CHAPTER V
We crossed the road from the police-station, and found ourselves in one of the narrow streets fringing Covent Garden. The air was fragrant here with the perfume of white and purple lilac, great baskets full of which were piled up in the gutter. The girl half closed her eyes.
"Delicious!" she murmured. "This reminds me of St. Argueil! You have flowers too, then, in London?"
I bought her a handful, which she sniffed and held to her face with delight.
"Ah!" she said a little sadly. "I had forgotten that there were any beautiful things left in the world. Thank you so much, Mr. Arnold."
"At your age," I said cheerfully, "you will soon find out that the world—even London—is a treasure-house of beautiful things."
She looked down the narrow, untidy street, strewn with the refuse from the market waggons and trucks which blocked the way, making all but pedestrian traffic an impossibility—at the piles of empty baskets in the gutter, and the slatternly crowd of loiterers. Then she looked up at me with a faint smile.
"London—is not all like this, then?" she remarked.
I shook my head.