I suppose I was a little idiotic—I don’t think we either of us mentioned the future, but it was arranged that I should go the next afternoon and have tea with her. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. Even in the daylight, it had a sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining houses, as if afraid of their society. “She has lost something,” he declared, “something which brought the men in crowds around the stage at the ‘Ambassador’s. ‘Not entirely English then. It doesn’t matter with me, but there are at least a dozen young women in Mr.
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