ast conditional loyalty which men may depend on in their dealings
with each other. I believe that any woman would rather trust a man.
The difficulty in such a delicate case was how to get on terms.

So we held our peace in the odious uproar of that wide roadway thronged
with heavy carts. Great vans carrying enormous piled-up loads advanced
swaying like mountains. It was as if the whole world existed only for
selling and buying and those who had nothing to do with the movement of
merchandise were of no account.

"You must be tired," I said. One had to say something if only to assert
oneself against that wearisome, passionless and crushing uproar. She
raised her eyes for a moment. No, she was not. Not very. She had not
walked all the way. She came by train as far as Whitechapel Station and
had only walked from there.

She had had an ugly pilgrimage; but whether of love or of necessity who
could tell? And that precisely was what I should have liked to get at.
This was not however a question to be asked point-blank, and I could not
think of any effective circumlocution. It occurred to me too that she
might conceivably know nothing of it herself--I mean by reflection.
That young woman had been obviously considering death. She had gone the
length of forming some conception of it. But as to its companion
fatality--love, she, I was certain, had never reflected upon its
meaning.

With that man in the hotel, whom I did not know, and this girl standing
before me in the street I felt that it was an exceptional case. He had
broken away from his surroundings; she stood outside the pale. One
aspect of conventions which people who declaim against them lose sight
of is that conventions make both joy and suffering easier to bear in a
becoming manner. But those two were outside all conventions. They
would be as untrammelled in a sense as the first man and the first
woman. The trouble was that I could not imagine anything about Flora de
Barral and the brother of Mrs Fyne. Or, if you like, I could imagine
_anything_ which comes practically to the same thing. Darkness and
chaos are first cousins. I should have liked to ask the girl for a word
which would give my imagination its line. But how was one to venture so
far? I can be rough sometimes but I am not naturally impertinent. I
would have liked to ask her for instance: "Do you know what you have
done with yourself?" A question like that. Anyhow it was time for