KIPPS
lected. He had read the polished prose of the Member of the Aristocracy, on page 96, as far as—
"the acceptance of an invitation is in the eyes of
"diners out, a binding obligation which only ill-
"health, family bereavement, or some all-important
"reason justifies its being set on one side or otherwise
"evaded"—
and then he had lapsed into gloomy thoughts.
That afternoon he had had a serious talk with Helen.
He had tried to express something of the change of heart that had happened to him. But to broach the real state of the matter had been altogether too terrible for him. He had sought a minor issue. "I don't like all this Seciety," he had said.
"But you must see people," said Helen.
"Yes, but— It's the sort of people you see." He nerved himself. "I didn't think much of that lot at the Enegram Tea."
"You have to see all sorts of people if you want to see the world," said Helen.
Kipps was silent for a space and a little short of breath.
"My dear Arthur," she began, almost kindly, "I shouldn't ask you to go to these affairs if I didn't think it good for you, should I?"
Kipps acquiesced in silence.
"You will find the benefit of it all when we get to London. You learn to swim in a tank before you go out into the sea. These people here are good enough to learn upon. They're stiff and rather silly, and dreadfully narrow and not an idea in a dozen of
342
