Lydia + 

She was alone next morning. Philip had gone out to meet a Jew whose favour they were nursing. She had refused, felt she no longer cared if he mismanaged it. She had not spoken since an hour after Scylla had left, and in that hour they had said worse things to each other than they had said to her. But Philip, who had almost cried with fear, in the morning was not dissatisfied. One does not leave the gutter without a few knocks. He had his own plans, his own adventure. Hoped from his heart Scylla was marrying the man. That would get them out of his way for good. + 

Lydia sat at her writing-table, without her mask, either of love or makeup. Her head, still disfigured, did not belong to this age. She wrote: + 

My dear Clarence, + 

How are you all? + 

Scylla is up and dined last night. She seemed very well and a little mysterious. I understood, though I may have got it quite wrong, that you’re thinking of marrying each other. + 

Please let Phil and me know if it’s true. It almost hurts one’s feelings not to be the first to wish you luck. + 

No chance of getting away until Phil has pulled off some more business, and then he wants to go to Eastbourne! + 

She went out herself and posted it to Tollerdown. + 

Once, down South, one of the boys had called Scylla “bird-alone.” They had all asked for names. Picus had been cat-by-himself. Felix, l’œuf sur le toit. Ross, bird-catcher. They had quarrelled a little that morning, and she had not been pleased when Ross had said, grinning: “If Scylla’s the bird, one might call you ‘wolf-alone.’ ” + 