century. It's the only thing that keeps
Englishmen sound; commercialism is their curse. Happily, no sooner do
they get fat than they kick, and somebody's shin suffers; then they
fight off the excessive flesh. War is England's Banting.'

'You'd better not talk like that to Sibyl.'

'Why, frankly, old man, I think that's your mistake. But you'll tell
me, and rightly enough, to mind my own business.'

'Nonsense. What do you mean exactly? You think I ought to--'

Hugh hesitated, with an air of uneasiness.

'Well,' pursued his friend cautiously, 'do you think it's right to
suppress your natural instincts? Mightn't it give her a new interest in
life if she came round a little to your point of view?'

'Queer thing, how unlike we are, isn't it?' said Carnaby, with a sudden
drop of his tone to amiable ingenuousness. 'But, you know; we get along
together very well.'

'To be sure. Yet you are going to rust in the Riviera when you want to
be on the Himalayas. Wouldn't it do your wife good to give up her books
and her music for a while and taste fresh air?'

'I doubt if she's strong enough for it.'

'It would make her stronger. And here's a good opportunity. If you give
up housekeeping (and housekeepers), why not reform your life
altogether? Go and have a look at Australia.'

'Sibyl hates the sea.'

'She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it.'

Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head.

'You're quite right. But--'

'A little pluck, old fellow.'

'I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky?'

They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured glass
illumined a statue in terracotta, some huge engravings, the massive
antlers of an elk, and furniture in carved oak.

'Queer feeling of emptiness,' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 'I feel
as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. Sibyl
couldn't stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab? By Jove! that
reminds me, the whistle has gone; it happened to be silver. A wedding
present from that fool Benson, who broke his neck in a steeplechase
three weeks after.' Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog.

CHAPTER 3

A cab crawling at the upper end of the terrace took him quickly home.
He entered with his latch-key as a church clock tolled one.

It was a large house, within a few minutes' walk of Royal Oak Station.
Having struck a match, and lit a candle which stood upon the hall table
(i