that time. That Locarno affair was infinitely more to me than I had

supposed. It ended something-nipped something in the bud perhaps-

took me at a stride from a vague, fine, ignorant, closed world of

emotion to intrigue and a perfectly definite andlimited sensuality.

It ended my youth, and for a time it prevented my manhood. I had

never yet even peeped at the sweetest, profoundest thing in the

world, the heart and meaning of a girl, ordreamt with any quality

ofreality of a wife or any such thing as a friend among womanhood.

My vague anticipation of such things in life had vanished

altogether. I turned away from their possibility. It seemed to me

Iknew what had to beknown about womankind. I wanted to work hard,

to get on to a position in which I could develop and forward my

constructive projects. Women, Ithought, had nothing to do with

that. It seemed clear I could not marry for some years; I was

attractive to certain types of women, I had vanity enough to give me

an agreeable confidence in love-making, and I went about seeking a

convenient mistress quite deliberately, some one who should serve my

purpose and say in the end, like that kindly first mistress of mine,

"I've done you no harm," and so release me. It seemed the onlywise

way ofdisposing of urgencies that might otherwise entangle and

wreck the career I was intent upon.

I don't apologise for, or defend my mental and moral phases. So it

was I appraised life and prepared to take it, and so it is a

thousand ambitious mensee it to-day…

For therest these five years were a period of definition. My

political conceptions were perfectly plain and honest. I had one

constantdesire ruling mythoughts. I meant to leave England and

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