"No—not there."
"To Carson's, then?"
There was a silence. The other girl hung on. The man was the centre of positive force.
"Will your friend come as well?"
There was another moment of silence, while the other girl felt her ground.
"No, thanks," she said. "I've promised to meet a friend."
"Another time, then?" he said.
"Oh, thanks," she replied, very awkward.
"Good night," he said.
"See you later," said his girl to her friend.
"Where?" said the friend.
"You know, Gertie," replied his girl.
"All right, Jennie."
The friend was gone into the darkness. He turned with his girl to the tea-shop. They talked all the time. He made his sentences in sheer, almost muscular pleasure of exercising himself with her. He was looking at her all the time, perceiving her, appreciating her, finding her out, gratifying himself with her. He could see distinct attractions in her; her eyebrows, with their particular curve, gave him keen æsthetic pleasure. Later on he would see her bright, pellucid eyes, like shallow water, and know those. And there remained the open, exposed mouth, red and vulnerable. That he reserved as yet. And all the while his eyes were on the girl, estimating and handling with pleasure her young softness. About the girl herself, who or what she was, he cared nothing, he was quite unaware that she was anybody. She was just the sensual object of his attention.
"Shall we go, then?" he said.
She rose in silence, as if acting without a mind, merely physically. He seemed to hold her in his will. Outside it was still raining.
"Let's have a walk," he said. "I don't mind the rain, do you?"
"No, I don't mind it," she said.
He was alert in every sense and fibre, and yet quite sure and steady, and lit up, as if transfused. He had a free sensation of walking in his own darkness, not in anybody else's world at all. He was purely a world to himself, he had nothing to do with any general consciousness. Just his own senses were supreme. All the rest was external, insignificant, leav-
