“But that’s splendid,” Coleman declared. “That’s all as it should be, all as I intended.” He sat down beside her on the divan. “Really,” he said, admiringly, “what exquisite legs!”
Rosie would have given anything in the world to be back again in Bloxam Gardens. Even if James did live in his books all the time.... Anything in the world.
“This time,” said Mrs. Viveash, “we simply must go through Piccadilly Circus.”
“It’ll only be about two miles farther.”
“Well, that isn’t much.”
Gumbril leaned out and gave the word to the driver.
“And besides, I like driving about like this,” said Mrs. Viveash. “I like driving for driving’s sake. It’s like the Last Ride Together. Dear Theodore!” She laid her hand on his.
“Thank you,” said Gumbril, and kissed it.
The little cab buzzed along down the empty Mall. They were silent. Through the thick air one could see the brightest of the stars. It was one of those evenings when men feel that truth, goodness and beauty are one. In the morning, when they commit their discovery to paper, when others read it written there, it looks wholly ridiculous. It was one of those evenings when love is once more invented for the first time. That, too, seems a little ridiculous, sometimes, in the morning.
“Here are the lights again,” said Mrs. Viveash. “Hop, twitch, flick—yes, genuinely an illusion of jollity, Theodore. Genuinely.”