lippers. His white
frilled shirt and his pearl studs reminded Ulick of his own plain
shirt with only one stud, and he suspected vulgarity in a single
stud, for it was convenient, and would therefore appeal to waiters
and the middle classes. He must do something on the morrow to redeem
his appearance, and he noticed Owen's cuffs and sleeve-links, which
were superior to his own; and Owen's hands, they, too, were
superior--well-shaped, bony hands, with reddish hair growing about
the knuckles. Owen's nails were beautifully trimmed, and Ulick
determined to go to a manicurist on the morrow. A delicious perfume
emerged when Owen drew his handkerchief from his coat pocket; and all
this personal care reminded Ulick of that time long ago when Owen was
Evelyn's lover and travelled with her from capital to capital,
hearing her sing everywhere. "Now he will never see her again," he
thought, as he followed Owen back to his study, hoping to persuade
him into telling the story of how he had gone down to Dulwich to
write a criticism of Innes's concert, and how he had at once
recognised that Evelyn had a beautiful voice, and would certainly win
a high position on the lyric stage if she studied for it.

It was a solace to Owen's burdened heart to find somebody who would
listen to him, and he talked on and on, telling of the day he and
Evelyn had gone to Madame Savelli, and how he had had to leave Paris
soon after, for his presence distracted Evelyn's attention from her
singing-lessons. "In a year," Madame Savelli had said, "I will make
something wonderful of her, Sir Owen, if you will only go away, and
not come back for six months."

"He lives in recollection of that time," Ulick said to himself, "that
is his life; the ten years he spent with her are his life, the rest
counts for nothing." A moment after Owen was comparing himself to a
man wandering in the twilight who suddenly finds a lamp: "A lamp
that will never burn out," Ulick said to himself. "He will take that
lamp into the tomb with him."

"But I must read you the notices." And going to an escritoire covered
with ormolu--one of those pieces of French furniture which cost
hundreds of pounds--he took out a bundle of Evelyn's notices. "The
most interesting," he said, "were the first notices--before the
critics had made up their mind about her."

He stopped in his untying of the parcel to tell Ulick about his
journey to Brussels to hear her sing.

"You see, I had broken my leg