LONDON
§ 5
Six o'clock that day found Kipps drifting eastward along the southward margin of Rotten Row. You figure him a small, respectably attired figure going slowly through a sometimes immensely difficult and always immense world. At times he becomes pensive and whistles softly; at times he looks about him. There are a few riders in the Row, a carriage flashes by every now and then along the roadway, and among the great rhododendrons and laurels and upon the greensward there are a few groups and isolated people dressed in the style Kipps adopted to call upon the Walshinghams when first he was engaged. Amid the complicated confusion of Kipps' mind was a regret that he had not worn his other things. . . .
Presently he perceived that he would like to sit down; a green chair tempted him. He hesitated at it, took possession of it, and leaned back and crossed one leg over the other.
He rubbed his under lip with his umbrella handle and reflected upon Masterman and his denunciation of the world.
"Bit orf 'is 'ead, poor chap," said Kipps, and added: "I wonder."
He thought intently for a space.
"I wonder what he meant by the lean years."
The world seemed a very solid and prosperous concern just here, and well out of reach of Masterman's dying clutch. And yet———
It was curious he should have been reminded of Minton.
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