“I am very sorry,” said Cousin James.
And then with a sudden overwhelming wave, the futility of the whole thing struck her. What had she done? She had merely been extremely rude to her two guests, had seriously annoyed her husband, and had aroused perfectly justifiable laughter. General Fortescue was sitting a few rows off: he was looking at her through his pince-nez, and his red, good-humoured face was all a-chink with smiles. Then two policemen, one of whom had his beat in St. Barnabas Road, vaulted up on to the platform, and several people left their places to look on from a more advantageous position.
“Beg your pardon, ma’am,” said the St. Barnabas policeman, touching his helmet with imperturbable politeness. “She’s chained up too, Bill.”
Bill was a slow, large, fatherly-looking man, and examined Mrs. Ames’ fetters. Then a broad grin broke out over his amiable face.
“It’s only just passed around the table-leg,” he said. “Hitch up the table-leg, mate, and slip it off.”
It was too true ... patent lock and mastiff-holding chain were slipped down the table-leg, and Mrs. Ames, with the fatherly-looking policeman politely carrying her chains and the little velvet bag, was gently and inevitably propelled through the door which, a quarter of an hour ago, she had entered escorted by the Mayor, and down the stone passage and out into the dripping street. The rain fell heavily on to the rose-coloured silk dress, and the fatherly policeman put her cloak, which had half fallen off, more shelteringly round her.
“Better have a cab, ma’am, and go home quietly,” he said. “You’ll catch cold if you stay here, and we can’t let you in again, begging your pardon, ma’am.”
Mrs. Ames looked round: Mrs. Currie was just crossing the road, apparently on her way home, and a carriage drove off containing the Turner family. A sense of utter failure and futility possessed her: it was cold and wet, and a chilly wind flapped the awning, blowing a shower of dripping raindrops on to her. The excitement and courage that had possessed her just now had all oozed away: nothing had been effected, unless to make herself ridiculous could be counted as an achievement.
“Call a cab for the lady, Bill,” said her policeman soothingly.
This was soon summoned, and Bill touched his helmet as she got in, and before closing the door pulled up the window for her. The cabman also knew her, and there was no need to give him her address. The rain pattered on the windows and on the roof, and the horse splashed briskly along through the puddles in the roadway.