WOMEN’S VOICES
He never looked round once; though I stood where he had left me, looking after him till he was lost among the crowd. What people thought of me I cannot say. And I didn’t care. They must have supposed that I was a sort of Lot’s wife, turned into a pillar, or something. But, at that moment, what other people thought of me did not matter in the least. What I thought of myself was a nightmare. I marched off home, feeling as if I would have liked to have pinched everyone I met. I passed Lena Portch, who was still with Mr Champneys,—a most objectionable person, who will wear shepherd’s-plaid trousers, which I abominate. Lena was to blame for everything. She stood at the gate as I was coming out of the Gardens. Directly afterwards I saw that she was crossing the road. I am sure, i
