"So it does."
"That's what I think. But sometimes—a chap—feels he must go head over heels into—life."
"Of course," said Sorrell. "The unknown, woman, all that. The thing is,—though one does not realize it when one's young, that one wants—the sensation—not the particular woman. One wants all women that ever were. The sensation is natural,—but marriage"
He paused, looking beyond Kit at the grey arch of a bridge.
"Marriage is—artificial. That's the whole trouble—So—you see"
"You don't believe in marriage?"
Sorrell would like to have shrugged his shoulders.
"No,—not till the job is launched. After that—a comrade. But the other thing,—like one's morning tub. Not a sort of cement pool in a Zoo with two bored animals—swimming around. If you must take a plunge—be sure—you can get out again. Some day you'll know whether you want to get out. A few of us do, or think we do. Not many."
Sorrell found himself on the towing path between Grassy and Ditton. He had suggested going down to watch the boats start, but Kit had warned him that he might have to run half a mile if he hoped to see 1st Trinity 3 bump Emmanuel 2.
"I should hang about between Grassy and Ditton, pater. Ask somebody on the towing path."
Sorrell felt most absurdly excited. He had watched the boats of the division paddle down, and he sat on the bank and listened to the gossip of other interested people. It was a still, green English day, with not a breath of wind in the willows, and the river like glass. He could see the crowd at Ditton Corner, packed in the meadow and in the boats along the bank, a gaily-coloured crowd.
The boom of the starting gun reached him. He stood up. He was trembling. Absurd parent!
Presently, he saw figures running, the flash of oars round-
