in want； and even amongst their leaders only veiled when these attained a certain position in the public eyedesired indeed the wealth and leisure of their richer neighbours； but in their long night of struggle with existence they had only found the energy to formulate their pressing needs from day to day。 They were a heaving； surging sea of creatures； slowly； without consciousness or real guidance； rising in long tidal movements to set the limits of the shore a little farther back； and cast afresh the form of social life； and on its pea…green bosom '〃 Mr。 Stone paused。 〃She has copied it wrong；〃 he said； 〃the word is 'seagreen。' 'And on its sea…green bosom sailed a fleet of silver cockle…shells； wafted by the breath of those not in themselves driven by the wind of need。 The voyage of these silver cockle…shells； all heading across each other's bows； was； in fact； the advanced movement of that time。 In the stern of each of these little craft； blowing at the sails； was seated a by…product of the accepted system。 These by…products we should now examine。
Mr。 Stone paused； and looked into his cup。 There were some grounds in it。 He drank them； and went on：
〃'The fratricidal principle of the survival of the fittest； which in those days was England's moral teaching； had made the country one huge butcher's shop。 Amongst the carcasses of countless victims there had fattened and grown purple many butchers； physically strengthened by the smell of blood and sawdust。 These had begotten many children。 Following out the laws of Nature providing against surfeit； a proportion of these children were born with a feeling of distaste for blood and sawdust； many of them； compelled for the purpose of making money to follow in their fathers' practices； did so unwillingly； some； thanks to their fathers' butchery； were in a position to abstain from practising； but whether in practice or at leisure； distaste for the scent of blood and sawdust was the common feature that distinguished them。 Qualities hitherto but little known； and generally despisednot； as we shall see； without some reasonwere developed in them。 Self…consciousness； aestheticism； a dislike for waste； a hatred of injustice； theseor some one of these； when coupled with that desire natural to men throughout all ages to accomplish somethingconstituted the motive forces which enabled them to work their bellows。 In practical affairs those who were under the necessity of labouring were driven； under the then machinery of social life； to the humaner and less exacting kinds of butchery； such as the Arts； Education； the practice of Religions and Medicine； and the paid representation of their fellow…creatures。 Those not so driven occupied themselves in observing and complaining of the existing state of thing。 Each year saw more of their silver cockleshells putting out from port； and the cheeks of those who blew the sails more violently distended。 Looking back on that pretty voyage； we see the reason why those ships were doomed never to move； but； seated on the sea…green bosom of that sea； to heave up and down； heading across each other's bows in the self…same place for ever。 That reason； in few words； was this： 〃The man who blew should have been in the sea； not on the ship。'〃
The droning ceased。 Hilary saw that Mr。 Stone was staring fixedly at his sheet of paper； as though the merits of this last sentence were surprising him。 The droning instantly began again： 〃'In social effort； as in the physical processes of Nature； there had ever been a single fertilising agentthe mysterious and wonderful attraction known as Love。 To thisthat merging of one being in anotherhad been due all the progressive variance of form； known by man under the name of Life。 It was this merger； this mysterious； unconscious Love； which was lacking to the windy efforts of those who tried to sail that fleet。 They were full of reason； conscience； horror； full of impatience； contempt； revolt； but they did not love the masses of their fellow…men。 They could not fling themselves into the sea。 Their hearts were glowing； but the wind which made them glow was not the salt and universal zephyr： it was the desert wind of scorn。 As with the flowering of the aloe…treeso long awaited； so strange and swift when once it comesman had yet to wait for his delirious impulse to Universal Brotherhood； and the forgetfulness of Self。'〃
Mr。 Stone had finished； and stood gazing at his visitor with eyes that clearly saw beyond him。 Hilary could not meet those eyes； he kept his own fixed on the empty cocoa cup。 It was not； in fact； usual for those who heard Mr。 Stone read his manuscript to look him in the face。 He stood thus absorbed so long that Hilary rose at last； and glanced into the saucepan。 There was no cocoa in it。 Mr。 Stone had only made enough for one。 He had meant it for his visitor； but self…forgetfulness had supervened。
〃You know what happens to the aloe； sir； when it has flowered？〃 asked Hilary with malice。
Mr。 Stone moved； but did not answer。
〃It dies；〃 said Hilary。
〃No；〃 said Mr。 Stone； 〃it is at peace。〃
〃When is self at peace； sir？ The individual is surely as immortal as the universal。 That is the eternal comedy of life。〃
〃What is？〃 said Mr。 Stone。
〃The fight or game between the two。〃
Mr。 Stone stood a moment looking wistfully at his son…in…law。 He laid down the sheet of manuscript。 〃It i