Exeter was tedious, but he could not make up his mind to set forth for the sea-shore, where only his own thoughts awaited him.

Packed away in his wallet lay geological hammer, azimuth compass, clinometer, miniature microscope,--why should he drag all that lumber about with him?
What to him were the bygone millions of ages, the hoary records of unimaginable time?
One touch of a girl's hand, one syllable of musical speech,--was it not that whereof his life had truly need?
As remote from him, however, as the age of the pterodactyl.

How often was it necessary to repeat this?
On a long voyage, such as he had all but resolved to take, one might perchance form acquaintances.

He had heard of such things; not impossibly, a social circle might open to him at Buenos Ayres.

But here in England his poor origin, his lack of means would for ever bar him from the intimacy of people like the Warricombes.
He loitered towards the South-Western station, dimly conscious of a purpose to look for trains.