f
birth and gentility. And then I have come to the conclusion that he was
one of those who see things so objectively that they impress one as
automatons. They don't learn, they know. They live in the world as if it
was their home. They use their passions and desires as animals use their
instincts. They have no diffidence before the great facts of life. And
having this franchise in their pockets, so to speak, this permanent pass
to every quarter of the City of the World, having this animal candour
of outlook, they are naturally inarticulate. They are easily
misunderstood because self-expression is foreign to them and they have
no interest in abstract propositions as such. They pick up a phrase and
play with it for a while, just as a kitten will play with a ball, or a
puppy will walk round with a piece of wood in his mouth, pretending it
is a bone. My brother was a good example, I thought, of this. What he
said sounded true, and as far as he knew was true, because he had not
got it out of books. A man of 'good family' had put the idea into his
head. No doubt he would forget it in a month or so. And whatever he
might think or hear or say, he would go on living his very untrammelled
life, unabashed by Time or the perplexities of existence, until....

"And here I stopped in my reflections, for I am giving you now my
thoughts as I walked back to my lodgings in Bloomsbury. I stopped, for
it occurred to me that a man whose course is untrammelled may easily get
beyond the bounds set by the unimaginative laws of the community. In
plain words, I stopped to wonder admiringly what would become of him,
supposing he didn't break his neck in his own motor-cars. I had seen him
start, the eight cylinders of his monstrous and ridiculous machine
thundering their unmuffled exhaust into the night and scaring the
passing cab-horses. He had moved off with a wave of the hand, rather
preoccupied with a portmanteau that was strapped beside him, moved off
down Piccadilly towards Chelsea and Clapham. I reflected, as I passed
the sombre, crouching shadow of the Museum, now he was flying under the
stars along the Surrey roads, the great beams splitting the darkness
ahead of him, the dust of his passing settling on the hedgerows and
soiling the wayside turf. And to what end, I wondered, did my successful
brother rush headlong through the night? To achieve greater success? To
preach his gospel of breeding? To succour Gentility in distress? I
wondered a