Page:Adams - A Child of the Age.djvu/163

151 I laughed. The Professor proceeded:

'They're an odd lot, those Culture fellows. I don't believe in them myself. A—' (turning his eyes to mine) 'I hope they're not friends of yours, either of these two? If so, of course I' 'Nay,' said I, 'they're no friends of mine! I only wanted to know if you could tell me anything about Gwatkin—what books he 'd written, and that sort of thing. I happen to be dining at his house on Monday, and one likes to know something about one's host's particular line of thought, if he happens to have one.'

'Ah yes, just so, yes,' said the Professor, turning his eyes to and then away from mine. And on that we parted.

I came back from the closed hall-door into the library, and went to the window and stood looking out on the sunny day. A feeling of disgust at work rose in me. I sighed as I took down 'Antigone,' the Greek play I was then reading, and lexicon and translation, and bundled myself into the easy chair. Folly! and I knew it. None the less I intended proving it once more. I had last time stopped just before a Chorus. I began on the Chorus now. Such a delightfully corrupt Chorus; and here (in two nice close-printed note columns) was what Hermann thought about the first lines, and then what somebody else thought, and then what the present Editor thought, damn him! Finally I gave it up in disgust: got myself out of the easy chair and the books into it; and stood looking disconsolately out of the window. Then the idea of taking a steamer down the fresh breezy river came to me—to Greenwich, and go into the Park, or, first, to see the Painted Chamber, and then for a walk over the Heath to look at the old school-day places. Why not?

I went. It was a fair sweet morning on the river, somehow as I suppose my Italy to be, with the air so pure, like wine that had no fieriness in it. I got out at Greenwich: I saw the Painted Chamber again, my heart making its flutter felt as I passed along that coloured gallery where I had moved and dreamed in the dim sun-shot air of my boyhood.—Ah, here was Nelson, and here! And here the sacred relics of him!