For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. But once he had steered the lady down the hall and along a passage to a window seat at the end, he abandoned the subject of society. He jumped back, cursing. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. "I shall go back and finish my supper," said Mrs. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat. The atmosphere seemed heavy with the odour of drugs. There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world.
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