Adam attempts another drawing.

Close up of Adam’s drawing.

“’E’s thinking of ’er.” Unerring Ada!

“These films would be so much more convincing if they would only employ decent draughtsmen to do the hero’s drawings for him—don’t you think?” Bravo, the cultured bourgeoisie!

TWELVE O’CLOCK.

There is a repetition of all the excursions of eleven o’clock.

The promising pupil is working out the ratio of two cubes. The girl who has been learning the construction of the foot comes over to him and looks over his shoulder; he starts violently and loses count.

Adam takes his hat and stick and goes out.

Adam on a bus.

Adam studying Poussin at the National Gallery.

Close up of Adam studying Poussin.

“’E’s thinking of ’er.”

The clock of St. Martin-in-the-Fields strikes one. Adam leaves the National Gallery.

TEN MINUTES PAST ONE.

THE DINING ROOM OF THE RESTAURANT DE LA TOUR DE FORCE.

Enter Adam; he looks round but as he had expected, Imogen has not yet arrived. He sits down at a table laid for two and waits.

Though not actually in Soho, the Tour de Force gives unmistakably an impression half cosmopolitan, half theatrical, which Ada would sum up in the word “Bo’emian.” The tables are well spaced and the wines are excellent though extremely costly.

Adam orders some sherry and waits, dividing his attention between the door through which Imogen will enter and the contemplation of a middle-aged political lawyer of repute who at the next table is trying to keep amused a bored and exquisitely beautiful youth of eighteen.

QUARTER TO TWO.

Enter Imogen.

The people at the other tables say, “Look, there’s Imogen Quest. I can’t see what people find in her, can you?” or else, “I wonder who that is. Isn’t she attractive?”