“Maybe you think because I’m too well fed I’ve missed out the way you feel tonight,” Sir Reginald continued, contemplating the motionless figure slumped against the pedestal. “You’re wrong, boy. I’ve seen lots of nights when tomorrow wasn’t worth waiting for. That was a long time ago. But I haven’t forgotten. It won’t do, though. You’ll see that one day.”

He paused. Chantrell kept his head down, and said nothing—apparently was not even listening any more.

“Well—that’s that,” said Sir Reginald, feeling a little flat.

“Tell him the rest of it,” Hilary said quickly. “Tell him how you know.”

Sir Reginald lingered, his big shoulders rather bowed, his shadow a formless blob beside him in the feeble light from the street lamp.

“I suppose I may as well tell you how I’m so sure about it,” he said slowly. “’Tisn’t a thing I speak of generally. I’d like to think I wasn’t wasting it—now.”

“Some of it will sink in, sir,” said Hilary.

“Once I loved a woman who seemed to me so perfect that there weren’t any other women in the world,” said Sir Reginald. “She married another fellow—she wasn’t happy with him—and then she died. I nearly went crazy. I thought of all the short cuts I could take to follow her. I went into the subject pretty thoroughly at the time. But that’s against the rules. And if you break the rules, you won’t come out even. The thing you’re reaching for won’t be there till it’s time for you to have it. You must live out your way to it the best you can, with whatever tools you can lay your hands on. So I go to the club, and I chivvy my pals, and I enjoy my food—and now and then I get a bit boozy—it all helps. See what I mean?”

“You’ve put it better than I could have done,” said Hilary.

“I need a drink,” said Sir Reginald abruptly, pulling himself together with a shrug of his massive shoulders. “Been talking too much. Don’t usually tell the story of my life. Queer sort of weather, anyway. Gets in your bones.” He decided tactfully to let it go at that. “Good-night, laddie,” he said, and walked on briskly into the white mist, towards that place in Villiers Street.

Hilary, from the base of the column, watched him go. Then he moved forward slowly and took Sir Reginald’s seat on the step beside Chantrell, who still ignored his presence and did not stir.