'Well,' ejaculated the cabman when Henry had luckily regained the vehicle. 'I suppose that ain't good enough for you! Buckingham Palace is your doss, I suppose.'
They could now hear distant sounds, which indicated other vessels in distress.
The cabman said he would make an effort to reach Charing Cross, by leading his horse and sticking to the kerb; but not an inch further than Charing Cross would he undertake to go.
The passage over Trafalgar Square was so exciting that, when at length the aged cabman touched pavement—that is to say, when his horse had planted two forefeet firmly on the steps of the Golden Cross Hotel—he announced that that precise point would be the end of the voyage.
'You go in there and sleep it off,' he advised his passengers. 'Chenies Street won't see much of you to-night. And make it five bob, governor. I've done my best.'
'You must stop the night here,' said Henry in a low voice to Geraldine, before opening the doors of the hotel. 'And I,' he added quickly, 'will go to Morley's. It's round the corner, and so I can't lose my way.'
'Yes, dear,' she acquiesced. 'I dare say that will be best.'
'Your eyes are a little black with the fog,' he told her.
'Are they?' she said, wiping them. 'Thanks for telling me.'