had left and were walking side by side through Bloomsbury. They skirted
the oval garden of Bedford Square, which, lying off the main track to
the northern termini, and with nothing baser in it than a consulate or
so, took precedence in austerity and selectness over Russell Square,
which had consented to receive a grand hotel or 'modern caravanserai'
and a shorthand school. Indeed the aspect of Bedford Square, where the
great institution of the basement and area still flourished in
perfection, and wealthy menials with traditional manners lived sensually
in caves beneath the spacious, calm salons of their employers and
dupes,--the aspect of Bedford Square gave the illusion that evolution
was not, and that Bloomsbury and the whole impressive structure of
British society could never change. Still, from a more dubious
Bloomsbury, demure creatures with inviting, indiscreet eyes were already
traversing the prim flags of Bedford Square on their way to the
evening's hard diplomacy. Mr. Lucas made quiet remarks about their
qualities, but George did not respond.

"Look here, old man," said Lucas, "there's no use in all this gloom. You
might think Lucas & Enwright had never put up a building in their lives.
Just as well to dwell now and then on what they have done instead of on
what they haven't done. We're fairly busy, you know. Besides----"

He spoke seriously, tactfully, with charm, and he had a beautiful voice.

"Quite right! Quite right!" George willingly agreed, swinging his stick
and gazing straight ahead. And he thought: "This chap has got his head
screwed on. He's miles wiser than I am, and he's really nice. I could
never be nice like that."

In a moment they were at the turbulent junction of Tottenham Court Road