Men were there in the world to be bullied, cajoled,
or swept out of the way. What did one do with a woman who was
kind one moment and insolent the next, who raised her eyebrows
and passed on when he wanted her, when he was there longing for
her? Those old solid dreams of his--wealth, power, his name on
great prospectuses, a position in the world--these things now
appeared like the day fancies of a child. He had seen his way
towards them. Already he had felt his feet upon the rungs of the
ladder which leads to material success. This was something
different, something greater. Then a sense of despair chilled
his heart. He felt how ignorant, how helpless he was. He had
not even studied the first text-book of life. Those very
qualities which had served him so well before were hopeless here.
Persistence, Beatrice had told him once, only annoys a woman.
He came to a standstill outside the entrance to the Milan Court,
and retraced his steps. The thought of Beatrice had brought
something soothing with it. He felt that he must see her, see
her at once. He walked back along the Strand and entered the
restaurant where Beatrice and he had had their memorable supper.
From the vestibule he could just see Grier's back as he stood
talking to a waiter by the side of a round table in the middle of
the room. Tavernake slowly withdrew and made his way upstairs.
There were one or two little tables there in the balcony, hidden
from the lower part of the room.
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