brighten--those eyes so dulled with looking at
the streets; and each one, if he has a Love, thinks of her, and here and
there among the wandering throng he has her with him. To these the Park
and all sweet-blooded mortals in it nod and smile.

There had been a meeting that afternoon at Lady Maiden's in Prince's
Gate to consider the position of the working-class woman. It had
provided a somewhat heated discussion, for a person had got up and
proved almost incontestably that the working-class woman had no position
whatsoever.

Gregory Vigil and Mrs. Shortman had left this meeting together, and,
crossing the Serpentine, struck a line over the grass.

"Mrs. Shortman," said Gregory, "don't you think we're all a little mad?"

He was carrying his hat in his hand, and his fine grizzled hair, rumpled
in the excitement of the meeting, had not yet subsided on his head.

"Yes, Mr. Vigil. I don't exactly----"

"We are all a little mad! What did that woman, Lady Maiden, mean by
talking as she did? I detest her!"

"Oh, Mr. Vigil! She has the best intentions!"

"Intentions?" said Gregory. "I loathe her! What did we go to her stuffy
drawing-room for? Look at that sky!"

Mrs. Shortman looked at the sky.

"But, Mr. Vigil," she said earnestly, "things would never get done.
Sometimes I think you look at everything too much in the light of the
way it ought to be!"

"The Milky Way," said Gregory.

Mrs. Shortman pursed her lips; she found it impossible to habituate
herself to Gregory's habit of joking.

They had scant talk for the rest of their journey to the S. R. W. C.,
where Miss Mallow, at the typewriter, was reading a novel.

"There are several letters for you, Mr. Vigil"

"Mrs. Shortman says I am unpractical," answered Gregory. "Is that true,
Miss Mallow?"

The colour in Miss Mallow's cheeks spread to her sloping shoulders.

"Oh no. You're most practical, only--perhaps--I don't know, perhaps you
do try to do rather impossible things, Mr. Vigil."

"Bilcock Buildings!"

There was a minute's silence. Then Mrs. Shortman at her bureau beginning
to dictate, the typewriter started clicking.

Gregory, who had opened a letter, was seated with his head in his hands.
The voice ceased, the typewriter ceased, but Gregory did not stir.
Both women, turning a little in their seats, glanced at him. Their eyes
caught each other's and they looked away at once. A few seconds later
they were looking at him again. Still Gregory did no