Портрет художника в юности

           Heleftthestagequicklyandridhimselfofhismummeryandpassedoutthroughthechapelintothecollegegarden.Nowthattheplaywasoverhisnervescriedforsomefurtheradventure.Hehurriedonwardsasiftoovertakeit.Thedoorsofthetheatrewereallopenandtheaudiencehademptiedout.Onthelineswhichhehadfanciedthemooringsofanarkafewlanternsswunginthenightbreeze,flickeringcheerlessly.Hemountedthestepsfromthegardeninhaste,eagerthatsomepreyshouldnoteludehim,andforcedhiswaythroughthecrowdinthehallandpastthetwojesuitswhostoodwatchingtheexodusandbowingandshakinghandswiththevisitors.Hepushedonwardnervously,feigningastillgreaterhasteandfaintlyconsciousofthesmilesandstaresandnudgeswhichhispowderedheadleftinitswake.

           Whenhecameoutonthestepshesawhisfamilywaitingfor’himatthefirstlamp.Inaglancehenotedthateveryfigureofthegroupwasfamiliarandrandownthestepsangrily.

           —IhavetoleaveamessagedowninGeorge’sStreet,hesaidtohisfatherquickly.I’llbehomeafteryou.

           Withoutwaitingforhisfather’squestionsheranacrosstheroadandbegantowalkatbreakneckspeeddownthehill.Hehardlyknewwherehewaswalking.Prideandhopeanddesirelikecrushedherbsinhisheartsentupvapoursof,maddeningincensebeforetheeyesofhismind.Hestrodedownthehillamidthetumultofsudden-risenvapoursofwoundedprideandfallenhopeandbaffleddesire.