But here I am still at Lansdowne Road, and little has changed, except for the ever-increasing pace of work. Nothing more has been said of the incident of the flying jam pot which caused me so much distress, nor have any more murderers passed beneath the window. I have not seen Alexandra for some time. She has written to say that she is occupied with her Oriental studies — though it is clear that she is also spending a good deal of time in the unsettling company of M. Villemain. Dear Alexandra! She is so worldly, and so eager to embrace every kind of experience. And yet sometimes I feel older than she, and much less innocent. When she shares her secrets I can only listen and offer none in return; for surely even Alexandra would shrink away in horror should I confess what I have done. In her letter she relates another curious adventure with M. Villemain into what she calls the Unknown, the Inconnu. She writes in French, for she is not as fluent in English on the page as she is in speech.
