steel. They'll go
on somewhere; stick about half the night playing poker, or some such
foolery."

He crossed over to the window. Rain had begun to fall; the streets
looked wild and draughty. The cabmen were putting on their coats. Two
women scurried by, huddled under one umbrella, and a thin-clothed,
dogged-looking scarecrow lounged past with a surly, desperate step.
Shelton, returning to his chair, threaded his way amongst his
fellow-members. A procession of old school and college friends came up
before his eyes. After all, what had there been in his own education, or
theirs, to give them any other standard than this "good form"? What had
there been to teach them anything of life? Their imbecility was
incredible when you came to think of it. They had all the air of knowing
everything, and really they knew nothing--nothing of Nature, Art, or the
Emotions; nothing of the bonds that bind all men together. Why, even
such words were not "good form"; nothing outside their little circle was
"good form." They had a fixed point of view over life because they came
of certain schools, and colleges, and regiments! And they were those in
charge of the state, of laws, and science, of the army, and religion.
Well, it was their system--the system not to start too young, to form
healthy fibre, and let the after-life develop it!

"Successful!" he thought, nearly stumbling over a pair of patent-leather
boots belonging to a moon-faced, genial-looking member with gold
nose-nippers; "oh, it 's successful!"

Somebody came and picked up from the table the very volume which had
originally inspired this train of thought, and Shelton could see his
solemn pleasure as he read. In the white of his eye there was a torpid
and composed abstraction. There was nothing in that book to startle him
or make him think.

The moon-faced member with the patent boots came up and began talking of
his recent visit to the south of France. He had a scandalous anecdote or
two to tell, and his broad face beamed behind his gold nose-nippers; he
was a large man with such a store of easy, worldly humour that it was
impossible not to appreciate his gossip, he gave so perfect an impression
of enjoying life, and doing himself well. "Well, good-night!" he
murmured--"An engagement!"--and the certainty he left behind that his
engagement must be charming and illicit was pleasant to the soul.

And, slowly taking up his glass, Shelton drank; the sense of well-bei