It was the pleasure-seekers alone who thronged the thoroughfares.

Tallente turned and looked into the corner of the cab, to meet a soft, reflective gleam in Nora's eyes.
"Isn't London wonderful!" she murmured dreamily.

"On a night like this it always seems to me like a great human being whose pulses you can see heating, beating all the time." Tallente, a person very little given to self-analysis, never really understood the impulse which prompted him to lean towards her, the slightly quickening sense of excitement with which he sought for the kindness of her eyes.

Suddenly he felt his fingers clasped in hers, a warm, pleasant grasp, yet which somehow or other seemed to have the effect of a barrier.
"You asked me a question at dinner-time," she said, "winch I did not answer at the time.

You asked me why I disliked James Miller so much." "Don't tell me unless you like," he begged.