She would walk to the _Consul_ office, which was in the vicinity of the Haymarket; indeed, she must, for the sake of economy.

"I ought really to be _very_ careful," thought Elfrida.

"I've only eight sovereigns left, and I can't -- oh, I _can't_ ask them for any more at home." So she went swiftly on, pausing once before a picture-dealer's in the Strand to make a mocking mouth at the particularly British quality of the art which formed the day's exhibit, and once to glance at a news-stand where two women of the street, one still young and pretty, the other old and foul, were buying the _Police Gazette_ from a stolid-faced boy.

"What a subject for Nadie," she said to herself, smiling, and hurried on.

Twenty yards further a carter's horse lay dying with its head upon the pavement.
She made an impulsive detour of nearly half a mile to avoid passing the place, and her thoughts recurred painfully to the animal half a dozen times.