So we got up and walked down Piccadilly.

Jonathan was holding me by the arm, the way he used to in the old days before I went to school.

I felt it very improper, for you can't go on for some years teaching etiquette and decorum to other girls without the pedantry of it biting into yourself a bit.

But it was Jonathan, and he was my husband, and we didn't know anybody who saw us, and we didn't care if they did, so on we walked.

I was looking at a very beautiful girl, in a big cart-wheel hat, sitting in a victoria outside Guiliano's, when I felt Jonathan clutch my arm so tight that he hurt me, and he said under his breath, "My God!" I am always anxious about Jonathan, for I fear that some nervous fit may upset him again.