She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. ‘You do not like it?’ ‘That is hardly the point. She began to feel odd sensations while peering busily at his shoulder and profile. She was curious, and at the same time clearly resolved she must not hear it. On the same peg and evidently belonging to it was a black velvet Zouave jacket. But she did not listen long; she wanted to talk. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. Her father had determined on a new line.
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