“Oh, one gets used to it. Hampstead’s too far out. Kensington’s too dear, Chelsea’s both dear and ungetatable. When I’m in town I like to be in the middle of it. Suburbs are beastly. We all suffer from the English ‘home’ system of building—one hut, one family—and from our peculiar desire to be in a town and the country simultaneously. We don’t seem able to live the purely urban life of the Latins. But London’s too big and frowzy.” * * * * * They dined in the small restaurant, which had been “decorated” with rather feeble pictures by young artists, to give it that Latin Quarter air. It was somehow ineffectual. A bit amateurish. However, they didn’t care about that. Since they were comparatively old friends, they did not suffer the haunting and disagreeable uneasiness and strangeness which fall between those who suddenly become lovers. The spontaneity of their passion absorbed any possible feeling of remorse. They talked quietly, but without any strain and effort. Fanny gave some amusing descriptions of the odd freaks among the British “colonies” on the Riviera. Why is it that one sees such curious and freakish specimens of one’s countrymen abroad, types one never sees at home? Do the foreign surroundings bring out the freakishness, or were such people destined to emigration by their very oddity? But there could be no doubt—Fanny and George were on a new footing with each other. There was a new and delicious intimacy between them. Strange that a few kisses and caresses should make such a difference. As they were leaving the restaurant, Fanny was hailed by some friends at a table near the door. “Hullo, Fanny! How are you? I say, why don’t you come along with us? We’re all going to Marshall’s chambers at ten. There’ll be lots of people there. It ought to be amusing.” “No, I want to see that new film at the Shaftesbury.” “But you can see that any time.” “No, this is the last week, and I’m going to Dieppe to-morrow for a week.” “Oh, all right. Sorry you won’t come. Look us up when you get back. Good-bye, good-bye.” They got into a taxi, and Fanny gave the address of her flat. “Did you really mean that you are going to Dieppe to-morrow?” asked George a little wistfully. Fanny squeezed his arm, and kissed him briefly and skilfully as the taxi lurched them together. “Of course not, goose! We’re going to be together, unless you piously decide not to. But it’s useful to have an alibi. People are still fussy about one’s ‘reputation,’ you know.” “But suppose we meet them, or some one else who knows you?” “I shall say I changed my mind, or that I got bored and came straight back.” * * * * *