III
The taxi jolted up the cobbled gradient that led out of the gloom of the great terminus, and slipped into the traffic that flowed east and west along the sunlit thoroughfare.
“Oh, look at it all,” said the Commander’s wife. “What fun, what fun! Why does everybody look as if they were having a holiday too? Look at the rosettes on the horses’ blinkers ... and the flowers—Bill, look at the flowers....” she sighed luxuriously. “Oh, how nice all these commonplace things are!” Her hand stole inside her husband’s. “Can they see us, d’you think ...?”
“They never used to,” replied the man. He watched her animated smiling face as she glanced delightedly about her at the familiar shops and women’s frocks and all the gay tide of London setting to and fro. Her eyes softened.
“It’s like old times, isn’t it?” she said. “The pair of us philandering in a taxi.... And the tuppences ticking up.... Are we really going to buy a hat?”
“Not yet.” He glanced at his wrist watch. “No time now, I’ve got an appointment at twelve.”
She gave his hand a little squeeze. “Tell me where we’re going.”
“I told you. My outfitter.”
“I know: but after that?”
“Then I’ve got to—to pay a call. You’ll have to wait. Then——”