But she had not reckoned with the etiquette of Canongate. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. She noticed right away that Sheila was a two-sided coin. To that, perhaps, a large part of its satisfyingness was due. The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. “It was a phase,” she said. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about underneath the covers.
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