"No, I don't."
They were now proceeding down Bond Street at a pace that the crowd compelled to be rather leisurely.
"There's Aunt William in her old-fashioned barouche with the grey horses. It's such a comfort to me, always, to see Mrs. Crofton; it makes one feel at least there is something stationary in this changeable world. Who's that boy looking at?—at you? Isn't it the Crofton boy?"
"Yes. Let's stop a minute; I want to speak to him."
Savile, seeing them, crossed the road, and said, before Bertie could begin—
"Extraordinary weather for the time of—year!"
"Come off the roof!" said Woodville, smiling. "What are you doing in Bond Street?"
"Oh, only going to Chappell's, the music shop, to get a song. One of those Sylvia doesn't sing," said Savile, looking straight at him.
"Oh, I know what it is," said Bertie; "it's Pale Hands that Burn, or Tosti's Good-bye!"
"No, it just isn't."