When Miss Holland came back she would remind her that monkeys were timid, and fearful of small creeping things. Being a Protestant she probably revelled in Evolution—wouldn’t see that it left everything more spooky than before. She was looking straight in at a window of the opposite house. The panes were clean and clear, the curtains on either side a dull dark green, hanging in straight folds. Sombre. Faintly, clearer as she made it out, a thick tall white candle rose in the midst of the gloom, just inside the window, changing the aspect of the curtains, making a picture. Just visible, right and left, were the shoulders of two high-backed chairs. She imagined them occupied, the beam of the thick white candle falling on two forms. But in this street what forms? It was clear that she and Miss Holland were not the only aliens. Perhaps “artistic” bachelor women who made a cult of their diggings, wore sage-green dresses and would emerge to become a spectacle known by heart, now both together, now one alone, crying cultured witticisms from the street to the window. Women standing critically aside from life, hugely amused by it. But would such have achieved that candle, at once a person and a piece of furniture? Lamps they would have, with art shades. Or if candles, still art shades. It might be an anchorite. But the company of such a candle was not solitude. Underneath the window was a cobbler’s shop. “Just look here,” she cried to Miss Holland coming back preceded by her voice. The things in her own room seemed to greet, as she turned, the things in the room across the way. It was a man’s room. It had an air of waiting for an untimed return. “I hope,” said Miss Holland, through a rapid scrunching of paper. “I trust, it was only those Church Army men.” Miriam watched her go away, with the dustpan at arm’s length, still gravely expostulating. “It’s dreadful,” she said to her returning form, “but also fearfully funny, to find the ultimate horror sitting contentedly, poor little thing, on the end of your bed.” She tinkled and tinkled at that, woefully crying out through her laughter, repudiating and agreeing and contradicting. “But I admire your spirit,” she wailed finally. “Do look at this huge candle across the way.” Miss Holland moved to her side and peered anxiously, frowning in anticipation. “Very odd,” she said sceptically. “A ship’s candle, something of the kind.” “Where did they get it? Besides, too tall, it would burn a cabin roof. Perhaps an altar candle.” “Very eccentric.” She turned away, busily, skittishly. Pleased about something, but not interested in the candle. 5