This accident rather confirms than checks my purpose. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. ‘Lord in heaven, could it be so?’ ‘Don’t look at me,’ exploded Hilary. Spurling bit her lips to conceal her mirth. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. It was a mad half-hour. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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