"All right," said the cabman. "I know—Pryor the baker; I pass down by there from Whitelands often enough." Then he climbed to his seat, the rain still falling in one continuous rush, and they were off.
"How idiotic of you, Salome, not to know the address," said Raymond; "and I do wish you would keep your hair tight. Look here!" And he gave one of the thick plaits a somewhat rough pull as it lay like a line of light upon Salome's black jacket. "I saw St. Clair looking at it. You didn't take in who he was."
"Some Eton swell, I suppose," said Reginald.
"I thought he was very nice and kind," said Salome.
"Nice and kind! He is Lord Felthorpe's son, and in the same house as I am at Eton. Old Birch always manages to get the right sort of fellows! How could you be such an ass, Reginald, as to travel third class when I had taken a first class ticket for you?"
"We ought all to have travelled third class," said Reginald stoutly. "Mother said second; but there is no second on the Midland Railway, so I went third."
"Well, just as you please," said Raymond. "I say, what a neighbourhood this is! not a good house to be seen," and he wiped the window of the cab with his coat-sleeve.
Salome looked out from her window also.
"I don't remember this part of Roxburgh. It cannot be near Uncle Loftus's house, I think."
"Oh no," said Reginald; "that is the swell part—Edinburgh Crescent and Maniston Square and the Quadrant. This is more like a part of Harstone. Hallo!"