The imagination was pleasant while it lasted, but with him
nothing was permanent. Of late the greater part of his
sufferings had been comprised in the irritable fickleness of
all his aims--the distaste for and impossibility of sustained
effort in any direction. He had barely lighted a second
cigarette when the old restlessness fell upon him; he stirred
nervously in his seat, and the cigarette was scarcely burned
out when he rose, paid his small bill, and left the shop.
Outside on the pavement he halted, pulled out his watch, and
saw that two hours stretched in front before any appointment
claimed his attention. He wondered vaguely where he might go
to--what he might do in those two hours? In the last few
minutes a distaste for solitude had risen in his mind, giving
the close street a loneliness that had escaped him before.
As he stood wavering a cab passed slowly down the street. The
sight of a well-dressed man roused the cabman; flicking his
whip, he passed Chilcote close, feigning to pull up.
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