old； ageless face。
The man was most amazingly a gentleman all the time； an
aristocrat。 Brangwen stared fascinated。 The girl was pushing her
crumbs about on the cloth； uneasily； flushed and angry。
As Brangwen sat motionless in the hall afterwards； too much
moved and lost to know what to do； the little stranger came up
to him with a beautiful smile and manner； offering a cigarette
and saying：
〃Will you smoke？〃
Brangwen never smoked cigarettes； yet he took the one
offered； fumbling painfully with thick fingers； blushing to the
roots of his hair。 Then he looked with his warm blue eyes at the
almost sardonic； lidded eyes of the foreigner。 The latter sat
down beside him； and they began to talk； chiefly of horses。
Brangwen loved the other man for his exquisite graciousness；
for his tact and reserve； and for his ageless； monkey…like
self…surety。 They talked of horses； and of Derbyshire； and of
farming。 The stranger warmed to the young fellow with real
warmth； and Brangwen was excited。 He was transported at meeting
this odd； middle…aged； dry…skinned man； personally。 The talk was
pleasant； but that did not matter so much。 It was the gracious
manner； the fine contact that was all。
They talked a long while together； Brangwen flushing like a
girl when the other did not understand his idiom。 Then they said
good night； and shook hands。 Again the foreigner bowed and
repeated his good night。
〃Good night； and bon voyage。〃
Then he turned to the stairs。
Brangwen went up to his room and lay staring out at the stars
of the summer night； his whole being in a whirl。 What was it
all？ There was a life so different from what he knew it。 What
was there outside his knowledge； how much？ What was this that he
had touched？ What was he in this new influence？ What did
everything mean？ Where was life； in that which he knew or all
outside him？
He fell asleep； and in the morning had ridden away before any
other visitors were awake。 He shrank from seeing any of them
again； in the morning。
His mind was one big excitement。 The girl and the foreigner：
he knew neither of their names。 Yet they had set fire to the
homestead of his nature； and he would be burned out of cover。 Of
the two experiences； perhaps the meeting with the foreigner was
the more significant。 But the girl……he had not settled
about the girl。
He did not know。 He had to leave it there； as it was。 He
could not sum up his experiences。
The result of these encounters was； that he dreamed day and
night； absorbedly； of a voluptuous woman and of the meeting with
a small； withered foreigner of ancient breeding。 No sooner was
his mind free； no sooner had he left his own panions； than he
began to imagine an intimacy with fine…textured； subtle…mannered
people such as the foreigner at Matlock； and amidst this subtle
intimacy was always the satisfaction of a voluptuous woman。
He went about absorbed in the interest and the actuality of
this dream。 His eyes glowed； he walked with his head up； full of
the exquisite pleasure of aristocratic subtlety and grace；
tormented with the desire for the girl。
Then gradually the glow began to fade； and the cold material
of his customary life to show through。 He resented it。 Was he
cheated in his illusion？ He balked the mean enclosure of
reality； stood stubbornly like a bull at a gate； refusing to
re…enter the well…known round of his own life。
He drank more than usual to keep up the glow。 But it faded
more and more for all that。 He set his teeth at the monplace；
to which he would not submit。 It resolved itself starkly before
him； for all that。
He wanted to marry； to get settled somehow； to get out of the
quandary he found himself in。 But how？ He felt unable to move
his limbs。 He had seen a little creature caught in bird…lime；
and the sight was a nightmare to him。 He began to feel mad with
the rage of impotency。
He wanted something to get hold of； to pull himself out。 But
there was nothing。 Steadfastly he looked at the young women； to
find a one he could marry。 But not one of them did he want。 And
he knew that the idea of a life among such people as the
foreigner was ridiculous。
Yet he dreamed of it； and stuck to his dreams； and would not
have the reality of Cossethay and Ilkeston。 There he sat
stubbornly in his corner at the 〃Red Lion〃； smoking and musing
and occasionally lifting his beer…pot； and saying nothing； for
all the world like a gorping farm…labourer； as he said
himself。
Then a fever of restless anger came upon him。 He wanted to go
away……right away。 He dreamed of foreign parts。 But somehow
he had no contact with them。 And it was a very strong root which
held him to the Marsh； to his own house and land。
Then Effie got married； and he was left in the house with
only Tilly； the cross…eyed woman…servant who had been with them
for fifteen years。 He felt things ing to a close。 All the
time； he had held himself stubbornly resistant to the action of
the monplace unreality which wanted to absorb him。 But now he
had to do something。
He was by nature temperate。 Being sensitive and emotional；
his nausea prevented him from drinking too much。
But； in futile anger； with the greatest of determination and
apparent good humour； he began to drink in order to get drunk。
〃Damn it；〃 he said to himself； 〃you must have it one road or
another……you can't hitch your horse to the shadow of a
gate…post……if you've got legs you've got to rise off your
backside some time or other。〃
So he rose and went down to Ilkeston； rather awkwardly took
his place among a gang of young bloods； stood drinks to the
pany； and discovered he could carry it off quite well。 He had
an idea that everybody in the room was a man after his own
heart； that everything was glorious； everything was perfect。
When somebody in alarm told him his coat pocket was on fire； he
could only beam from a red； blissful face and say
〃Iss…all…ri…ight……iss…al'…ri…ight……it's a'
right……let it be； let it be〃 and he laughed
with pleasure； and was rather indignant that the others should
think it unnatural for his coat pocket to burn：……it was the
happiest and most natural thing in the world……what？
He went home talking to himself and to the moon； that was
very high and small； stumbling at the flashes of moonlight from
the puddles at his feet； wondering What the Hanover！ then
laughing confidently to the moon； assuring her this was first
class； this was。
In the morning he woke up and thought about it； and for the
first time in his life； knew what it was to feel really acutely
irritable； in a misery of real bad temper。 After bawling and
snarling at Tilly； he took himself off for very shame； to be
alone。 And looking at the ashen fields and the putty roads； he
wondered what in the name of Hell he could do to get out of this
prickly sense of disgust and physical repulsion。 And he knew
that this was the result of his glorious evening。
And his stomach did not want any more brandy。 He went
doggedly across the fields with his terrier； and looked at
everything with a jaundiced eye。
The next evening found him back again in his place at the
〃Red Lion〃； moderate and decent。 There he sat and stubbornly
waited for what would happen next。
Did he； or did he not believe that he belonged to this world
of Cossethay and Ilkeston？ There was nothing in it he wanted。
Yet could he ever get out of it？ Was there anything in himself
that would carry him out of it？ Or was he a dunderheaded baby；
not man enough to be like the other young fellows who drank a
good deal and wenched a little without any question； and were
satisfied。
He went on stubbornly for a time。 Then the strain became too
great for him。 A hot； accumulated consciousness was always awake
in his chest； his wrists felt sind
became full of lustful images； his eyes seemed blood…flushed。 He
fought with himself furiously； to remain normal。 He did not seek
any woman。 He just went on as if he were normal。 Till he must
either take some action or beat his head against the wall。
Then he went deliberately to Ilkeston； in silence； intent and
beaten。 He drank to get drunk。 He gulped down the brandy； and
more brandy； till his face became p