sit; and she must
hurriedly go and look up the distinguished General's career in case she
had to sit next him. Vehemently she put the preceding hour out of her
mind. The dinner-party to which she was going flattered her vanity. It
turned her cold to think that Roger might some day do something which
would damage that "position" which she had built up for herself and her
husband, by ten years' careful piloting of their joint lives. She knew
she was called a "climber." She knew also that she had "climbed"
successfully, and that it was Roger's knowledge of the fact, combined
with a horrid recklessness which seemed to be growing in him, that made
the danger of the situation.

Meanwhile Delane stepped out into the fog, which, however, was lifting a
little. He made his way down into Piccadilly, which was crowded with
folk, men and women hurrying home from their offices, and besieging the
omnibuses--with hundreds of soldiers too, most of them with a girl beside
them, and smart young officers of every rank and service--while the whole
scene breathed an animation and excitement, which meant a common
consciousness, in the crowd, of great happenings. All along the street
were men with newspapers, showing the headlines to passers-by. "President
Wilson's answer to the German appeal expected to-morrow." "The British
entry into Lille."

Delane bought an _Evening News_, glanced at the headlines, and threw it
away. What did the war matter to him?--or the new world that fools
supposed to be coming after it? Consumptives had a way, no doubt, of
living longer than people expected--or hoped. Still, he believed that a
couple of years or so would see him out. And that being so, he felt
a kind of malignant indifference towards this pushing, chattering world,
aimlessly going about its silly business, as though there were any real
interest or importance in it.

Then, as he drifted with the crowd, he found himself caught in a
specially dense bit of it, which had gathered round some fallen horses. A
thin slip of a girl beside him, who was attempting to get through the
crush, was roughly elbowed by a burly artilleryman determined to see the
show. She protested angrily, and Delane suddenly felt angry, too. "You
brute, you,--let the lady pass!" he called to the soldier, who turned
with a grin, and was instantly out of reach and sight. "Take my arm,"
said Delane to the girl--"Where are you going?" The little thing looked
up--hesitated--and took his