Never had he laboured to such purpose. Everything seemed
easy; he strode with giant strides into the field of knowledge.
Papers such as would be set him at the examination were matter for
his mirth, mere schoolboy tests. Now and then he rose from study
with a troublesome dizziness, and of a morning his head generally
ached a little; but these were trifles. _Prisch zu_!--as a German
friend of his at Geneva used to say.
Even on the morning of the great day he worked; it was to prove his
will-power, his worthiness. After lunch, clad in the garb of
respectability, he went up by a quick train.
His evening suit he had previously despatched to Alexander's abode,
where he was to dine and dress.
At four o'clock he was in Bryanston Square, tremulous but sanguine,
a different man from him who had sneaked about here under the
umbrella. He knocked. The servant civilly informed him that Miss
Derwent was not at home, asked his name, and bowed him away.
It was a shock. This possibility had not entered his mind, so
engrossed was he in forecasting, in dramatising, the details of the
interview. Looking like one who has received some dreadful news, he
turned slowly from the door and walked away with head down. Probably
no event in all his life had given him such a sense of desolating
frustration. At once the sky was overcast, the ways were woebegone;
he shrank within his new garments, and endured once more the feeling
of personal paltriness.
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