It was an unrhymed song out of _Saturnalia_, it was the luminous, passionate nocturne of the streets.
Half-past nine; a young girl met him and stopped.

She laughed into his face.
"Pretty well pleased with yourself, aren't you ?" said the young girl.
He laughed back again.

He was pleased with the world, so of course he was pleased with himself.

They were one.

The same spirit was in Mr.
Rickman that was in the young girl and in the young April night.
They walked together as far as the Strand, conversing innocently..