Ah!" she said, jumping down, "here am I wasting myself upon you, with a carriage _a l'heure!_ You are not worth it," and she went.

After that it seemed to Kendal that he did not miss Elfrida so much.

Certainly it never occurred to him to hasten his departure by a day on her account, and there came a morning when he drove through Bloomsbury and realized that he had not thought about her for a fortnight.
The British Museum suggested her to him there--the British Museum, and the certainty that within its massive walls a number of unimaginative young women in collarless sage-green gowns were copying casts of antique sculptures at that moment.

But he did not allow himself to suppose that she could possibly be among them.
He sniffed London all day with a home-returning satisfaction in her solidity and her ugliness and her low-toned fogs and her great throbbing unostentatious importance, which the more flippant capital seemed to have intensified in him.

He ordered the most British luncheon he could think of, and reflected upon the superiority of the beer.