em. He called himself a Neo-Nietzschean,
but he certainly could not have distinguished between Neo- and
Palaeo-Nietzscheans. To tell the truth, he had, like many followers of
that great dyspeptic, never read a word of him. Lawrence hated music,
except the Marseillaise (for its associations) and the Barcarole (for
its effects) but he was taught at Oxford to like Sullivan. He read the
poems of John Davidson and the philosophy of Georges Sorel. In
smoking, eating and drinking he did all that might be expected of him,
and he could play rugger amazingly well when he was not too lazy to
turn out.

The trinity talked to each other all day and all night, and there were
soon very few problems of the universe which had not been
satisfactorily settled.

The need for a new point of view became apparent.

"Let's have that fellow Chard in," suggested Martin.

"Coffee in my rooms?" said Lawrence.

"Right-o! To-morrow night, if he'll come."

"Oh, he'll come," said Rendell. "He's rather sick of life. Isolated,
you know. He only talks to Davenant."

"Shall we have Davenant too?" suggested Martin.

"The ass with the ties?" said Lawrence; "and the cloak! Oh, not him.
Oscar Wilde is a bit played out by now."

"He's no fool," said Rendell. "I had a long conversation with him
about Pointillism. He knows some of the Camden Town school."

"Post-Impressionism is less rot than most art," Lawrence growled, "so
have him in."

Thus the Push was formed.

Chard was the son of a political K.C. and patently marked out for the
acquisition of similar honours in the shortest possible space of time:
for he believed firmly in the Liberal Party and himself, a quite
irresistible combination in these democratic days. He held no opinion
on religion or art, because they were not concerned with his career
except in so far as an open declaration of atheism was unwise.

Davenant looked sublimely down on politics. Art was his sphere.
Having been appropriately named Aubrey, he had undertaken from an early
age to know all about Beauty. He had learned the names of all the
unknown painters and could make great play with them: how much taste or
feeling he really possessed no one ever discovered, for he was one of
those disconcerting people who mingle acute with ridiculous judgments.
At times he affected a vague interest in the Catholic faith and had
been known to attend Mass. Concerning the love of women he was at once
mysterious and super