Thoughts had swept through his mind since the previous Saturday night.

He saw her now from a different point of view.

He still found her attractive-compellingly so.

There was something exquisitely naive about her, an innocence that was precious.

In all the sordid side of life that he had seen--that was his daily portion to see, for the journalism of a free lance can be sordid indeed--he found her fresh.
That had been the swift impression which he had formed in the few moments that he had seen her, spoken to her, on the top of the 'bus from Piccadilly Circus.