He lay back upon his one thin pillow and reviewed his position with surprising fortitude.
After all, Aunt Caroline couldn't see him--and that was something.
Besides, it had been an adventure.

It was surprising how he had come to look for adventures since that day, five years ago, when the grim adventure of war had called him from the peace-filled beginnings of what he had looked forward to as a life of scholarly leisure.

He had been thirty, then, and quite done with adventuring.

Now he was thirty-five and--well, he supposed the war had left him restless.
Presently he would settle down.

He would begin his great book on the "Psychology of Primitive Peoples." Everything would be as it had been before.
But in the meantime it insisted upon being somewhat different--hence this feeling which was not all dissatisfaction with his present absurd position.