Yet sanity seemed
to become abruptly commonplace, a sort of whining crossing-sweeper,
chattering untimely, meaningless phrases to him. To divert himself
entirely he paused beside a peripatetic coffee-stall, presided over
by a grey-faced, prematurely old youth, with sharp features and the
glancing eyes of poverty-stricken avarice.
"Give me a cup of coffee," he said.
The youth clattered his wares in excited obedience.
While he was pouring out the steaming liquid there drifted down to Julian
through the grey weariness of the morning a painted girl of the streets,
crowned with a large hat, on which a forest of feathers waved in the weak
and chilly breeze. Julian glanced at her idly enough and she glanced back
at him. Horror, he thought, looked from her eyes as if from a window. As
she returned his gaze she hovered near him in the peculiar desultory way
of such women, and Julian, glad of any distraction, offered her a cup of
coffee. She drew nearer and accepted it.
"And a bun, my dear," she hinted to the sharp-featured youth.
"And a bun," echoed Julian, seeing his doubtful pause of hesitation.
The bun came into view from a hidden basket, and the meal began,
Julian, Rip, and the lady of the feathers forming a companionable group
upon the kerb.
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