He resolved to avoid Julian until this gripping desire was shaken from the shoulders of his mind.

Once or twice he tacitly wondered whether Julian was also the prey of this desire, but then he felt certain that his friend could not be so afflicted.  Had he been, Julian would surely have found a swift occasion to call.  But he did not call.  His feet did not turn their accustomed way to Victoria Street.  And it did not occur to Valentine that Julian might be immersed in the same sort of struggle as himself.  He thought he knew Julian well enough to be sure that he would not have joined issue with such an enemy without instant consultation.  A council of war would certainly have been convened.

So Valentine believed himself lonely in his feeling.  One night he returned from the theatre and a succeeding supper party at half-past twelve, let himself into the flat with a latchkey, threw off his coat and stood before the fire.  His usually smooth, white forehead was puckered in a frown.  He contemplated the inevitable hours of bed with dissatisfaction.  When a man has allowed a vice to obtain dominion over him there are moments when an enforced abstinence from it, even of only a few hours, seems intolerably irksome.  So Valentine felt now.  It seemed to him that he must sit again; that he could not go to bed, could not rest and sleep, until he gratified his desire.  Yet what was he to do?  He thought at first of starting out, late as the hour was, to Julian’s rooms.  But that would be ridiculous, more especially after their mutual resolution.  Julian might refuse, would probably, in any event, wish to refuse, the request which he came to make.  Valentine strove sincerely to dismiss the desire from his mind, but his effort was entirely vain.  Presently he went into his bedroom with the intention of forcing himself to go, as usual, to bed.  He began to undress slowly, and had taken off his coat and waistcoat when he felt that he must resume them; that he must remain, unnecessarily, up.  He allowed the mental prompting to govern him, and hardly had he once more fully attired himself when the electric bell in the passage rang twice.  Valentine went to the door, opened it, and descended the flight of stone steps to the main door of the house, which was locked at night.  Julian was standing outside on the pavement.

“You are still up, then,” he exclaimed.  “That’s good.  May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.  Where have you been to-night?”

They were going up, their footsteps echoing hoarsely in the dim light.

“Nowhere.”

“Then what made you turn out so late?”

“Oh,” Julian said, with an elaborate carelessness; “I don’t know.  I thought we were becoming strangers, I suppose.  And suddenly I resolved to look you up.”

“I see,” Valentine said, wondering why Julian was lying.

By this time they were in the flat and had shut the door behind them.