Edward retired into the shadows of his agonised soul. He tried to imagine himself introducing a cute little notion with a light roguish gesture. “Now, folks, guess what’s going to happen next....” Could such words be uttered in Edward’s husky and heavy voice? And then what would happen? Something would try to happen and fail. Edward turned simultaneously hot and cold as he imagined the scene. Avery would say something about British humor. Rhoda would be noisy and helpful. Melsie Ponting would pretend to faint on the nearest man’s shoulder. And Emily—— “For I must invite Emily,” he said aloud. “I won’t have a party without Emily. Please, Rhoda, help me in this matter of Emily. Nobody helps me. You don’t know how terrible it is being me. It seems as if everyone were against me and as if I mattered to nobody. Yet I matter so dreadfully to myself. If you could——” “Aw shucks, Edward,” said Rhoda, not unkindly. “What’s eating you? It seems like everything’s got to be agony to you. Agony’s your hobby, from the way you act; and you’re welcome to it, for me. But you don’t stop at that, you got to tell everybody how it is. Don’t we all feel blue now and then without having to act a hundred and fifty per cent intense about it? If you get any kick out of feeling that way about Emily, go ahead, go right on feeling it. But have a heart and let up on agony for a while.” “Nobody’s on my side.... Nobody’s on my side....” said Edward, standing up and clenching his fists in half-conscious imitation of Emily’s vehement manner. “I’m not pretending, Rhoda; it is that I really do feel things a hundred and fifty per cent intense. Be gentle with me....” “Gentle is my middle name,” said Rhoda, and she stood up and pressed a hand on each of his shoulders. “What do you want me to do, you pity-beggar?” “Can’t you see how it is with me?” said Edward. “I’m not stupid. I’m not even slow, though I’m deaf. If I’m alert and confident I’m not even very deaf. But God is against me, and you are all against me, and nothing I do or say can ever be successful because there is nobody on my side to lead the applause. If I could even once come into a room and have people look up and say ‘Hurrah, here he is at last ...’ I’d be a different man. I’ve never heard that. I hardly dare to be alive against so much opposition. My own voice is terrible to me because there is no-one who wants to hear it. I am living on a giddy high peak of unhappiness. Once before I have been a little bit in love. To my first love I never spoke—without being interrupted by Jimmy saying something far more interesting. Or if I did speak she never listened. For she was one of Jimmy’s loves—and he had a dozen others in three years. I should think thirty women cried when he was killed.... If things didn’t matter to me so—I could have anything in the world I wanted. Rhoda, if I could be sure of myself for one minute—it would be worth while to be alive....”