CHAPTER VI
LORD DREWITT'S PERPLEXITIES
ON the afternoon of the following day Beresford found himself setting out upon a subsidiary quest, the discovery of the friends and acquaintance that hitherto it had been his one object to avoid. Whatever his own state of mind, the day at least was perfect. June had spread her gayest gossamer over Piccadilly. The sun shone as if in a moment of geographical forgetfulness. Pretty women and well-tailored men streamed to and from the Park, whilst the roadway was a desperate congestion of traffic, controlled by patient optimists. Here and there an empty sleeve, or a pair of crutches, acted as a reminder of the war, which otherwise seemed countless centuries away.
It was like a day from a society novel, where it never rains when the heroine wears her best frock. It was an unreal, artificial, fantastical, and hitherto unprecedented day. From Bond Street to Knightsbridge, not an umbrella or a mackintosh was to be seen, nevertheless it was June in London.
Beresford sauntered idly down Piccadilly in the direction of Hyde Park Corner, enjoying the warmth and admiring all that was to be admired.
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