He arrived in London while the sun shone, and told the cabman to drive to the Carlton, where some Americans whom he liked in Monte Carlo had talked of staying. After he had made himself presentable, he descended to the palm court, and ordered tea, since tea was in evidence, and glanced round the groups that sipped and chatted. His Americans were not there--perhaps they had been faithful to the American hotel. By-and-by he inquired about them, and learnt that they were unknown. He was hipped, for they had been companionable, and one of the women was very pretty. He felt rather "out of it" among the dawdling groups. During dinner he asked himself to what theatre he should go. He remembered reading recently that a farcical comedy had scored a great success, and decided to go to see that. One of his oddities was a reluctance to inconvenience people by passing in front of them in a theatre after the curtain had risen, so he didn't dally at the table. The piece began at a quarter past eight. He had a cup of coffee, and a red Grand Marnier, and slid into a hansom. There would be just time to smoke a cigarette comfortably during the drive. Hansoms darted everywhere in the pale evening--a man and a friend, a man and a girl, a man going to meet a girl. From Pall Mall the line of liveries rolled up endlessly, the broughams and landaus flashing glimpses of coiffures, and jewelled ears, and flowers. Where a block occurred in the traffic, a young man, who had paused on the curb, in a dress-suit that looked rather tight for him, bowed delightedly to the occupants of a victoria, and they beamed in response. The encounter was gratifying on both sides, for the young man had not often occasion to put on a dress-suit, and his acquaintances had not long acquired a carriage. Conrad, who missed the humour of the incident, was again sensible of loneliness in an atmosphere where everybody seemed to know someone but himself. But as he passed a barrow at the corner of a side street he appreciated the humour of a costermonger shouting, "Liedy, I can sell you some o' the finest cherries that was ever brought into this country!" When he entered the house the overture was being played, and as he squeezed towards his chair a faint hope rose of discerning his Monte Carlo companions among the audience. He sat down, between a lady with a moustache and a youth who was trying to cultivate one, and scanned the profiles that were visible, but there was none he recognised. The attendants were still busy; in his velvet fauteuil he watched the arrivals almost as eagerly as the Poor had watched them on the pavement. What white backs the women had when they slipped them out of their cloaks! he wondered if it was safe for them to lean against the seats. With what geometrical perfection the hair margined the napes of their slender necks! how did they do it?