She did not come to herself, as it were, for several minutes, and then feeling she ’could no longer bear the cab, stopped it, and got out.  Where was she?  Bond Street!  She began, idly, wandering down its narrow length; the fullest street by day, the emptiest by night.  Oh! it had been horrible!  Nothing said by any of them—­nothing, and yet everything dragged out—­of him, of Leila, of herself!  She seemed to have no pride or decency left, as if she had been caught stealing.  All her happy exhilaration was gone, leaving a miserable recklessness.  Nothing she did was right, nothing turned out well, so what did it all matter?  The moonlight flooding down between the tall houses gave her a peculiar heady feeling.  “Fey” her father had called her.  She laughed.  ’But I’m not going home,’ she thought.  Bored with the street’s length; she turned off, and was suddenly in Hanover Square.  There was the Church, grey-white, where she had been bridesmaid to a second cousin, when she was fifteen.  She seemed to see it all again—­her frock, the lilies in her hand, the surplices of the choir, the bride’s dress, all moonlight-coloured, and unreal.  ‘I wonder what’s become of her!’ she thought.  ’He’s dead, I expect, like Cyril!’ She saw her father’s face as he was marrying them, heard his voice:  “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part.”  And the moonlight on the Church seemed to shift and quiver-some pigeons perhaps had been disturbed up there.  Then instead of that wedding vision, she saw Monsieur Barra, sitting on his chair, gazing at the floor, and Chica nursing her doll.  “All mad, mademoiselle, a little mad.  Millions of men with white souls, but all a little tiny bit mad, you know.”  Then Leila’s face came before her, with that look in her eyes.  She felt again the hot clasp of Fort’s fingers on her wrist, and walked on, rubbing it with the other hand.  She turned into Regent Street.  The wide curve of the Quadrant swept into a sky of unreal blue, and the orange-shaded lamps merely added to the unreality.  ’Love and Chinese lanterns!  I should like some coffee,’ she thought suddenly.  She was quite close to the place where Lavendie had taken her.  Should she go in there?  Why not?  She must go somewhere.  She turned into the revolving cage of glass.  But no sooner was she imprisoned there than in a flash Lavendie’s face of disgust; and the red-lipped women, the green stuff that smelled of peppermint came back, filling her with a rush of dismay.  She made the full circle in the revolving cage; and came out into the street again with a laugh.  A tall young man in khaki stood there:  “Hallo!” he said.  “Come in and dance!” She started, recoiled from him and began to walk away as fast as ever she could.  She passed a woman whose eyes seemed to scorch her.  A woman like a swift vision of ruin with those eyes, and thickly powdered cheeks, and loose red mouth.  Noel shuddered and fled