ith himself as he rode on the
front seat of the omnibus down Tottenham Court Road in the cool of the
evening.

At the Horseshoe he alighted and went into the saloon bar on the chance
of seeing what Mr. Murdoch looked like; but there was no sign of the
landlady and her husband. The saloon bar smelt very strongly of spilt
stout; and a number of men, who looked like draymen in tailcoats and
top-hats, were arguing about money. He was glad to leave the tavern
behind; and in a Soho restaurant he ate a tranquil dinner, listening
with much amusement to the people round him. He liked to hear each petty
host assure his guests that he had brought them to a place of which very
few but himself knew. All the diners under the influence of this
assurance stared at one another like conspirators.

Just before nine o'clock. Michael reached the Orient Palace of
Varieties, and with excitement bubbling up within him, notwithstanding
all his efforts to stay unmoved, he joined the throng of the Promenade.
He looked about him at first in trepidation. Although all the way from
Camden Town he had practiced this meeting with Lily, now at its approach
his presence of mind vanished, and he felt that to meet her suddenly
without a longer preparation would lead him to make a fool of himself.
However, in the first quick glance he could not see anyone who resembled
her, and he withdrew to the secluded apex of the curving Promenade
whence he could watch most easily the ebb and flow of the crowd. That on
the stage a lady of the haute ecole was with a curious wooden rapidity
putting a white horse through a number of tricks did not concern his
attention beyond the moment. For him the Promenade was the performance.
Certainly at the Orient it was a better staged affair than that weary
heterogeneous mob at The Oxford. At the Orient there was an unity of
effect, an individuality, and a conscious equipment. At The Oxford the
whole business had resembled a suburban parade. Here was a real
exposition of vice like the jetty of Alexandria in olden days. Indeed,
so cynical was the function of the Orient Promenade that the frankness
almost defeated its object, and the frequenters instead of profiting by
the facilities for commerce allowed themselves to be drugged into
perpetual meditation upon an attractive contingency.

Seen from this secluded corner, the Promenade resembled a well-filled
tank in an aquarium. The upholstery of shimmering green plush, the dim
foreg