hat
fish.'

Thinking of the money restored his sense of serenity. Wonderful money
that can swamp so many ills: money that means work done
somewhere--work, the sole solace of human misery. But Charles had no
notion of the relation between work and money, or that in using up
large quantities of it he was diverting to his own uses more than his
fair share of the comfort of humanity. He had so much to give if only
humanity would take--and pay for it. What he had to give was beyond
price, wherefore he had no qualms in setting his price high.... From
_The Tempest_ boundless wealth would flow. He quickly persuaded
himself of that, and by the time he reached his furnished house had
lulled his alarm to sleep and had allayed the disgust and loathing of
the past roused in him by the meeting with Kitty Messenger.... So rosy
had the vision become under the influence of his potential wealth that
he met Clara without a qualm, and forgot even that Sir Henry was like a
fish in an aquarium.

'We got on splendidly,' he said, 'and I am to have the whole theatre
for _The Tempest_ in the Autumn.'

'I told you I was right,' said she.

'Bless you, child,' he cried. 'You always are, always. And now we
will go out and drink champagne--Here's a health unto His Majesty, with
a fal-lal-la.'

He was like a rebellious boy, and Clara disliked that mood in him,
because he was rather rough and cumbrous in his humour, cracked gusty
and rather stupid jokes, ate voraciously, and drank like a carter.

They went to a most elegant restaurant, where their entry created a
stir, and it was whispered from end to end of the room who he was. And
the girl with him? People shrugged.... Clara's eyes were alight, and
she looked from table to table at the sleek, well-groomed men, and the
showy women with their gaudy hair ornaments, bare powdered shoulders,
and beautiful gowns. She looked from face to face searching eagerly
for--she knew not what; power, perhaps, some power which should justify
their costly elegance. This hurt as a lie hurt her, because, as she
gazed from person to person, she could not divine the individuality
beneath the uniform, and she was still young enough to wish to do
so.... Meanwhile, as she gazed, Charles ate and drank lustily, and, it
must be admitted, noisily. There was no suppression of individuality
about Charles. It brimmed over in him. He had gone to that restaurant
to enjoy himself; not because it was a place fr