"Which way do you go?"

"To Half Moon Street," said Robin.

"We might walk, if you like. I am going the same way.

"Certainly."

They set out slowly. It was early in the year. Showers of rain had fallen
during the day. The night was warm, and the damp earth in the Square
garden steamed as if it were oppressed and were breathing wearily. The
sky was dark and cloudy, and the air was impregnated with a scent to
which many things had contributed, each yielding a fragment of the odour
peculiar to it. Rain, smoke, various trees and plants, the wet paint on a
railing, the damp straw laid before the house of an invalid, the hothouse
flowers carried by a woman in a passing carriage--these and other things
were represented in the heavy atmosphere which was full of the sensation
of life. Sir Donald expanded his nostrils.

"London, London!" he said. "I should know it if I were blind."

"Yes. The London smell is not to be confused with the smell of any other
place. You have been back a good while, I believe?"

"Three years. I am laid on the London shelf now."

"You have had a long life of work--interesting work."

"Yes. Diplomacy has interesting moments. I have seen many countries. I