depend on him for admiring anything that is thoroughly bogus.”
The relief of having finished the letter was only momentary, for almost as soon as he had sealed it the problem of how to pass the rest of this day returned to him. He decided to go and sit in his own room: but when he went up there he found the bed stripped and a vacuum cleaner in the middle of the floor. Apparently members were not expected to be in their bedrooms at this time of day. He came down and tried the lounge; the servants were tidying it. He looked into the library. It was empty but for two men who were talking with their heads close together. They stopped and looked up as soon as he entered, obviously waiting for him to go. He pretended that he had come to get a book and retired. In the hall he saw Steele himself standing by the notice-board and talking to a man with a pointed beard. Neither looked at Mark, but as he passed them they became silent. He dawdled across the hall and pretended to examine the barometer. Wherever he went he heard doors opening and shutting, the tread of rapid feet, occasional ringing of telephones; all the signs of a busy institution carrying on a vigorous life from which he was excluded. He opened the front door and looked out: the fog was thick, wet, and cold.
There is one sense in which every narrative is false; it dare not attempt, even if it could, to express the actual movement of time. This day was so long to Mark that a faithful account of it would be unreadable. Sometimes he sat upstairs—for at last they finished “doing” his bedroom—sometimes he went out into the fog, sometimes he hung about the public rooms. Every now and then these would be unaccountably filled up by crowds of talking people, and for a few minutes the strain of trying not to look unoccupied, not to seem miserable and embarrassed, would be imposed on him: then suddenly, as if summoned by their next engagement, all these people would hurry away.
Some time after lunch he met Stone in one of the passages. Mark had not thought of him since yesterday morning, but now, looking at the expression on his face and something furtive in his whole manner, he realised that here, at any rate, was someone who felt as uncomfortable as himself. Stone had the look which Mark had often seen before in unpopular boys or new boys at school, in “outsiders” at Bracton—the look which was for Mark the symbol of all his worst fears, for to be one who must wear that look was, in his scale of values, the greatest evil. His instinct was not to speak to this man Stone. He knew by experience how dangerous it is to be friends with a sinking man or even to be seen with him: you cannot keep him afloat and he may pull you under. But his own craving for companionship was now acute, so that against his better judgement he smiled a sickly smile and said “Hullo!”
Stone gave a start as if to be spoken to were almost a frightening experience. “Good afternoon,” he said nervously and made to pass on.
“Let’s come and talk somewhere, if you’re not busy,” said Mark.
“I am—that is to say—I’m not quite sure how long I shall be free,” said Stone.
“Tell me about this place,” said Mark. “It seems to me perfectly bloody, but I haven’t yet made up my mind. Come to my room.”
“I don’t think that at all. Not at all. Who said I thought that?” answered Stone very quickly. And Mark did not answer because at that moment he saw the Deputy Director approaching them. He was to discover during the next few weeks that no passage and no public room at Belbury was ever safe from the prolonged indoor walks of the Deputy Director. They could not be regarded as a form of espionage for the creak of Wither’s boots and the dreary little tune which he was nearly always humming would have defeated any such purpose. One heard him quite a long way off. Often one saw him a long way off as well, for he was a tall man—without his stoop he would have been very tall indeed—and often, even in a crowd, one saw that face at a distance staring vaguely towards one. But this was Mark’s first experience of that ubiquity, and he felt that the D.D. could not have appeared at a more unfortunate moment. Very slowly he came towards them, looked in their direction though it was not plain from his face whether he recognised them or not, and passed on. Neither of the young men attempted to resume their conversation.
At tea Mark saw Feverstone and went at once to sit beside him. He knew that the worst thing a man in his position could do was to try to force himself on anyone, but he was now feeling desperate.
“I say, Feverstone,” he began gaily, “I’m in search of information”—and was relieved to see Feverstone smile in reply.
“Yes,” said Mark. “I haven’t had exactly what you’d call a glowing reception from Steele. But the D.D. won’t hear of my leaving. And the Fairy seems to want me to write newspaper articles. What the hell am I supposed to be doing?”
Feverstone laughed long and loud.
“Because,” concluded Mark, “I’m damned if I can find out. I’ve tried to tackle the old boy direct . . .”
“God!” said Feverstone, laughing even louder.
“Can one never get anything out of him?”
“Not what you want,” said Feverstone with a chuckle.
“Well, how the devil is one to find out what’s wanted if nobody offers any information?”
“Quite.”
“Oh, and by the way, that reminds me of something else. How on earth did Curry get hold of the idea that I’m resigning my Fellowship?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I never had the faintest notion of resigning it.”
“Really! I was told distinctly by the Fairy that you weren’t coming back.”
“You don’t suppose I’d do it through her if I was going to resign?”
Feverstone’s smile brightened and widened. “It doesn’t make any odds, you know,” he said. “If the N.I.C.E. want you to have a nominal job somewhere outside Belbury, you’ll have one: and if they don’t, you won’t. Just like that.”
“Damn the N.I.C.E. I’m merely trying to retain the Fellowship I already had, which is no concern of theirs. One doesn’t want to fall between two stools.”
“One doesn’t want to.”
“You mean?”
“Take my advice and get into Wither’s good books again as soon as you can. I gave you a good start but you seem to have rubbed him up the wrong way. His attitude has changed since this morning. You need to humour him, you know. And just between ourselves, I wouldn’t be too thick with the Fairy: it won’t do you any good higher up. There are wheels within wheels.”
“In the meantime,” said Mark, “I’ve written to Curry to explain that it’s all rot about my resignation.”
“No harm if it amuses you,” said Feverstone, still smiling.
“Well, I don’t suppose College wants to kick me out simply because Curry misunderstood something Miss Hardcastle said to you.”
“You can’t be deprived of a fellowship under any statute I know, except for gross immorality.”
“No, of course not. I didn’t mean that. I meant not being re-elected when I come up for re-election next term.”
“Oh. I see.”
“And
