London, no longer to be my London,
maintained its hostile attitude to me. If any one had prophesied that I
should be a stranger in Piccadilly, I should have laughed aloud. Yet I
was.
Walking moodily up Saint James's street I met the omniscient and
expansive Renniker. He gave me a curt nod and a "How d'ye do?" and
passed on. I felt savagely disposed to slash his jaunty silk hat
off with my walking-stick. A few months before he would have rushed
effusively into my arms and bedaubed me with miscellaneous inaccuracies
of information. At first I was furiously indignant. Then I laughed, and
swinging my stick, nearly wreaked my vengeance on a harmless elderly
gentleman.
It was my first experience of social ostracism. Although I curled a
contumelious lip, I smarted under the indignity. It was all very well
to say proudly "_io son' io_"; but _io_ used to be a person of some
importance who was not cavalierly "how d'ye do'd" by creatures like
Renniker. This and the chance encounters of the next few weeks gave
me furiously to think.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353