‘That was Kew we passed just now—you must see the gardens there,’ he said; ‘and this is Richmond.’
‘Kew and Richmond!’ exclaimed the Bride, innocently. ‘How rum! We have a Kew and a Richmond in Melbourne.’
‘Ah!’ said Gran. ‘I don’t fancy the theft was on our side. But look at this gray old bridge—picturesque, isn’t it?—and I dare say you have nothing like it out there. And there, you see—up on the left yonder—is Richmond Hill. Rather celebrated, Richmond Hill: you may have heard of it; there was a lass that lived there once.’
‘Yes—what of her?’
‘Oh, she was neat and had sweet eyes—or sweet, with neat eyes—I really forget which. And there was a somebody or other who said he’d resign any amount of crowns—the number wasn’t specified—to call her his. He was pretty safe in saying that—unless, indeed, he meant crown-pieces—which, now I think of it, would be rather an original reading.’
‘Alfred,’ said the Bride abruptly, ‘are we nearly there?’
‘Not far off,’ said Alfred.
Granville bit his lip. ‘We are very nearly there,’ he said; ‘this is the beginning of Twickenham.’
‘Then where’s the Ferry?’ said the Bride. ‘I know all about “Twickenham Ferry”; we once had a storekeeper—a new chum—who used to sing about it like mad. Show it me.’
‘There, then: it crosses by the foot of the island: it’s about to cross now. Now, in a minute, I’ll show you Pope’s old place; we don’t go quite so far—in fact, here we are— but you’ll be able just to see it, I think.’