Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. So the talk went on, and presently they were criticising novelists, and certain daring essays of Wilkins got their due share of attention, and then they were discussing the future of the theatre. Baptist Kettleby (for so was the Master named) was a "goodly portly man, and a corpulent," whose fair round paunch bespoke the affection he entertained for good liquor and good living. ” She wanted to feast upon him badly, his passion, his youthfulness. When, by slow and toilsome efforts, he had arrived midway, something obstructed his further progress.
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