Samson Phillips was first and foremost a man of tenacious disposition. He heard Antonia mention that Deb was to be found that Saturday afternoon with a certain person of the name of llorraine, and that she intended a visit to the same person, on her way home after the picture-show. Therefore, by doggedly attaching himself to Nell and her friend during the picture-show, as he was well able to do after Otto’s admonition to conviviality; by dint of an afternoon’s complete boredom and stiff discomfort; and by steadfast repetition of “Well—where do we go now?” at every projected flight on the part of Antonia and Nell, when circumstances offered a break in the concerted programme, as outside the Redburys front door, or after the complete and lingering tour of the Leicester Galleries: “No, I don’t care much for this kind of picture.” Or after half an hour spent in some neighbouring and drearily respectable tea-rooms; in fact, by simple dint of “hanging on,” Samson presently found himself being welcomed by La llorraine, after the manner of a Royal Mistress of the Robes receiving the Royal Master of the Staghounds.... She was in one of her “legitimate” moods; wit and not coarseness was the passport for innuendo. They had rented a rambling underground flat off Elgin Avenue, where their furniture had at last a chance to spread itself; the vast drawing-room, lit by candelabra night and day, was thick-carpeted and sparsely furnished by a Louis couch and chair, a piano, and a table that held some delicate simpering miniatures. Manon moved about the dim spaces, a solitary unchildlike little princess with wide skirts and golden hair that was brushed high off her forehead and piled into stiff curls.... Obviously, the more disreputable phase of peroxide, clothes-line, and variety entertainment, was for the moment in abeyance.
Samson awkwardly approached Deb and Cliffe Kennedy, who were talking together by the window.
“Good afternoon, Miss Marcus.”
“You? How funny!” Deb began to laugh.
Samson was funny, in juxtaposition with La llorraine and Cliffe Kennedy. He was so unplastic.
“Who brought you here? Antonia?”
“I came to see Miss Verity home.”
“But she has only just come.”
He held to his point. She would some time or other be obliged to make a departure, and then his services as an escort would naturally be required. A girl should not traverse the dark streets unaccompanied. A girl should be aware of perils besetting her, though ignorant of their nature.