"What d'ye want? A-ringing the bell like that one would think you was my Lord Mayor."
"I'm neither the Lord Mayor nor the Lady Mayoress, as your own eyes ought to tell you. I wish to see Mr. Gay."
"Well, you can't," said the porter gruffly. "He's not here. He's staying with Mr. Pope at Twitnam."
"Twitnam? Where is Twitnam?"
"Up the river."
"How far? Can I walk there?"
"May be, but you hadn't better go on foot. It's a goodish step—ten or a dozen miles. You might go by waggon, there isn't no other way save toe and heel. An' let me give you warning, young 'oman, the roads aren't safe after dark. D'rectly you get to Knightsbridge footpads is ten a penny, let alone 'ighwaymen. Not that you're their game—leastways by the looks o' you."
"Thank you. I'm not afraid, but you mean your advice kindly and I'll not forget it. Mr. Gay's at Mr. Pope's house you say?"
"Mr. Pope's villa—he calls it. Mr. Pope's the great writer."
"I've heard of him. Which is the way after I've left Knightsbridge?"