Thus jesting, they began the ascent.  Crewe, whose spirits were at high pressure, talked all the way up the winding stairs; on issuing into daylight, he became silent, and they stood side by side, mute before the vision of London’s immensity.  Nancy began to move round the platform.  The strong west wind lashed her cheeks to a glowing colour; excitement added brilliancy to her eyes.  As soon as she had recovered from the first impression, this spectacle of a world’s wonder served only to exhilarate her; she was not awed by what she looked upon.  In her conceit of self-importance, she stood there, above the battling millions of men, proof against mystery and dread, untouched by the voices of the past, and in the present seeing only common things, though from an odd point of view.  Here her senses seemed to make literal the assumption by which her mind had always been directed:  that she—­Nancy Lord—­was the mid point of the universe.  No humility awoke in her; she felt the stirring of envies, avidities, unavowable passions, and let them flourish unrebuked.

Crewe had his eyes fixed upon her; his lips parted hungrily.

‘Now that’s how I should like to see you painted,’ he said all at once.  ’Just like that!  I never saw you looking so well.  I believe you’re the most beautiful girl to be found anywhere in this London!’

There was genuine emotion in his voice, and his sweeping gesture suited the mood of vehemence.  Nancy, having seen that the two or three other people on the platform were not within hearing, gave an answer of which the frankness surprised even herself.

‘Portraits for the Academy cost a great deal, you know.’

’I know.  But that’s what I’m working for.  There are not many men down yonder,’ he pointed over the City, ’have a better head for money-making than I have.’

‘Well, prove it,’ replied Nancy, and laughed as the wind caught her breath.

‘How long will you give me?’

She made no answer, but walked to the side whence she could look westward.  Crewe followed close, his features still set in the hungry look, his eyes never moving from her warm cheek and full lips.

‘What it must be,’ she said, ‘to have about twenty thousand a year!’

The man of business gave a gasp.  In the same moment he had to clutch at his hat, lest it should be blown away.

‘Twenty thousand a year?’ he echoed.  ’Well, it isn’t impossible.  Men get beyond that, and a good deal beyond it.  But it’s a large order.’

’Of course it is.  But what was it you said?  The most beautiful girl in all London?  That’s a large order, too, isn’t it?  How much is she worth?’

‘You’re talking for the joke now,’ said Crewe.  ’I don’t like to hear that kind of thing, either.  You never think in that way.’

‘My thoughts are my own.  I may think as I choose.’

‘Yes.  But you have thoughts above money.’