As a matter of fact, Mrs. Vivian only occupied the ground floor flat in company with a friend. Lorraine give her an income on condition she should live there, and so, in a sense, act as a sort of chaperone to silence the tongues ever ready to find food for scandal in the fact of brilliance and beauty living alone; but mother and daughter had never again been on terms of cordiality. So Hal was often Lorraine’s companion for several nights, coming and going as she fancied, always sure of a welcome. To her the flat was a constant delight, and in the evening she loved to sit on the verandah and watch the gliding river—not to sentimentalise and dream, but because she loved London with all her heart and soul and strength, and to her the river was as the city’s pulsing heart. The moist freshness of the air coming across from Battersea Park was only the more refreshing after Bloomsbury, and the vicinity of several well-known names in the world of art and letters appealed porwerfully to her imagination. Lorraine usually sat just inside the long French window, taking care of her voice, and listening contentedly to Hal’s chatter. They sat thus for a little while after their return from Cromwell Road, and it was noticeable that Lorraine was even more silent than usual. Hal told her something about each of their three hosts in turn, while showing an unmistakable preference for the slum-worker and her cousin. At last Lorraine interrupted her. “Why do you say so little about Mr. Hermon?... you merely told me he was a cricketer, which doesn’t, as a matter of fact, describe him at all.” Hal shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose he doesn’t interest me except in that way.” “But it is a mere side issue. If he weren’t a cricketer he would be just as remarkable.” “But he isn’t remarkable. He’s only exceptionally big.” “He’s one of the most remarkable men I’ve ever seen, anyway.” “Oh, nonsense, Lorraine. Besides, he is hardly a man yet. He’s only twenty-four.” “I can’t help that,” with a little laugh. “I’ve seen a great many men in my life, but I’ve never seen any one before like Alymer Hermon.” “Why in the world not? What do you mean?” “Well, to begin with, he’s the most perfect specimen of manhood I’ve ever beheld. He’s abnormally big without the slightest suggestion of being either too big or awkward. He’s simply magnificent. Most men of that size are just leggy and gawky: he is neither. Again, other men built as he, are usually rather brainless and weak, or probably made so much of by women that they become wrapped up in themselves, and are always expecting admiration. Alymer Hermon has the freshness of a delightful boy, with the fine face and courtly manners of a charming man. If you can’t see this, it’s because you don’t know men as well as I do.” Hal stepped over the window sill into the room. “Pooh!” she said impatiently. “What in the world has happened to you? He’s just a stuffed blue-and-gold Apollo.” Lorraine got up also.