She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. “It’s all right,” he said, reassuringly to the inquirer without. ‘If you imagine you’re going to use one ungentlemanly act to manipulate me, you very much mistake the matter. . Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. She had treated him badly; she had hurt him and her aunt; she had done wrong by their standards, and she would never persuade them that she had done right.
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