pposed to be
his wife. They bought a wedding-ring for a shilling, from a shop
in a poor quarter.

They had revoked altogether the ordinary mortal world. Their
confidence was like a possession upon them. They were possessed.
Perfectly and supremely free they felt, proud beyond all
question, and surpassing mortal conditions.

They were perfect, therefore nothing else existed. The world
was a world of servants whom one civilly ignored. Wherever they
went, they were the sensuous aristocrats, warm, bright, glancing
with pure pride of the senses.

The effect upon other people was extraordinary. The glamour
was cast from the young couple upon all they came into contact
with, waiters or chance acquaintances.

"Oui, Monsieur le baron," she would reply with a
mocking courtesy to her husband.

So they came to be treated as titled people. He was an
officer in the engineers. They were just married, going to India
immediately.

Thus a tissue of romance was round them. She believed she was
a young wife of a titled husband on the eve of departure for
India. This, the social fact, was a delicious make-belief. The
living fact was that he and she were man and woman, absolute and
beyond all limitation.

The days went by--they were to have three weeks
together--in perfect success. All the time, they themselves
were reality, all outside was tribute to them. They were quite
careless about money, but they did nothing very extravagant. He
was rather surprised when he found that he had spent twenty
pounds in a little under a week, but it was only the irritation
of having to go to the bank. The machinery of the old system
lasted for him, not the system. The money simply did not
exist.

Neither did any of the old obligations. They came home from
the theatre, had supper, then flitted about in their
dressing-gowns. They had a large bedroom and a corner
sitting-room high up, remote and very cosy. They ate all their
meals in their own rooms, attended by a young German called
Hans, who thought them both wonderful, and answered
assiduously:

"Gewiss, Herr Baron--bitte sehr, Frau
Baronin."

Often, they saw the pink of dawn away across the park. The
tower of Westminster Cathedral was emerging, the lamps of
Piccadilly, stringing away beside the trees of the park, were
becoming pale and moth-like, the morning traffic was
clock-clocking down the shadowy road, which had gleamed all
night like metal, down below, running far ahead into the n