"I say, you've found the journey rather long, haven't you?"
She smiled at him in answer—the old child-like smile, and Wallace at once said to himself, "She's not spoilt, and hardly a day older."
"Well, yes,—rather, I suppose. What a windy day it is!"
"Regular gale. Haven't seen anything like it since we came here. Tiles are flying about like snowflakes."
"Not quite!"
"Of course that's a figure of speech. I didn't get knocked down, but I might have been; anybody might be. I was glad I had promised to come, so that Prue could stay indoors. Nan meant to meet me, but she hasn't ventured."
The drive was a long one, and much of it was performed in silence. Wallace had not a great deal to say, and Lettice had a great deal to see. Once only had she passed through London before, and visions of that day were strong, as the cab rattled noisily through street after street.
"Nearly there now," Wallace said at length.
"Are we? I'm glad."
"You want a good rest." Wallace had been studying her fitfully, without seeming to do so.