'The fog is terrible,' Milvain went on. 'How do you get home?'

'By omnibus from Tottenham Court Road.'

'Then do let me go a part of the way with you. I live in
Mornington Road--up yonder, you know. I have only just come in to
waste half an hour, and after all I think I should be better at
home. Your father is all right, I hope?'

'He is not quite well.'

'I'm sorry to hear that. You are not exactly up to the mark,
either. What weather! What a place to live in, this London, in
winter! It would be a little better down at Finden.'

'A good deal better, I should think. If the weather were bad, it
would be bad in a natural way; but this is artificial misery.'

'I don't let it affect me much,' said Milvain. 'Just of late I
have been in remarkably good spirits. I'm doing a lot of work. No
end of work--more than I've ever done.'

'I am very glad.'

'Where are your out-of-door things? I think there's a ladies'
vestry somewhere, isn't there?'

'Oh yes.'