Zanti's amazing adventures.
But there was more than this in his thoughts. As he looked at Mr. Zanti,
at his wild black locks, his flaming cheeks, his rolling eyes, his large
red hands, he was aware suddenly that Clare would not appreciate him. It
was the first time since his marriage that there had been any question of
Clare's criticism, but now he knew, with absolute certainty, that Mr. Zanti
was entirely outside Clare's range of possible persons. For the first time,
almost with a secret start of apprehension, he knew that there were things
that she did not understand.
"I'm afraid," he said, "that my wife is dressing. But when you come back
you shall meet of course--that will be delightful." And then he went
on--"But I simply can't tell you how splendid it is to look at you again.
Lots of things have happened to me since I saw you, of course, but I'm just
the same--"
Whilst he was speaking his voice had become eager, his eyes bright--he
began to pace the room excitedly--
"Oh, Zanti! ... the days we used to have. I suppose the times I've been
having lately had put it all out of my head, but now, with you here, it's
all as though it happened yesterday. The day we left Cornwall, you and
I--the fog when we got to London ... everything." He drew a great breath
and stood in the middle of the room listening to the rain racing down the
pipes beyond the dark windows.
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