come to England for
ten years. It was just as if he had never had wife or child. He was very
lonely. His gruffness was little more than a protection which he wore to
hide a complete disillusionment; and to Philip it seemed tragic to see him
just waiting for death, not impatiently, but rather with loathing for it,
hating old age and unable to resign himself to its limitations, and yet
with the feeling that death was the only solution of the bitterness of his
life. Philip crossed his path, and the natural affection which long
separation from his daughter had killed--she had taken her husband's part
in the quarrel and her children he had never seen--settled itself upon
Philip. At first it made him angry, he told himself it was a sign of
dotage; but there was something in Philip that attracted him, and he found
himself smiling at him he knew not why. Philip did not bore him. Once or
twice he put his hand on his shoulder: it was as near a caress as he had
got since his daughter left England so many years before. When the time
came for Philip to go Doctor South accompanied him to the station: he
found himself unaccountably depressed.

"I've had a ripping time here," said Philip. "You've been awfully kind to
me."

"I suppose you're very glad to go?"

"I've enjoyed myself here."

"But you want to get out into the world? Ah, you have youth." He hesitated
a moment. "I want you to remember that if you change your mind my offer
still stands."

"That's awfully kind of you."

Philip shook hands with him out of the carriage window, and the train
steamed out of the station. Philip thought of the fortnight he was going
to spend in the hop-field: he was happy at the idea of seeing his friends
again, and he rejoiced because the day was fine. But Doctor South walked
slowly back to his empty house. He felt very old and very lonely.

CXVIII

It was late in the evening when Philip arrived at Ferne. It was Mrs.
Athelny's native village, and she had been accustomed from her childhood
to pick in the hop-field to which with her husband and her children she
still went every year. Like many Kentish folk her family had gone out
regularly, glad to earn a little money, but especially regarding the
annual outing, looked forward to for months, as the best of holidays. The
work was not hard, it was done in common, in the open air, and for the
children it was a long, delightful picnic; here the young men met the
maidens; in the long evenin