“This is a motor car,” observed the ’bus-conductor, glancing at her inaccessible chauffeur.  “And as for pleasure ...”

The high houses rose out of the earth like Alps, and the roar in the morning was like large music.  She knew she had been an Olympian in a recent life, because she found herself familiar with greater and more gorgeous speed than any ’bus attains, and with the divine discords that high mountains and high cities sing.

“I hope it’s not wrong, because I’m going on a motor tour to-morrow,” said Mr. Russell.  “On business of a sort, and yet also on pleasure.  On a search, as a matter of fact.”

“Oh, any search is pleasure,” said the bus-conductor.  “Especially if it’s an abstract search.”

“’Tisn’t,” said Mr. Russell. “’T’s a search for a person.”

The ’bus-conductor looked at the sky.  “And are Anonyma and Kew going too?” she thought.  You must bear in mind that she had deliberately plucked him from the side of Anonyma.

“Perhaps any pleasure is wrong in these days,” she said.

“Come, come,” said the actor.  “Whut’s wrung with these days?  A German ship sunk yesterday.  Thut’s pleasurable enough.”

The ’bus-conductor turned a cold eye upon him.

“I can cheer, but not laugh over such news as that,” she said pompously.  “Doesn’t even a German find the sea bitter to drown in?  An English woman or a German butcher, isn’t it all the same when it comes to a Me, with a throat full of water?  Hasn’t a German got a Me?”

The actor looked at his boot-uppers.  Mr. Russell thought.  Shufftesbury Uvvenue arrived soon, and the actor alighted with some relief.

When the ’bus started again, the bus-conductor said, “Don’t you think the only way you can get pleasure out of it all is by treating life as a bead upon a string?”

“That’s a sufficient way, surely,” said Mr. Russell.  “If you can truly reach it.”

In the Strand he asked, “May I come in this ’bus again?”

“This is a public ’bus,” observed the ’bus-conductor.

“This is Monday,” said Mr. Russell.  “May I gather that during this week your ’bus will be passing Kensington Church at half-past eleven every morning?”

The ’bus-conductor did not answer.  She went to the top of the ’bus to say, “Fezz plizz.”

Mr. Russell thought so furiously that he was only roused by the sound of St. Paul’s striking apparently several dozen in his immediate vicinity.

“This is Ludgate Hill.  I only paid you as far as Chancery Lane.  I owe you another halfpenny,” said Mr. Russell.

“A penny,” said the ’bus-conductor.

As he disappeared she thought, “There is something remarkable about that man.  I wish I hadn’t been so prosy.  I wonder where and why Anonyma picked him up.”

When Mr. Russell came home that evening, he said, “I met—­”

“Isn’t it wonderful—­the people and the things one meets?” said Mrs. Gustus.  “I met to-day a child with nothing but one garment on, rolling like a sparrow in the dust.  The one garment, I thought, was the only drawback in the scene.  Why can’t we get back to simplicity?”