” “I understand,” he said, doggedly. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “She means to go. She fled. Get the pole out of your ass. Even there a woman never gets a fair chance. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so. 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. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day.
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