word of command, carelessly obedient.
But for an occasional bellow of hilarious blackguardism, or for a song
uplifted by strident voices, or a cheer at some flaring symbol that
pleased the passers, there was little noise; only a thud, thud of
footfalls numberless, and the low, unvarying sound that suggested some
huge beast purring to itself in stupid contentment.

Nancy forgot her identity, lost sight of herself as an individual. Her
blood was heated by close air and physical contact. She did not think,
and her emotions differed little from those of any shop-girl let loose.
The 'culture,' to which she laid claim, evanesced in this atmosphere
of exhalations. Could she have seen her face, its look of vulgar
abandonment would have horrified her.

Some one trod violently on her heel, and she turned with a half-angry
laugh, protesting. 'Beg your pardon, miss,' said a young fellow of the
clerkly order. 'A push be'ind made me do it.' He thrust himself to a
place beside her, and Nancy conversed with him unrestrainedly, as though
it were a matter of course. The young man, scrutinising her with much
freedom, shaped clerkly compliments, and, in his fashion, grew lyrical;
until, at a certain remark which he permitted himself, Nancy felt it
time to shake him off. Her next encounter was more noteworthy. Of a
sudden she felt an arm round her waist, and a man, whose breath declared
the source of his inspiration, began singing close to her ear the
operatic ditty, 'Queen of my Heart.' He had, moreover, a good tenor
voice, and belonged, vaguely, to some stratum of educated society.

'I think you had better leave me alone,' said Nancy, looking him
severely in the face.

'Well, if you really think so,'--he seemed struck by her manner of
speech,--'of course I will: but I'd much rather not.'

'I might find it necessary to speak to a policeman at the next corner.'

'Oh, in that case.'--He raised his hat, and fell aside. And Nancy felt
that, after all, the adventure had been amusing.

She was now in Regent Street, and it came to her recollection that she
had made an appointment with Luckworth Crewe for nine o'clock. Without
any intention of keeping it; but why not do so? Her lively acquaintance
would be excellent company for the next hour, until she chose to bring
the escapade to an end. And indeed, save by a disagreeable struggle,
she could hardly change the direction of her steps. It was probably past
nine; Crewe might have got tired