Gave me a message for you this morning." "I'll wait," said I, "on Lady Kynnersley with pleasure." I went out and walked down the restful covered way of the Albany to the Piccadilly entrance, and began my taking of the air.

It was a soft November day, full of blue mist, and invested with a dying grace by a pale sunshine struggling through thin, grey rain-cloud.

It was a faded lady of a day--a lady of waxen cheeks, attired in pearl-grey and old lace, her dim eyes illumined by a last smile.

It gave an air of unreality to the perspective of tall buildings, and treated with indulgent irony the passing show of humans--on foot, on omnibuses, in cabs and motors--turning them into shadow shapes tending no whither.
I laughed to myself.

They all fancied themselves so real.