Amory liked people to be one thing or the other; that was the real reason why she loathed and abhorred Glenerne. She had had ripping times amid the naphtha-lights of the Saturday night street-markets and at Bank Holiday merry-go-rounds and cocoanut-shies; and, of course, when Van Eeden on Dreams came up for discussion, or Galton on Heredity, or Pater on the Renaissance, or the clear-eyed Weiniger on the Relation of the Sexes, she was again entirely at home. On the heights or in the depths she felt the real throb of Humanity's heart. But those dreadful middle grades! Those terrible estate-agents and booking-clerks and bank-cashiers and brewers' travellers of whom the world seemed to be so full! As so many phenomena in the science of vision--solid objects for colour to possess and light to fall upon--she admitted they had their uses; but she was entirely uninterested in them otherwise. Of all the fine things Cosimo had done in the past, she thought he had done nothing finer nor more full of profound meaning than when he had once given a crossing-sweeper a shilling, taken the broom from his hand, and for an hour swept the crossing himself. It took true nobility to do that. Mr. Geake could not have done it, nor Mr. Wellcome, nor the egregious young man in the green knitted waistcoat who had advised her to take care of her eyes, and had then told her that the Crystal Palace was a "funny place to go for a squeeze"--Mr. Edmondson. All talking at once, Amory and her half-dozen guests trooped back up the narrow stairs. "Well, here we are----" they announced themselves. "Donkey's years since we've seen you, Amory----" "How are you?" "How's Life and Work?" "This is Bielby, Amory ... don't suppose you know him ... we just brought him along----" "You should see the view from here in the day-time, Bielby ... stunning!----" "Chuck your things down ... mind Laura's guitar----" They threw their hats and coats and cloaks into the window-seat, and filled the room as they stood talking, laughing and straightening their hair. Amory asked Cosimo for a match, and approached the two candles that stood in the brass sticks on the gate-legged table. "Oh, don't light up!" three or four broke out at once; "the firelight's so jolly!" "No?" "Positively sinful to spoil this effect!----" "Pull the chairs up round the fire--the floor'll do for me----" "Me too----" "I'll lean against your knees, Dorothy----" "Oh, now I've left my handkerchief in my pocket! Lend me yours, Cosimo----" "Well, Amory----!" They settled about the hearth, Cosimo Pratt with his shoulder-blades against Dorothy's knees, Walter Wyron propping up Laura Beamish, Katie Deedes and Mr. Bielby on chairs, Dickie Lemesurier with the firelight shining on her peacock-feather yoke at one end of the fender, Amory curled up against the coal-box at the other. "I say--Amory's hair!----" Walter Wyron broke rapturously out, as Amory settled into her place.