office every morning like a clerk in the City! I was happier at peace. I rose and warmed myself by the fire. Dale regarded me uncomprehendingly.
"You look as if the prospect bored you to tears. I thought you would be delighted."
"
Vanitas vanitatum
," said I. "
Omnia vanitas
."
"Rot!" said Dale.
"It's true."
"I must fetch Eleanor Faversham back from Sicily," said Dale.
"Don't," said I.
"Well, I give you up," he declared, pushing his chair from the table and swinging one leg across the other. I leaned forward and scrutinised his ankles.
"What are you looking at?"
"There must be something radically wrong with you, Dale," I murmured sympathetically. "It is part of the religion of your generation to wear socks to match your tie. To-day your tie is wine-coloured and your socks are green——"
"Good Lord," he cried, "so they are! I dressed myself anyhow this morning."
"What's wrong with you?"
He threw his cigarette impatiently into the fire.
"Every infernal thing that can possibly be. Everything's rotten—but I've not come here to talk about myself."
"Why not?"
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