indifference. But what was the good of telling her he wanted this company in proud indifference. What was the good of talking, any way? It must happen beyond the sound of words. It was merely ruinous to try to work her by conviction. This was a paradisal bird that could never be netted, it must fly by itself to the heart.

‘I always think I am going to be loved — and then I am let down. You DON’T love me, you know. You don’t want to serve me. You only want yourself.’

A shiver of rage went over his veins, at this repeated: ‘You don’t want to serve me.’ All the paradisal disappeared from him.

‘No,’ he said, irritated, ‘I don’t want to serve you, because there is nothing there to serve. What you want me to serve, is nothing, mere nothing. It isn’t