In Rome Guy picked up Michael Fane who was on the point of starting for the Benedictine monastery at Cava. Having a few days to spare before he went on to Brindisi, he agreed to spend the time with Michael tramping in the sun along the Parthenopean shore. "I can't understand what consolation you expect to find by shutting yourself up with a lot of frowsty monks," said Guy fretfully. "Nor can I understand when just at the moment you have been dealt the blow that should at last determine if you are to be an artist," retorted Michael, "I can't understand why you choose that exact moment to go and be futile in Macedonia." "Do you think I would be an artist now, even if I could?" asked Guy fiercely. "How I hate such a point of view. No, no, I have made myself miserable and I have made someone else miserable because I thought I wanted to be an artist. But never, never, shall that old jejune ambition be gratified now." "You'll never try to write anything more?" "Nothing," said Guy. "Then what has all this been for?" "Perhaps to come back in a year, and ... listen: _O ragged robins, you will bloom each year,_ _But we shall never pluck you after rain:_ _For aye, O ragged hearts, you beat alone,_ _And never more shall you be joined again._ Do you think I want to come back in a year and still be able to versify my grief like that? I look forward to something better than minor poetry." "You mean you still hope...." his friend began. "I daren't even hope yet ... but all my life I'll do penance for having said that an artist must be free." They had reached the inn at Amalfi, where letters might be waiting for them. Guy read aloud one which had arrived from Maurice Avery. 422 GROSVENOR ROAD, WESTMINSTER. _My dear Guy, _I settled up everything for you at Plashers Mead. Rather a jolly place. I nearly took it on myself. I'm getting quite used to settling up other people's affairs since you and Michael have made me your executor. Good luck to you in Macedonia._ _Last night I went to the Orient Ballet and met a perfectly delightful girl. If there is such a thing as love at first sight, I am in love. Jenny Pearl she is called. Forgive this apparently casual enthusiasm, but you two cynics will be able to tear me to pieces to your satisfaction. I offer my heart for your bitter mirth to embalm._ _Yours ever M. A._ _Your dog is at Godalming with my people. My sisters talk of nothing else._ "Maurice rises like a phoenix from our ashes," said Guy grimly. "He was always irrepressible," Michael agreed. "And still you haven't answered my question about your monkery," Guy persisted. "You want action. I want contemplation. But don't think that I'm going to take final vows to-morrow." "And do you really believe in the Christian religion?" Guy asked incredulously. "Yes, I really do." "What an extraordinary thing!"