It will puzzle me all my life (or what’s left of it, let’s say) to know why that diabolically handsome young Jew took such an instant dislike to me; and why I took such a dislike to him! For that was really at the bottom of all that followed--just good old black hatred, Hilary, from the first moment our eyes met. But I want to give you all the facts. Maybe the girl had something to do with it even then--the girl and his own shocking smile. You simply couldn’t help fancying that those gentle eyes were in for a very bad time from that smile. Decidedly not my business, of course. Nothing that interests one ever is, is it? But, on the other hand, the young man went on whispering and laughing so all through my confounded lecture that by the time I had finished there was just one small spot of red floating about my mind. I don’t think I’ve ever before been so angry. There’s one particular thing about people who sneer that I can’t bear, Hilary. They simply insist on your disliking them, and I hate having to dislike people more than I can tell you. They began to clear out as soon as I had finished. The young Jew’s behaviour hadn’t, naturally, made my effort go any better. He needed a lesson, that bright young man. I collared him in the passage outside. Of course he and his young lady were much too smart to hurry themselves, and the rest of the lecturees had almost gone. Inside, Venice had given up poisoning her club with coffee and was trying to bring it round with shocking noises from a wireless set. I can see that passage now. A narrow stairway leading up to God knows where. Just one gas-jet, yellow as a Chinaman. The front-door wide open to a narrow street like a canal of mud, for it was pelting with rain, you could see sheets of it falling between us and the lamp on the opposite side of the road. A man outside somewhere whistling “Horsey, keep your tail up,” and whistling it well. Radio inside. Our young Jewboy was tall. I simply didn’t feel I was old enough to be his father, although he couldn’t have been more than three or four-and-twenty. And he liked colours, that boy. He had on a nice bright brown suit, a silk shirt to match, and not a tartan in the Highlands had anything on his tie. His young lady’s eyes, in that sick light, shone like black onyx. It struck me she was terrified, the way she was staring at me. I was sorry for that, it wasn’t her terror I wanted. And where I did want it, not a sign. Then I realised she wasn’t terrified for him but for me. Cheek. I had the fancy youth by the shoulder. Tight. He was still laughing at me. “This lout!” that laugh said. I can hear that laugh now. And, confound it, there was a quite extraordinary authority to that boy’s eyes. He wasn’t used to following anyone, not he. I said: “Young man, your manners are very bad. What are you going to do about it?”