He touched it, not knowing
why--nor yet that he was angry. Something that had been asleep in him
for a long time stirred uneasily and stretched itself.
"Ladies"--his companion simpered---"always the ladies, sir."
Stonehouse laughed.
An hour later he was waiting for Cosgrave in the Carlton lounge. He had
never been in the place before--or in any place like it--and it confused
and astonished him. He was like a monk who had come unprepared into the
crude noise and glitter of a society desperately pleasure-seeking. He
could regard the men and women round him with contempt, but not with
indifference, for they represented a force against which he had not yet
tried himself except in theory. And they set a new standard. Here his
life and his attainments were of no account. What mattered was that he
wore his travelling clothes, and that he stood stockily in the gangway
like a man who does not know what is expected of him. It was ridiculous,
but it was true that he became ashamed.
But he held his ground stubbornly. He was not aware of any definite plan
or expectation. If he had asked himself what he intended he would have
said he meant to look after Cosgrave, who was in a bad way. As a friend
and as a doctor he had the right. He would not have admitted that his
own personality had become involved, that he had felt himself obscurely
challenged.
Then he saw Cosgrave. He saw him before his companion, though for
everyone else she obscured him utterly.
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