otle: he penetrated as
far as Book V. and then gave way. For two whole days he yawned and
swore alternately. There was not even anyone to talk to.

One night he decided to put the case to his uncle. He approached it in
a rather tentative way after dinner as they sat smoking.

"Don't you ever get tired of being the country gentleman?" he asked.

"Frequently," said John Berrisford.

"Does it pass off, or what do you do about it?"

"Sometimes I go up to town to a company meeting and sometimes I bravely
defy boredom by catching, or failing to catch, trout."

"And it works?"

"Tolerably. But why this anxiety about country life?"

"It just occurred to me."

After a silence, John Berrisford said to Martin:

"You've got a lit of depression and you want to meet men and talk about
Art or the good life or women. It's quite right and natural that you
should. Where have all your set vanished to?"

"Two or three have gone to Paris."

"Well, go thou and do likewise."

Martin paused. "I'm afraid I can't afford it. I've only got twelve
pounds to keep me going till October. And I've got some bills as it
is."

"I'll give you twenty-five. Go and talk your head off. Do some work
too."

"It's frightfully good of you. They were going to work. They're
living very cheaply in rooms somewhere: later on, when it's too hot,
they're going into Brittany."

"Well, I don't know how long the money will last, but we'll expect you
when we see you."

"Thanks awfully!"

"Now let's walk in the garden."

It was a perfect midsummer evening. Away to the west the sky was still
red with the sunset and higher up above them the changing hues of opal
merged into a lustrous blue which again was turned to steel in the
summit of the vault. To the east shapely stems of firs rose to a black
bulk of branches, spread out against the sky like tails of giant
peacocks. And behind them was the splendid body of the moor with its
great bosom of heather towering into nipples of stone. The night,
which had stolen away colour and left only light and shade, had given
strength and meaning to every line and curve and silhouette. They
walked over soft, clinging grass to a paddock dotted with hen-coops,
where the tiny pheasants were wont to squeak and scuttle. The black
line of a distant bank twinkled with the tails of startled rabbits and
an owl clattered heavily through leafy boughs. Then followed a
silence, vivid and unforgettable, but so