“I think I’ll stay. I expect you’ve got the pip, and it always does a chap good, if he’s got the pip, to talk to somebody.” “Have you been here before?” asked Tony. “Oh yes! last year. I shan’t come again.” “Why not?” “It unsettles you. It doesn’t do to be unsettled when you get to my time of life.” “How do you mean—unsettles?” Maradick considered. How exactly did he mean—unsettles? There was no doubt that it did, though. “Oh, I’m not much good at explaining, but when you’ve lived a certain time you’ve got into a sort of groove—bound to, I suppose. I’ve got my work, just like another man. Every morning breakfast the same time, same rush to the station, same train, same morning paper, same office, same office-boy, same people; back in the evening, same people again, same little dinner, same little nap—oh, it’s like anyone else. One gets into the way of thinking that that’s life, bounded by the Epsom golf course and the office in town. All the rest one has put aside, and after a time one thinks that it isn’t there. And then a man comes down here and, I don’t know what it is, the place or having nothing to do upsets you and things are all different.” Then, after a moment, “I suppose that’s what a holiday’s meant for.” He had been trying to put his feelings into words, but he knew that he had not said at all what he had really felt. It was not the change of life, the lazy hours and the pleasant people; besides, as far as that went, he might at any moment, if he pleased, change things permanently. He had made enough, he need not go back to the City at all; but he knew it was not that. It was something that he had felt in the train, then in the sight of the town, some vague discontent leading to that outbreak at dinner. He was not a reading man or he might have considered the Admonitus Locorum. He had never read of it nor had he knowledge of such a spirit; but it _was_, it must be, the place. “Yes,” said Tony, “of course I’ve never settled down to anything, yet, you know; and so I can’t quite see as you do about the monotony. My people have been very decent; I’ve been able to wander about and do as I liked, and last year I was in Germany and had a splendid time. Simply had a _rucksack_ and walked. And I can’t imagine settling down anywhere; and even if I had somewhere—Epsom or anywhere—there would be the same looking for adventure, looking out for things, you know.” “Adventures in Epsom!” “Why not? I expect it’s full of it.” “Ah, that’s because you’re young! I was like that once, peering round and calling five o’clock tea a romance. I’ve learnt better.” Tony turned round. “It’s so absurd of you, you know, to talk as if you were eighty. You speak as if everything was over, and you’re only beginning.” Maradick laughed. “Well, that’s pretty good cheek from a fellow half your age! Why, what do you know about life, I’d like to know?”