emble them. But it's all
really lovely, isn't it, Morgan? What suffering must be here! You
can't imagine how I'm enjoying everything. Of course I sympathise as
well. But mine is a sort of artistic sympathy. I'm not noble enough to
feel the real thing. Isn't it all interesting?"

"There's a policeman staring at us suspiciously."

"Then we'd better move on. The good policeman's dream of paradise must
be a place in which he is the one static soul and in which the blest
keep passing on to all eternity."

They crossed the road and moved along with the crowd. The bells of St.
Botolph's struck ten as they turned into Bishopsgate.

"I feel the mediaeval spirit coming on and begin to see visions of
highly-coloured Lord Mayors and aldermen and burghers and beef-eaters.
And somehow Dick Whittington and his cat are mixed up with it all, and
exhibitions with glass roofs and careful craftsmen and apprentices,
and Christopher Wren. Alas and alack! Where is old London?"

"I don't know," said Morgan. "But I do know where Whitechapel is. We
have to pass through Houndsditch. I looked it up on the map to refresh
my memory. I have always found Houndsditch a disappointment."

"So have I," said Lady Thiselton. "It is every bit as uninspiring as a
West End street. Some of the side alleys look interesting though, but
then such strange people seem to be in absolute possession, and you
feel you have no right to set foot within their territory. I am really
a fearful coward."

They walked on silently.

"Why don't you contradict me, Morgan, and tell me I'm brave? You never
voluntarily pay me a compliment. If I want compliments I have to put
them before you as so many propositions, to which, being a truthful
person, you are forced to give your assent."

"You are brave," said Morgan.

"Thank you. Every stone in this part of the city has its associations,
its traditions, its history. And then there are venerable churches
isolated amid the serried buildings of commerce, with charming bits of
hidden green and trees. I'm chattering away like a country cousin come
up to see the sights of London town and to carry back its fifteenth
century flavour. Let us forget history and tradition, and let us get
an unadulterated vision of the modern. Here is a nice place to stand."

They had turned into Aldgate and had gone some distance in the
direction of Whitechapel, and the new scene had a character of its
own. Both felt the spirit of toil here, where t