Maurice did not refer to the subject, and
Jenny was very glad to put it out of her mind. As if by tacit agreement,
they both took refuge from any solution in a gayety that might have been
assumed, so sedulously was it cultivated. Everything else was set aside
for a good time, and though there were interludes when in the seclusion
of an afternoon spent together they would recapture the spirit of that
golden and benign October, these lovers generally seemed anxious to
share with their friends the responsibilities of enjoyment.

Thus it came about that a polity of pleasure was established whose
citizens were linked together by ties of laughter. This city state of
Bohemia, fortified against intrusion by experiences which the casual
visitor was not privileged to share, stood for Jenny as the solidest
influence upon her life so far. It gave her a background for Maurice,
which made him somehow more real. Without this little society,
acknowledging herself and him as supreme and accepting their love as the
pivot on which its own existence revolved, she would have seen her lover
as an actuality only when they were making love. Out of her sight, he
would have faded into the uncertain mists of another social grade,
floated incorporeal among photographs of Ellis and Walery in a legend of
wealth and dignity beyond her conception. To Fuz and Ronnie and
Cunningham she could talk of Maurice, thereby gleaning external
impressions which confirmed her own attitude. In this atmosphere her
love assumed a sanity and normality that might otherwise easily have
been lost.

It must not be supposed that this little republic was content with the
territory of 422 Grosvenor Road. On the contrary, throughout October,
November and December, there were frequent sallies against convention
and raids upon Philistia. There were noisy tea-parties in hostile
strongholds like the Corner House, where ladies were not permitted to
smoke and customers were kindly requested to pay at the desk. Perhaps
their most successful foray was upon a fashionable tea-shop in St.
James's Street, where a florin was the minimum charge for tea to include
everything; on this occasion, prepared for by rigorous fasting, it
included a very great deal. There were attempts by Ronnie Walker to make
the girls enjoy picture-galleries, by Cunningham to convert them to
Symphony Concerts. And once they all went to see a play by Mr. Bernard
Shaw. But painting, music and the drama could not co