chosen residence in the metropolis was being painted throughout.
They had their little adventures, of course, this happy pair, because Brighthelmstone is the home of so many romances. For one thing, they attracted attention when they walked abroad. Philip was sure that it was the hat from Paris; Mary was absolutely convinced that it was the coat with the astrachan collar and the spats by Grant and Cockburn. But what really impressed the floating population of Brighthelmstone was the comeliness of both; the simple pleasure they derived from the society of each other; their abounding joy in being allowed to walk about this underrated planet.
Had this natural history of nothing in particular the least pretensions to cynicism, which the world looks for in a modern romance, the happy pair would be disillusioned already. They should have been profoundly weary of one another by the fourth day in Paris, according to all the rules of the game. He should have discovered that she was shallow and half-educated, and consequently a bit of a bore when she brought the same face downstairs three mornings consecutively for café au lait. She should have discovered that he was selfish and vain, and that in his heart he didn't think that Her belongings were equal to His, and that he saw already what a fool he had made of himself. And
