te. No flicker."

"I wish she'd fuse."

"She'll never fuse--unless anything was to happen at the main."

"What do you mean by the main?" said Ansell, who always pursued a
metaphor relentlessly.

Widdrington did not know what he meant, and suggested that Ansell should
visit Sawston to see whether one could know.

"It is no good me going. I should not find Mrs. Elliot: she has no real
existence."

"Rickie has."

"I very much doubt it. I had two letters from Ilfracombe last April,
and I very much doubt that the man who wrote them can exist." Bending
downwards he began to adorn the manuscript of his dissertation with a
square, and inside that a circle, and inside that another square. It was
his second dissertation: the first had failed.

"I think he exists: he is so unhappy."

Ansell nodded. "How did you know he was unhappy?"

"Because he was always talking." After a pause he added, "What clever
young men we are!"

"Aren't we? I expect we shall get asked in marriage soon. I say,
Widdrington, shall we--?"

"Accept? Of course. It is not young manly to say no."

"I meant shall we ever do a more tremendous thing,--fuse Mrs. Elliot."

"No," said Widdrington promptly. "We shall never do that in all our
lives." He added, "I think you might go down to Sawston, though."

"I have already refused or ignored three invitations."

"So I gathered."

"What's the good of it?" said Ansell through his teeth. "I will not put
up with little things. I would rather be rude than to listen to twaddle
from a man I've known.

"You might go down to Sawston, just for a night, to see him."

"I saw him last month--at least, so Tilliard informs me. He says that we
all three lunched together, that Rickie paid, and that the conversation
was most interesting."

"Well, I contend that he does exist, and that if you go--oh, I can't be
clever any longer. You really must go, man. I'm certain he's miserable
and lonely. Dunwood House reeks of commerce and snobbery and all the
things he hated most. He doesn't do anything. He doesn't make any
friends. He is so odd, too. In this day-boy row that has just started
he's gone for my cousin. Would you believe it? Quite spitefully. It made
quite a difficulty when I wanted to dine. It isn't like him either the
sentiments or the behaviour. I'm sure he's not himself. Pembroke used to
look after the day-boys, and so he can't very well take the lead against
them, and perhaps Rickie's doing his dirty wor