She didn’t like the shops, she didn’t like the other women’s faces; she thought the smirking men in frock-coats who dominated these establishments the most intolerable persons she had ever had to face. Ogilvy was full of a client’s trouble in that matter, a grave and even tragic trouble. ‘Very wise,’ he commented, slightly relaxing his arm. She battled with a deadly faintness, and she tottered rather than walked back to her seat. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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