“Oh, Lilith, do let’s!” Charlotte squeezes her friend’s arm.

Lilith glances at Bram and he is sure he sees her blush. “Very well,” she says quietly. “As there is to be no sitting … perhaps just for half an hour.”

Perry steps forward and bows before Charlotte, offering her his arm. “Allow me to lead the way,” he says. “Though of course I’m not the regular at the establishment that Bram is.”

“Hey!” says Bram.

“You do seem to know a lot about the place,” Lilith says.

“I’ve been there precisely twice,” Bram tells her. He meets her eye and tries to read what he sees there.

She is happy to be in my company, at least, and not awkward after how our previous evening ended. I must take comfort from that. But I must not press her. Must not frighten her away again.

Charlotte and Perry set off down the pavement, leaning into the icy wind that has gotten up. Bram offers his arm to Lilith and feels a frisson of pleasure as she takes it. She is wearing a beautiful black woolen coat trimmed with thick fur, and a matching hat that suits her very well. As they walk along the street together he is certain he has never felt so proud of the woman on his arm. It strikes him as odd, perverse almost, that etiquette should dictate they must address one another formally, and yet also require them to have this physical contact. He can feel the warmth of her slender fingers through the soft leather of her glove upon his sleeve. He wishes the inn they are bound for were a mile away, just so he might enjoy the delight of her holding his arm for longer. The sky is heavy with icy rain, and the inclement weather has driven indoors all those who need not be abroad. Those who must brave the cold do so with collars up and heads down, hats firmly pinned or held. Horses trot by with ears turned back against the wind, picking up the pace each time they head in the direction of home, resisting whip and rein should they be asked to travel out again. The many motorcars and cabs that now vie with the broughams, landaus, hansoms, and horse-drawn omnibuses for road space splutter and belch fumes as their engines falter in the low temperatures.

Bram is aware of the thinness of his coat, and the inadequacy of his clothes. Ahead of him he sees Perry striding happily on, his own garments of a far superior cut and cloth. He has not noticed this before, and vaguely wonders how his fellow artist can afford such quality. He realizes he knows little about him beyond that he, too, has come to London, to Mangan, to pursue his love of art and try to develop his talent.

“You walk quickly,” Lilith says.

“Oh, forgive me,” says Bram. “Am I going too fast for you?”