It was characteristic of Aylmer, the moment he was able, to see as many friends as he was allowed. Aylmer was a very gregarious person, though--or perhaps because--he detested parties. He liked company, but hated society. Arthur Coniston, who always did his best to attract attention by his modest, self-effacing manner, was sitting with his handsome young head quite on one side from intense respect for his host, whom he regarded with the greatest admiration as a man of culture, and a judge of art. He rejoiced to be one of the first to see him, just returned after three years' absence from England, and having spent the last three months at the front. Arthur Coniston (also in khaki), who was a born interviewer, was anxious to know Aylmer's impression of certain things over here, after his long absence. 'I should so very much like to know,' he said, 'what your view is of the attitude to life of the Post-Impressionists.' Aylmer smiled. He said: 'I think their attitude to life, as you call it, is best expressed in some of Lear's Nonsense Rhymes: "_His Aunt Jobiska said, 'Everyone knows that a pobble is better without his toes_.'"' Archie looked up in smiling recognition of these lines, and Edith laughed. 'Excuse me, but I don't quite follow you,' said young Coniston gravely. 'Why, don't you see? Of course, Lear is the spirit they express. A portrait by a post-Impressionist is sure to be "A Dong with a luminous nose." And don't you remember, "_The owl and the pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea-green boat_"? Wouldn't a boat painted by a Post-Impressionist be pea-green?' 'Perfectly. I see that. But--why the pobble without its toes?' 'Why, the sculptor always surrenders colour, and the painted form. Each has to give up something for the limitation of art. But the more modern artist gives up much more--likeness, beauty, a few features here and there--a limb now and then.' 'Ah yes. I quite see what you mean. Like the statuary of Rodin or Epstein. One sees really only half the form, as if growing out of the sketchy sculpture. And then there's another thing--I hope I'm not wearying you?' 'No, indeed. It's great fun: such a change to hear about this sort of thing again.' 'The Futurists?' asked Arthur. 'What is your view of them?' 'Well, of course, they are already past, They always were. But I should say their attitude to life is that of the man who is looking at the moon reflected in a lake, but can't see it; he sees the reflection of a coal-scuttle instead.' 'Ah yes. They see things wrong, you mean. They're not so real, not so logical, as the Post-Impressionists.'