windows; the old seemly elegance of it all; the greatness of the
manner with the sweet smallness of the scale it wrought on.

`Well,' I said, turning abruptly away, `to business! Thirty feet--how
much, about, is that? My friend moved to the exact corner of the
Strand, and then, steadily, methodically, with his eyes to the
pavement, walked thirty toe-to-heal paces down Adam Street.

`This,' he said, `is where the corner of the Tivoli would come'--not
`will come,' observe; I thanked him for that. He passed on, measuring
out the thirty additional feet. There was in his demeanour something
so finely official that I felt I should at least have the Government
on my side.

Thus it was with no sense of taking a farewell look, but rather to
survey a thing half-saved already, that I crossed over to the other
side of the road, and then, lifting my eyes, and looking to and fro,
beheld--what?

I blankly indicated the thing to my friend. How long had it been
there, that horrible, long, high frontage of grey stone? It must
surely have been there before either of us was born. It seemed to be a
very perfect specimen of 1860--1870 architecture--perfect in its
pretentious and hateful smugness.

And neither of us had ever known it was there.

Neither of us, therefore, could afford to laugh at the other; nor did
either of us laugh at himself; we just went blankly away, and parted.
I daresay my friend found presently, as I did, balm in the knowledge