He then saw plainly the whole of
her figure. She was dressed in black, and wore what the newspaper
advertisement called a 'matron's coat.' The decade had not passed by her
and left no trace. She had been appointed to a share in the mysterious
purpose. Her bust, too, was ampler; only her face, rather pale like the
face of Lois, was unaltered in its innocent contours. He felt that he
was blushing. He had no instinctive jealousy nor resentment; it did not
appear strange to him that this woman in the matron's coat was the girl
he had passionately kissed in that very house; and indeed the woman was
not the girl--the connexion between the woman and the girl had snapped.
Nevertheless, he was extremely self-conscious; but not she. And in his
astonishment he wondered at the secretiveness of London. His house and
hers were not more than half a mile apart, and yet in eleven years he
had never set eyes on her house. Nearly always, on leaving his house, he
would go up Elm Park Gardens and turn to the right. If he was not in the
car he would never turn to the left. Occasionally he had flown past the
end of the Grove in the car; not once, however, had he entered the
Grove. He lived in Chelsea and she lived in Chelsea, but not the same
Chelsea; his was not the Chelsea of the studios and the King's Road.
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