"So long as I'm not in anybody else's way— Anyhow, you'd be much better sleeping the sleep of the just. And I'm going out for a minute or two. Don't catch cold there with nothing on—
"I want to catch the post," he added, rising.
Aaron looked up at him quickly. But almost before there was time to speak, Lilly had slipped into his hat and coat, seized his letters, and gone.
It was a rainy night. Lilly turned down King Street to walk to Charing Cross. He liked being out of doors. He liked to post his letters at Charing Cross post office. He did not want to talk to Aaron any more. He was glad to be alone.
He walked quickly down Villiers Street to the river, to see it flowing blackly towards the sea. It had an endless fascination for him: never failed to soothe him and give him a sense of liberty. He liked the night, the dark rain, the river, and even the traffic. He enjoyed the sense of friction he got from the streaming of people who meant nothing to him. It was like a fox slipping alert among unsuspecting cattle.
When he got back, he saw in the distance the lights of a taxi standing outside the building where he lived, and heard a thumping and hallooing. He hurried forward.
It was a man called Herbertson.
"Oh, why, there you are!" exclaimed Herbertson, as Lilly drew near. "Can I come up and have a chat?"
"I've got that man who's had flu. I should think he is gone to bed."
"Oh!" The disappointment was plain. "Well, look here! I'll just come up for a couple of minutes." He laid his hand on Lilly's arm. "I heard you were going away. Where are you going?"
"Malta."
"Malta! Oh, I know Malta very well. Well now, it'll be all right if I come up for a minute? I'm not going to see much more of you, apparently." He turned quickly to the taxi. "What is it on the clock?"
