And going into the streets was Rickman's way (the only way open to him as yet) of going into society.
The doors were thrown hospitably wide to him; one day was as good as another; the world was always at home.
It was a world where he could pick and choose his acquaintance; where, indeed, out of that multitudinous, never-ending procession of persons, his power of selection was unlimited.

He never had any difficulty with them; their methods were so charmingly simple and direct.

In the streets the soul is surprised through the lifting of an eyelid, and the secret of the heart sits lightly on the curl of the lip.

These passers by never wearied him; they flung him the flower of the mystery and--passed by.

The perfection of social intercourse he conceived as a similar succession of radiant intimacies.
To-night he went southwards down Gower Street, drawn by the never-ending fugitive perspective of the lamps.