Over the next part of our exploration I may draw a veil. We traversed the stretch from Oxford Circus to Regent Circus, which was the centre of the remaining life of London in those days. One cannot describe the details of saturnalia; and I leave the matter at that. It surpassed my wildest anticipations. At Piccadilly Circus I found a gigantic negro acting as priest in some Voodoo mysteries. The court of Burlington House had been turned into a temple of Khama. I was glad indeed when we were able to make our way into the less frequented squares to the north. Even the quiet skeletons seemed more akin to me than these wretches whom I saw exulting in their devilry. Glendyne had under-estimated the thing when he said that there was no public opinion left to control men and women. There was a new public opinion based on the principle of “Eat, Drink, for to-morrow we die”; and the collective spirit of these crowds urged humanity on to excesses which no single individual would have dared. We came to the Langham by Cavendish Square and Chandos Street. As we stood at the hotel door, I could see the lights of the bonfires and hear the yells and shrieks of the revellers at the Circus; but Langham Place was comparatively quiet. Eastward, the sky was ruddy with the flames of the burning city; southward, the bonfires shone crimson against the pale moonlight; to the north, up Portland Place, the streets were half in shadow and half lit up by the brilliancy of the moon. We walked northward, taking the unshadowed side of the road. Glendyne had shown me the worst now, and only the return to our car remained before us. I drew a breath of relief as we turned the bend of Langham Place and the bulk of the Langham Hotel cut us off from the sight of these lights behind us. Here, under the moon, things seemed purer and more peaceful. We came to the corner of Duchess Street without seeing anyone; but just as we reached the crossing, a familiar figure stepped out. It was Lady Angela. This time I could see her plainly in the moonlight; a tall, chestnut-haired girl, beautiful certainly, but with the beauty of an animal type, tigress-like. Her dress was torn and a splash of fresh blood lay across her breast. In her hand was the silver horn which I had noticed before. She started as she recognised Glendyne. “Well, Geoffrey,” she said; “we haven’t met for some time. You’re looking thinner than when I saw you last.” It was just as if she were greeting a friend whom she had lost sight of for a few weeks. She did not seem to see the incongruity of things. For all that her tone showed, they might have met casually in a drawing-room. “It’s no use, Angela, I saw you in Berners Street to-night, you and your beasts. I knew all about you long ago. You needn’t pretend with me.” She flushed, not with shame I could guess, but with anger.