Mr. Whately smiled at the recollection and then remembered suddenly for what cause he was traveling down to Fernhurst. “I must say something to him. What shall I say?” And for want of any better argument he began to adapt a speech that he had heard spoken a few weeks earlier in a melodrama at the Aldwich. The hero, a soldier, had come home from the war to find his betrothed in the arms of another, and she had protested that it was him alone she loved, and that she was playing with the other; but the returned warrior had delivered himself of an oration on the eternal sanctity of love. “Love cannot be divided like a worm and continue to exist. It is not a game.” There was something in that argument, and Mr. Whately decided to tell Roland that love came only once in a man’s life, and that he must reserve himself for that one occasion. “If you make love to every girl you meet, you will spoil yourself for the real love affair. It will be the removal of a shovelful of gravel from a large pile. One shovelful appears to make no difference, but in the end the pile of gravel disappears.” That is what he would say to Roland. And because the idea seemed suitable, he did not pause to consider whether or not it was founded upon truth. He lay back in his corner seat and began to arrange his ideas according to that line of persuasion.
But all this fine flow of wit and logic was dispelled when the train drew up at Fernhurst station and Mr. Whately descended from the carriage to find Roland waiting for him on the platform.
“Hullo! father,” he said, and the two of them walked in silence out of the station, and turned into the Eversham Rooms.
“I’ve booked a table at the hotel,” said Roland.
“I expect you’re feeling a bit hungry after your journey, aren’t you, father?”
“No, it was very jolly. The country was beautiful all the way down. It’s such a relief to be able to get out of London for a bit.”
“It’s quite a treat to be able to come here”; and so nervous was he that he failed to appreciate the irony of his last statement.
By this time they had reached the hotel. Roland walked with a cheerful confidence into the entrance, nodded to the porter, hung his straw hat upon the rack, and suggested a wash.