"I'll be his evil genius!" vociferated Jonathan, who seemed to enjoy her torture. He was about to cut the sergeant short, when his eye fell on a gentleman walking along Piccadilly, his manner uncertain, his eyes shifting as if he sought something out. 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. That day Gerald had brought her to this excessively careful house, where she had felt very much alone and very unlike herself. There it is.
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