independence, she dwelt with pleasure and longing on the vision of being
his, of being at his disposal, of being under his might, of being
helpless before him. She thought, desolated: "I am nobody's. And so
there is 'talk'!" She scorned herself for being nobody's. To belong
utterly to some male seemed to be the one tolerable fate for her in the
world. And it was a glorious fate, whether it brought good or evil. Any
other was ignobly futile, was despicable. And then she thought,
savagely: "And just see my clothes! Why don't I take the trouble to look
nice?"

Suddenly George Cannon stopped on the edge of the pavement, and turned
towards the houses across the street.

"You see that?" he said, pointing with his stick.

"What?"

"The Chichester."

She saw, in gold letters over the front of a tall corner house: "The
Chichester Private Hotel."

"Well?"

"I've taken it--from Christmas. I signed about an hour ago. I just had
to tell someone."

"Well I never!" Hilda exclaimed.

He was beyond question an extraordinary and an impressive man. He had
said that, after experimenting in Preston Street, he should take a
larger place, and lo! in less than a year, he had fulfilled his word. He
had experimented in Preston Street, with immense success and now he was
coming out into the King's Road! (Only those who have lived in a side
street can pronounce the fine words 'King's Road' with the proper accent
of deference.) And every house in the King's Road, Hilda now newly
perceived, was a house of price and distinction. Nothing could be common
in the King's Road: the address and the view were incomparably precious.
Being established there, George Cannon might, and no doubt would,
ultimately acquire one of the largest public hotels; indeed, dominate
the promenade! It would be just like him to do so! A year ago he was a
solicitor in Turnhill. To-day he was so perfectly and entirely a
landlord that no one could ever guess his first career. He was not
merely extraordinary: he was astounding. There could not be many of his
calibre in the whole world.

"How does it strike you?" he asked, with an eagerness that touched her.

"Oh! It's splendid!" she answered, trying to put more natural enthusiasm
into her voice. But the fact was that the Chichester had not yet struck
her at all. It was only the idea of being in the King's Road that had
struck her--and with such an effect that her attention was happily
diverted from her trouble, and h