That incredibly forgiving young woman, Miss Wigram, might do as she pleased.

But when a mother pursues her own selfish ends so as to make her only son dislike and shun her, let her take what comes.

It was in the mood of an Erinnys that Doris made her way northwards to Campden Hill, and nobody perceiving the slight erect figure in the corner of the omnibus could possibly have guessed at the storm within.
The August day was hot and lifeless.

Heat mist lay over the park, and over the gardens on the slopes of Campden Hill.

Doris could hardly drag her weary feet along, as she walked from where the omnibus had set her down to her uncle's studio.