"Only until the end of the week," said Miriam seeing the old servant, perpetually left alone, getting older. Sad. Left out. But what an awful way of living in London; alone with one old servant. A brilliant light came into Miss Prout's eyes. She was looking fixedly along the terrace. "He wouldn't stay to lunch." Hypo, alone and gay. "He's _done_ with me. Given me up. Gone away a wise young man." "He was _appalling_." "You didn't hear him, Miriam." "I saw him." "You didn't hear him on the subject of his guild." "He's founded a _guild_?" "It's much worse than that. He's gone about, poor dear, in sublime, in the most _sublime_ faith, collecting all the young men in Norfolk, under my banner. I have heard this morning all I might become if I could contrive to be ... as wooden as he is. Come along. Let's have lunch. You know, Edna, there's a great work to be done on you. _You've_ got to be turned into a socialist." He turned as they walked, to watch her face. She was looking down, smiling, withdrawn, revealing nothing. Seething with anticipation. She would be willing. For the sake of the long conversations. They would sit apart talking, for the rest of her time. There would be long argumentative letters. No. She would not argue. She would be another of those women in the Lycurgan, posing and dressing and consciously shining at soirées. Making havoc and complications. Worse than they. How could he imagine her a socialist with her view of humanity and human motives. "No. We _won't_ make you a socialist, Edna. You're too good as you are." Beautiful, different; too good for socialism? Then he really thought her wonderful. In some way beyond himself.... * * * * * Turning just in time to be caught by the sun dipping behind the cliff. Perfect sudden moment. No sunset effects. No radiance. Clean dull colours. Mealy grey-blue sky, dull gold ball, half hidden, tilted by the slope of the green cliff. Feeling him arrested, compelled to receptive watching; watching a sunset, like anyone else.... The last third of the disc, going, bent intently, asserting the moment, asserting uniqueness; unanswerable mystery of beauty. "God, reading a newspaper." "The way to see a sunset is to be _indoors_. Oblivious. Then ... just a ruddy glow, reflected from a bright surface.... The indirect method's the method. Old Conrad." "Madeleine has no use for this storm-rent sky. She wants untroubled blue, one small pink cloud, and presently, a single star." Then he must have wanted these things himself once. Why did he try to jest young people into his disillusionment? Yet tonight the sun had set without comment. With his approval. He was openly sharing the unspoken response to the scene of its magnificent departure.