During the previous term he had reached an unusual level mentally, but the vac pulled him back towards public-schoolishness. He was less alert, he again behaved as he supposed he was supposed to behave—a perilous feat for one who is not dowered with imagination. His mind, not obscured totally, was often crossed by clouds, and though Miss Olcott had passed, the insincerity that led him to her remained. His family were the main cause of this. He had yet to realize that they were stronger than he and influenced him incalculably. Three weeks in their company left him untidy, sloppy, victorious in every item, yet defeated on the whole. He came back thinking, and even speaking, like his mother or Ada.
Till Durham arrived he had not noticed the deterioration. Durham had not been well, and came up a few days late. When his face, paler than usual, peered round the door, Maurice had a spasm of despair, and tried to recollect where they stood last term, and to gather up the threads of the campaign. He felt him-self slack, and afraid of action. The worst part of him rose to the surface, and urged him to prefer comfort to joy.
Hullo, old man," he said awkwardly.
Durham slipped in without speaking.
What's wrong
Nothing"; and Maurice knew that he had lost touch. Last term he would have understood this silent entrance.
Anyhow, take a pew.
Durham sat upon the floor beyond his reach. It was late after-noon. The sounds of the May term, the scents of the Cambridge year in flower, floated in through the window and said to Mau-rice, "You are unworthy of us." He knew that he was three parts dead, an alien, a yokel in Athens. He had no business here, nor with such a friend.
I say, Durham
Durham came nearer. Maurice stretched out a hand and felt the head nestle against it. He forgot what he was going to say. The sounds and scents whispered, "You are we, we are youth." Very gently he stroked the hair and ran his fingers down into it as if to caress the brain.
I say, Durham, have you been all right
Have you
No.
You wrote you were." I wasn t.
The truth in his own voice made him tremble. "A rotten vac and I never knew it," and wondered how long he should know it. The mist would lower again, he felt sure, and with an unhappy sigh he pulled Durham's head against his knee, as though it was a talisman for clear living. It lay there, and he had accomplished a new tenderness—stroked it steadily from temple to throat. Then, removing both hands, he dropped them on either side of him and sat sighing.
Hall." . Maurice looked.
Is there some trouble
He caressed and again withdrew. It seemed as certain that he hadn't as that he had a friend.
Anything to do with that girl
No.
You wrote you liked her.
I didn't—don't.
Deeper sighs broke from him. They rattled in his throat, turn-ing to groans. His head fell back, and he forgot the pressure of Durham on his knee, forgot that Durham was watching his turbid agony. He stared at the ceiling with wrinkled mouth and eyes, understanding nothing except that man has been created to feel pain and loneliness without help from heaven.
Now Durham stretched up to him, stroked his hair. They clasped one another. They were lying breast against breast soon, head was on shoulder, but just as their cheeks met someone called "Hall" from the court, and he answered: he always had answered when people called. Both started violently, and Dur-ham sprang to the mantelpiece where he leant his head on his arm. Absurd people came thundering up the stairs. They wanted tea. Maurice pointed to it, then was drawn into their conversa-tion, and scarcely noticed his friend's departure. It had been an ordinary talk, he told himself, but too sentimental, and he culti-vated a breeziness against their next meeting.
This took place soon enough. With half a dozen others he was starting for the theatre after hall when Durham called him.
I knew you read theSymposium in the vac," he said in a low voice.
Maurice felt uneasy.
Then you understand—without me saying more
How do you mean
Durham could not wait. People were all around them, but with eyes that had gone intensely blue he whispered, "I love you.
Maurice was scandalized, horrified. He was shocked to the bottom of his suburban soul, and exclaimed, "Oh, rot!" The words, the manner, were out of him before he could recall them.
Durham, you're an Englishman. I'm another. Don't talk non-sense. I'm not offended, because I know you don't mean it, but it's the only subject absolutely beyond the limit as you know, it's the worst crime in the calendar, and you must never mention it again. Durham! a rotten notion really
But his friend was gone, gone without a word, flying across the court, the bang of his door heard through the sounds of spring.