Grant," Erica said, crossing the pavement to him. She gave him a brief little smile, but seemed pleased to see him; so much was apparent through her schoolboy matter-of-factness. She was dressed in her «town» clothes, he noticed; but they did not seem to be an improvement on her country ones. They were neat, certainly, but they had an unused look; and the gray suit she was wearing, although undoubtedly "good," was dowdy. Her hat had been got to match, and matched also in dowdiness.

"I didn't know you ever stayed in town."

"I don't. I came up to get a bridge."

"A bridge?"

"But it seems you can't get them by the yard. They have to be made to measure. So I've got to come up another day. All he did today was put a lot of clay in my mouth."

"Oh, the dentist. I see. I thought only old ladies had bridges."

"Well, you see, the silly thing he put in the last time doesn't hold. I'm always picking it out of bits of toffee. I lost a lot of side teeth when Flight fell with me at a post-and-rails last winter. I had a face like a turnip. So it had to be a bridge, he says."

"A misnomer, Flight."

"In one way. Not in another. He was nearly at the other end of Kent before they caught him."

"Where are you going now? Can I give you a lift anywhere?"

"I suppose you wouldn't like to show me Scotland Yard?"

"I would. Very much. But in twenty minutes I have an appointment with a lawyer in the Temple."

"Oh. In that case perhaps you would drop me in Cockspur Street. I have an errand to do for Nannie."

Yes, he thought, as she inserted herself beside him, it would be a Nannie. No mother had chosen those clothes. They were ordered from the tailor just as her school clothes had been. "One gray flannel suit and hat to match." In spite of her independence and her sureness of spirit, there was something forlorn about her, he felt.

"This is nice," she said. "They're not very high, but I hate walking in them."

"What are?"

"My shoes." She held up a foot and exhibited her very modest Cuban heel. "Nannie thinks they are the right thing to wear in town, but I feel dreadful in them. Teetery."

"I expect one gets used to them in time. One must conform to the taboos of the tribe."

"Why must one?"

"Because an unquiet life is a greater misery than wearing the badge of conformity."

"Oh, well. I don't come to town often. I suppose you haven't time to have an ice with me?"

"I'm afraid not.