"It leads to Berkeley Square." As I tramped on I strained my eyes through the dusky atmosphere and tried to make out the direction described.

For some ten minutes I wondered and doubted; at the end of that I saw that my friend was right.
We were coming to the great dreary spaces of fashionable London--more dreary, one must admit, even than the dreary plebeian spaces.
"This is very extraordinary!" said Basil Grant, as we turned into Berkeley Square.
"What is extraordinary ?" I asked.

"I thought you said it was quite natural." "I do not wonder," answered Basil, "at his walking through nasty streets; I do not wonder at his going to Berkeley Square.

But I do wonder at his going to the house of a very good man." "What very good man ?" I asked with exasperation.
"The operation of time is a singular one," he said with his imperturbable irrelevancy.

"It is not a true statement of the case to say that I have forgotten my career when I was a judge and a public man.
I remember it all vividly, but it is like remembering some novel.