that I would go out and take the air till lunch-time.

"If you've nothing better to do," said he, "you might run round to
Eccleston Square and see my mother."

"For any particular reason?"

"She wants to see you. Home for inebriate parrots or something. Gave me
a message for you this morning."

"I'll wait," said I, "on Lady Kynnersley with pleasure."

I went out and walked down the restful covered way of the Albany to
the Piccadilly entrance, and began my taking of the air. It was a soft
November day, full of blue mist, and invested with a dying grace by a
pale sunshine struggling through thin, grey rain-cloud. It was a faded
lady of a day--a lady of waxen cheeks, attired in pearl-grey and
old lace, her dim eyes illumined by a last smile. It gave an air
of unreality to the perspective of tall buildings, and treated with
indulgent irony the passing show of humans--on foot, on omnibuses, in
cabs and motors--turning them into shadow shapes tending no whither.
I laughed to myself. They all fancied themselves so real. They all had
schemes in their heads, as if they were going to live a thousand years.
I walked westwards past the great clubs, moralising as I went, and
feeling the reaction from the excitement of Murglebed-on-Sea. I looked
up at one of my own clubs, a comfortable resting-place, and it struck
me as possessing more attractions than the family vault in Highgate
Cemetery. An acquaintance at the window waved his hand at me. I thought
him a lucky beggar to have that window to stand by when the street will
be flooded with summer sunshine and the trees in the green Park opposite