He might write to her, and of course she
would reply.
He walked without much perception of time or distance, and found
himself at home just before nightfall. He felt disposed for a quiet
evening, to be spent in the companionship of his thoughts. But when
he had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after the day's
rambling, restlessness again possessed him. After all, it was not
retirement that he needed; these strange new Imaginings would
consort best with motion and the liveliness of the streets. So he
put out his lamp, and once more set forth. The night air freshened
his spirits; he sang to himself as he went along. It was long since
he had been to a theatre, and just now he 'vas so hopelessly poor
that he could really afford a little extravagance. So he was soon
sitting before the well-known drop of a favourite play-house, as
full of light-hearted expectancy as a boy who is enjoying a holiday.
The evening was delightful, and passed all too quickly.
The play over, he was in no mood to go straight home. He lit a cigar
and drifted with the current westward, out of the Strand and into
Pall Mall. A dispute between a cabdriver and his fare induced him to
pause for a moment under the colonnade, and, when the little cluster
of people had moved on, he still stood leaning against one of the
pillars, enjoying the mild air and the scent of his cigar.
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