London,' but she
forebore; and when people smiled at her, as many did, she returned
their smile, and hurried on in her eagerness to explore and to
understand the kingdom which was to be Charles Mann's--a kingdom, like
others, of splendour and misery, but overwhelmingly rich with its huge
hotels, great blocks of offices, vast theatres and music-halls,
enormous shops full of merchandise of the finest quality; jewels,
clothes, furs, napery, silver, cutlery; its monuments, its dense
traffic; its flower-sellers and innumerable newsvendors; its glimpses
through the high-walled streets of green trees, its dominating towers;
its lounging men and women. Jews, with gold chains and diamond rings,
Americans with large cigars and padded shoulders, painted women,
niggers, policemen, match-sellers, boot-blacks; its huge coloured
advertisements; its sudden holes, leading to regions underground; its
sluggish, rich self-satisfaction.... It overawed Clara a little, and
as she sped along she whispered to herself, 'This is me in London.'

On her way back to the hotel she bought a paper, and, on opening it,
found that it contained an interview with Mr Charles Mann on his return
to London, an announcement that a dinner was to be given in his honour,
and that he intended to hold an exhibition; and then Charles's views on
many subjects were set out at some length, and he had thrown out a
suggestion that a committee of artists should be formed to supervise
the regeneration of London and to defeat the Americanisation which
threatened it.

Clara hurried back to the hotel and found Charles in a great state of
excitement, talking to a thin, weedy little man whom he introduced as
Mr Clott--his secretary.

'It has begun, child,' said Charles. 'Have you seen the papers?
Things move quickly nowadays.... This evening I shall be very busy.'

'But you mustn't do anything without me,' Clara protested. 'You
promised you wouldn't. You are sure to make a mess of it.'

'Clott,' said Charles magnificently, 'please send a copy of the letter
I have dictated to the Press Association.'

'At once,' replied Mr Clott, with the alacrity of a man in a new job,
and he darted from the room.

'He's a fool,' said Clara angrily, 'a perfect fool.'

'Of course he is,' answered Charles, 'or he would not be a secretary.
He has undertaken that by the end of this week we shall be in a
comfortable furnished house.'

'But who is to pay for it?'

'There is plenty of