It is a world of slaves: all love-professing. Why unite with them? Why pander to them? Why go with them at all? Why not strike at communion out of the unseen, as the gannet strikes into the unseen underwater, or the kite from above at a mouse? One seizure, and away again, back away into isolation. A touch, and away. Always back, away into isolation. Why be cloyed and clogged down like billions of fish in water, or billions of mice on land? It is a world of slaves. Then why not gannets in the upper air, having two worlds? Why only one element? If I am to have a meeting it shall be down, down in the invisible, and the moment I re-emerge it shall be alone. In the visible world I am alone, an isolate instance. My meeting is in the underworld, the dark. Beneath every gannet that jumps from the water ten thousand fish are swimming still. But they are swimming in a shudder of silver fear. That is the magic of the ocean. Let them shudder the huge ocean aglimmer. He arrived at Wyewurk at last, and found a little party. William James was there, and Victoria had made, by coincidence, a Welsh rarebit. The beer was on the table. “Just in time,” said Jack. “As well you’re not half an hour later, or there might ’a been no booze. How did you come--tram?” “Yes--and walked part of the way.” “What kind of an evening did you have?” said Harriet. He looked at her. A chill fell upon the little gathering, from his presence. “We didn’t agree,” he replied. “I knew you wouldn’t--not for long, anyhow,” she replied. “I don’t see you agreeing and playing second fiddle for long.” “Do you see me as a fiddler at all?” “I’ve seen you fiddling away hard enough many times,” retorted Harriet. “Why, what else do you do, all your life, but fiddle some tune or other?” He did not reply, and there was a pause. His face was pale and very definite, as if it were some curious seashell. “What did you get the wind up about, between you?” said Jack soothingly, pouring Somers a glass of beer. “No wind. We’re only not the same pair of shoes.” “I could have told you that before you went,” said Jaz with quiet elation in his tones. Victoria looked at Somers with dark, bright eyes. She was quite fascinated by him, as an Australian bird by some adder. “Isn’t Mr Somers queer?” she said. “He doesn’t seem to mind a bit.” Somers looked at her quickly, a smile round his eyes, and a curious, smiling devil inside them, cold as ice. “Oh yes, he minds. Don’t take any notice of his pretence. He’s only in a bad temper,” cried Harriet. “I know him by now. He’s been in a temper for days.” “Oh, why?” cried Victoria. “I thought he was lovely this afternoon when he was here.” “Yes,” said Harriet grimly. “Lovely! You should live with him.” But again Victoria looked at his clear, fixed face, with the false smile round the eyes, and her fascination did not diminish. “What an excellent Welsh rarebit,” he said. “If there were a little red pepper.”