Shaylor's Patch had not forgotten her. The Aikenheads did not attend their friend Mrs. Lenoir's funeral--they had a theory antagonistic to graveside gatherings, which was not totally lacking in plausibility--but Stephen had written to her, promising to come and see her as soon as he could get to town. He came there very seldom--Winnie, indeed, had never met him in London--and it was above a fortnight before he made his appearance at the flat. Delighted as Winnie was by his visit, her glad welcome was almost smothered in amazement at his appearance. He wore the full uniform of a man about town, all in the latest fashion, from the curl of the brim of his silk hat to the exact cut of his coat-tails. Save that his hair was a trifle long and full, he was a typical Londoner, dressed for a ceremonial occasion. As it was, he would pass well for a poet with social ambitions. "Good gracious!" said Winnie, holding up her hands. "You got up like that, Stephen!" "Yes, I think I can hold my own in Piccadilly," said Stephen, complacently regarding himself in the long gilt mirror. "I believe I once told you I had atavistic streaks? This is one of them. I can mention my opinions if I want to--and I generally do; but there's no need for my coat and hat to go yelling them out in the street. That's my view; of course it isn't in the least Tora's. She thinks me an awful fool for doing it." Winnie did not feel it necessary to settle this difficult point in the philosophy of clothes--on which eminent men hold widely varying opinions, as anybody who takes his walks abroad and keeps his eyes open for the celebrities of the day will have no difficulty in observing. "Well, at any rate, I think you look awfully nice--quite handsome! I expect Tora's just afraid of your being too fascinating in your best clothes." He sat down with a laugh and looked across at her inquiringly. "Pretty cheerful, Winnie?" "Not so very particularly. I do feel her loss awfully, you know. I was very fond of her, and it seems to leave me so adrift. I had an anchorage here, but the anchor won't hold any more." "Come and anchor at Shaylor's Patch. The anchor always holds there for you." Winnie both made her confession and produced her objection. "I can't deny I've been thinking of you rather wistfully in these melancholy days, but it seems like--like giving up." "Not a bit of it. You can be absolutely in the thick of the fight there, if you like." He looked across at her with his whimsical smile. "I'm actually going to do something at last, Winnie. I'm about to start on my life's work. I'm going to do a Synopsis of Social Philosophy." "It sounds like a life's work," Winnie remarked. His society always cheered her, and already her manner showed something of its normal gaiety.