’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. What else could he do? You can’t kick up a scene on the spur of the moment in the face of such conflicting values as he had before him. “I did it for love of you,” he said.
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