Kneebone cordially on the shoulder, and began to laugh as heartily as any of them. Wait a little; rest. She had done forever with the Age of Chivalry, and her own base adaptations of its traditions to the compromising life. It would not burden him with any obligation. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. “Please stay,” she said briefly. How does one get work? She walked along the Strand and across Trafalgar Square, and by the Haymarket to Piccadilly, and so through dignified squares and palatial alleys to Oxford Street; and her mind was divided between a speculative treatment of employment on the one hand, and breezes—zephyr breezes—of the keenest appreciation for London, on the other. " "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque.
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