LatethateveninghewrotetotheChelseaflat，askingifIrenewouldseehim。
Theoldcenturywhichhadseentheplantofindividualismflowersowonderfullywassettinginaskyorangewithcomingstorms。
RumoursofwaraddedtothebrisknessofaLondonturbulentatthecloseofthesummerholidays。AndthestreetstoJolyon，whowasnotoftenupintown，hadafeverishlook，duetothesenewmotor-
carsandcabs，ofwhichhedisapprovedaesthetically。Hecountedthesevehiclesfromhishansom，andmadetheproportionofthemoneintwenty。’Theywereoneinthirtyaboutayearago，’hethought；
’they’vecometostay。Justsomuchmorerattlingroundofwheelsandgeneralstink’——forhewasoneofthoseratherrareLiberalswhoobjecttoanythingnewwhenittakesamaterialform；andheinstructedhisdrivertogetdowntotheriverquickly，outofthetraffic，desiringtolookatthewaterthroughthemellowingscreenofplane-trees。AtthelittleblockofflatswhichstoodbacksomefiftyyardsfromtheEmbankment，hetoldthecabmantowait，andwentuptothefirstfloor。