It is hot afternoon.

Sir Roger is reading the _Times_ in our balcony, and I am strolling along the dazzling streets by myself.

What can equal the white glare of a foreign town?
I am strolling along by myself under a big sun-shade.

My progress is slow, as my nose has a disposition to flatten itself against every shop-window--saving, perhaps, the cigar ones.

A grave problem is engaging my mind.