“Any message for Musa?”

“You might tell him,” said Audrey, carefully examining the drawn curtains of the window, “that I happened to meet a French concert agent this morning who was very interested in him.”

“Did you?” cried Miss Ingate.  “Where?”

“It was when I was out with Mr. Foulger.  The agent asked me whether I’d heard a man named Musa play in Paris.  Of course I said I had.  He told me he meant to take him up and arrange a tour for him.  So you might tell Musa he ought to be prepared for anything.”

“Wonders will never cease!” said Miss Ingate.  “Have I got enough stamps?”

“I don’t see anything wonderful in it,” Audrey sharply replied.  “Lots of people in Paris know he’s a great player, and those Jew concert agents are always awfully keen—­at least, so I’m told.  Well, perhaps, after all, you’d better not tell him.  It might make him conceited....  Now, look here, Winnie, do hurry up, and let’s go out and post those letters.  I can’t stand this huge house.  I keep on imagining all the empty rooms in it.  Hurry up and come along.”

Shortly afterwards Miss Ingate shouted downstairs into the earth: 

“Miss Foley, we’re both just going out to post some letters.”

The faint reply came: 

“Supper at nine.”

At the farther corner of Paget Square they discovered a pillar-box standing solitary in the chill night among the vast and threatening architecture.

“Do let’s go to a cafe,” suggested Audrey.

“A cafe?”

“Yes.  I want to be jolly.  I must break loose somewhere to-night.  I can’t wait till to-morrow.  I was feeling splendid till Jane Foley went.  Then the house began to get on my nerves, not to mention Susan Foley, with her supper at nine.  Do all people in London fix their meals hours and hours beforehand?  I suppose they do.  We used to at Moze.  But I’d forgotten.  Come along, Winnie.”

“But there are no cafes in London.”

“There must be some cafes somewhere.”

“Only public-houses and restaurants.  Of course, we could go to a teashop, but they’re all shut up now.”

“Well, then, what do people do in London when they want to be jolly?  I always thought London was a terrific town.”

“They never want to be jolly,” said Miss Ingate.  “If they feel as if they couldn’t help being jolly, then they hire a private room somewhere and draw the blinds down.”

With no more words, Audrey seized Miss Ingate by the arm and they walked off, out of the square and into empty and silent streets where highly disciplined gas-lamps kept strict watch over the deportment of colossal houses.  In their rapid stroll they seemed to cover miles, but they could not escape from the labyrinth of tremendous and correct houses, which in squares and in terraces and in crescents displayed the everlasting characteristics of comfort, propriety and self-satisfaction.  Now and then a wayfarer