She went slowly on past the shops, to look into the windows of which was usually a pleasure to her, but now she saw nothing except a vague throng going to and fro; she heard vaguely the roar of the traffic; she was looking vaguely straight ahead at her future, and listening to its call. This was then the end of her ambitions? Well, after all, did it matter so much to her? There were other joys in life, and while she retained her beauty, she need not want for luxury and ease. The future called to her and her vicious blood soon answered almost gladly, almost eagerly; she had sipped already at the cup of unruly pleasures, she would drink deep of it now. The thought of reckless, unrestrained, unlicensed enjoyment intoxicated her. As she passed a painted, over-dressed Frenchwoman, she thanked God that she was not such as that one. Not such to look at; but the very relics of decency in her seemed to drive her on to acting like the lowest of them all. As for Maddison—she would write and tell him she was tired of him. He would probably make a scene, but that would not hurt her, and then she would be free.
She turned up a side street and went into a public-house to which Mrs. Harding had once taken her late at night and which had then been crowded with men and women. The saloon bar, with its pretentious decorations, was empty and looked seedy and shabby by the light of day. She ordered a liqueur of brandy and sipped it slowly, listening the while to a heated controversy between two cabmen in the next compartment. As she went out of the heavy swing doors, a man passed quickly by; he looked at her surprised—she recognized Mortimer. She watched him as he walked on and round the corner into Regent Street, and then followed in the same direction, but did not catch sight of him again.
She was utterly at a loss what to do to while away the afternoon. Later on she intended to dine and then go to a music-hall. Meanwhile, the hours would hang heavy on her hands. The spirit she had drunk, too strong and none too pure, filled her with spurious energy that a sharp walk soon dispelled, leaving behind a feeling half of nausea, half of faintness. She laughed as she remembered Mrs. Harding’s invariable remedy on similar occasions, and went into another public-house, but this time did not drink the brandy neat. A man was leaning over the bar talking familiarly with the barmaid, and he turned to look inquisitively at Marian. When she raised her glass to drink he did the same, looking at her insolently, and followed her when she left the place.