Next day, however, when Guy was in the train, he began to consider his Persian plan a grave disloyalty to Pauline. He wondered how last night he had come to think of it again and fancied it might have been merely an instinct to gratify his father after their coolness. Of course he would not dream of going really, and yet it would have been jolly. Yes, it would certainly have been jolly, and he was rather relieved to find that Comeragh was out of town for a week, for his presence might have been a temptation. Michael Fane was not in London either, so Guy went round to Maurice Avery's studio in Grosvenor Road and in the pleasure of the company he found there the Persian idea grew less insistent. Maurice himself had just been invited to write a series of articles on the English ballet for a critical weekly journal called The Point of View. They went to a theatre together, and Guy as he listened to Maurice's jargon felt for a while quite rustic and was once or twice definitely taken in by it. Had he really been stagnating all this time at Wychford? And then the old superiority which at Oxford he always felt over his friend reasserted itself. "You're still skating, Maurice," he drawled. "The superficial area of your brain must be unparalleled." "You frowsty old yokel!" his friend exclaimed laughing. "I don't believe I shall get much out of breath, catching up with your advanced ideas," Guy retorted. "Anyway this Autumn I shall come to town for good." "And about time you did," said Maurice. "I say, mind you send your poems to The Point of View, and I'll give you a smashing fine notice the week after publication." Guy asked when Michael was coming back. "He's made a glorious mess of things, hasn't he?" said Maurice. "Oh, I don't know. Not necessarily." "Well, I admit he found her out in time. But fancy wanting to marry a girl like that. I told him what she was, and he merely got furious with me. But he's an extraordinary chap altogether. By the way when are you going to get married?" "When I can afford it," said Guy. "The question is whether an artist can ever afford to get married." "What rot you talk." "Wiser men than I have come to that conclusion," said Maurice. "Of course I haven't met your lady-love; but it does seem to me that your present mode of life is bound to be sterile of impressions."