The cab rolled into the street, and Una was rendered speechless.
But for her resolve she would have shrunk back into the farthest corner of the cab. The number of people, the noise, alarmed her, and yet she felt fascinated.
Were all the people mad that they hurried on so with such grave and pre-occupied faces. She had never seen her father hurry unless he had cut down a tree that had been struck by lightning, and which might injure others in its fall unless cut down with greatest care.
Presently they passed into one of the leading thoroughfares, already lit up, its shops gleaming brightly with the gas-light, its ceaseless line of cabs, and omnibuses, and carriages.
At last, when her eyes were weary with looking, she murmured: “This—this—is the world then at last.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Davenant, with a sigh. “This is the world, Una!”
“And are those palaces!” asked Una, as they passed through the West End streets and squares.
“No,” said Mrs. Davenant; “they are only houses, in which rich people dwell, as you would call it.”
“And the trees! Are there no trees?” asked Una, with, for the first time, a sigh.
“Not here, dear. There are some in the parks; some even in the middle of the city itself. You will miss your trees, Una.”