Again truth must be told. At this moment she had no intention of going back to Pineham. She was in no mood for work. What she meant to do was: first, go to Bond Street and buy a lot of new clothes as balm for her angry soul; and, second, go to the Café Royal and get herself picked up by the first attractive man she met. Why she thought of the Café Royal it would be difficult to say. Lady Astor herself would have difficulty in finding any wickedness at that innocent and indeed exemplary place. But Monica remembered that her Aunt Flossie had once spoken darkly of it. And at least you met a decent class of people there – whereas you never knew what trouble you might find if you went (for instance) to Soho. ‘Ee!’ said Monica to herself, in fury. In other words, she had reached that state of mind in which no girl, of however lofty character, is safe to be allowed loose. And Monica’s character, basically, was anything but lofty. She hailed a taxi in Whitehall. Bill Cartwright had done this deliberately, of course, to humiliate her.
