“Bohemia!” she said. “I haven’t set foot in that entertaining country since I gave up my apartment in Paris. Soho is beyond its borders. But I confess to Soho. Beryl persuaded me, and I really quite enjoyed it. The coffee was delicious, and the hairdressers put their souls into their guitars. But I doubt if I shall go there again.”
“It tired you? The atmosphere in those places is so mephitic.”
“Oh, I didn’t mind that. Besides, we blew it away by walking home, at least part of the way home.”
“Down Shaftesbury Avenue? That was surely rather dangerous.”
“Dangerous! Why?”
“The sudden change from stuffiness to cold and damp. Craven spoke of Toscanas. And those cheap restaurants are so very small and badly ventilated.”
“Oh, we enjoyed our walk.”
“That’s good. Craven was quite enthusiastic about the evening.”
Again the pause dramatic!
“He’s a nice boy. I hope you liked him. I feel a little responsible—”