lf an hour later he was in a pitiable state; and had begun even to
question Jenny's loyalty. He had turned to the thought of her as a last
resort for soothing and reassurance, and now, in the chilly dawn, even
she seemed unsubstantial.

He began by remembering that Jenny would not live for ever; in fact, she
might die at any moment; or he might; and he ended by wondering,
firstly, whether human love was worth anything at all, and, secondly,
whether he possessed Jenny's. He understood now, with absolute
certitude, that there was nothing in him whatever which could possibly
be loved by anyone; the whole thing had been a mistake, not so much on
his part as on Jenny's. She had thought him to be something he was not.
She was probably regretting already the engagement; she would certainly
not fulfill it. And could she possibly care for anyone who had been such
an indescribable fool as to give up Merefield, and his prospects and his
past and his abilities, and set out on this absurd and childish
adventure? So once more he came round in a circle and his misery was
complete.

* * * * *

He sat up in bed with a sudden movement as the train of thought clicked
back into its own beginning, clasped his hands round his knees and
stared round the room.

The window showed a faint oblong of gray now, beyond where the Major
breathed, and certain objects were dingily and coldly visible. He
perceived the broken-backed chair on which his clothes were heaped--with
the exception of his flannel shirt, which he still wore; he caught a
glimmer of white where Gertie's blouse hung up for an airing.

He half expected that things would appear more hopeful if he sat up in
bed. Yet they did not. The sight of the room, such as it was, brought
the concrete and material even more forcibly upon him--the gross things
that are called Facts. And it seemed to him that there were no facts
beyond them. These were the bones of the Universe--a stuffy bedroom, a
rasping flannel suit, a cold dawn, a snoring in the gloom, and three
bodies, heavy with weariness.... There once had been other facts:
Merefield and Cambridge and Eton had once existed; Jenny had once been a
living person who loved him; once there had been a thing called
Religion. But they existed no longer. He had touched reality at last.

* * * * *

Frank drew a long, dismal sigh; he lay down; he knew the worst now; and
in five minutes