THE FRIENDS OF PROGRESS
became urgent—Lewisham's temper under these multitudinous stresses was going.
"Every man needs a Lode Star," said Parkson—and Lewisham swore under his breath.
Parkson's lodgings were now near at hand to the left, and it occurred to him this boredom would be soonest ended if he took Parkson home. Parkson consented mechanically, still discoursing.
"I have often seen you talking to Miss Heydinger," he said. "If you will pardon my saying it. . ."
"We are excellent friends," admitted Lewisham. "But here we are at your diggings."
Parkson stared at his "diggings." "There's Heaps I want to talk about. I'll come part of the way at any rate to Battersea. Your Miss Heydinger, I was saying. . ."
From that point onwards he made casual appeals to a supposed confidence between Lewisham and Miss Heydinger, each of which increased Lewisham's exasperation. "It will not be long before you also, Lewisham, will begin to know the infinite purification of a Pure Love. . . ." Then suddenly, with a vague idea of suppressing Parkson's unendurable chatter, as one motive at least, Lewisham rushed into the confidential.
"I know," he said. "You talk to me as though. . . I've marked out my destiny these three years." His confidential impulse died as he relieved it.
"You don't mean to say Miss Heydinger—?" asked Parkson.
"Oh, damn Miss Heydinger!" said Lewisham,
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