“Oh, no!” she said, with a smile that would have done credit to a martyr. “Is—is the place we are going to much further?”
“Well, it is a little further,” he said. “Shall we turn back?”
Lady Wyndover would not hear of this, and Trafford, out of sheer pity for her, drew up at the inn at West Wickham.
“We’ll get some tea here,” he said. They went into the inn, and he ordered some tea. There was, fortunately, a fire in the room, and Lady Wyndover thawed over her beloved beverage; but Esmeralda looked from the window with an air of disappointment.
“I don’t think much of this for a view,” she said.
“Oh! Shirley is a little further on,” said Trafford. Lady Wyndover looked up from the fire at which she was toasting her toes.
“Why shouldn’t you two go on there?” she said, presently. “Esmeralda will never be satisfied unless she goes up to the top of this dreadful mountain. I shall be quite happy here until you come back, and nothing will induce me to go.”
Trafford looked doubtful, and hesitated, but he happened to glance at Esmeralda’s face, and it decided him. He went out and ordered the horses, and they started. As they climbed the hill, Esmeralda drew a long breath.
“I believe this is the first time I’ve breathed since I’ve been in London,” she said. “Oh! how beautiful it is! Look at those tall firs. Why, one might be a hundred miles from London. What’s that great, shining place on the hill behind us?”
“That’s the Crystal Palace,” he said. “Fancy your not knowing that!”