CHAPTER VII.
During the fortnight that Alexander was in London he drove himself hard.
He got through a great deal of personal business and saw a great many men who were doing interesting things in his own profession.

He disliked to think of his visits to London as holidays, and when he was there he worked even harder than he did at home.
The day before his departure for Liverpool was a singularly fine one.
The thick air had cleared overnight in a strong wind which brought in a golden dawn and then fell off to a fresh breeze.

When Bartley looked out of his windows from the Savoy, the river was flashing silver and the gray stone along the Embankment was bathed in bright, clear sunshine.
London had wakened to life after three weeks of cold and sodden rain.
Bartley breakfasted hurriedly and went over his mail while the hotel valet packed his trunks.

Then he paid his account and walked rapidly down the Strand past Charing Cross Station.

His spirits rose with every step, and when he reached Trafalgar Square, blazing in the sun, with its fountains playing and its column reaching up into the bright air, he signaled to a hansom, and, before he knew what he was about, told the driver to go to Bedford Square by way of the British Museum.
When he reached Hilda's apartment she met him, fresh as the morning itself.