Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. Perhaps she was. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. Well, come back in half an hour. It jars with all my ideas. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. She was vaguely happy over this arrangement which put her in the wing across the middle hall, alone.
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