He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. We aren't between him and heaven; he is between us and heaven. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Which was not to say that ladies were not interested in him. " "The pianist?" "Yes. " "I'd never set eyes on you again. Manning central in her mind. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do.
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