from Maud, from the Idylls of the King, from the Mill on the Floss. Then windmills came into sight—Dutch windmills; then Rotterdam, almost too soon. They went to the big hotel on the Boompjes and fed, and then explored Rotterdam, and found it a most delightful city.
Next day they got on board the steamboat bound for St. Katharine's wharf; the wind had freshened and they soon separated, and met at breakfast next morning in the Thames.
Barty declared he smelt Great Britain as distinctly as one can smell a Scotch haggis, or a Welsh rabbit, or an Irish stew, and the old familiar smell made him glad. However little you may be English, if you are English at all you are more English than anything else, et plus royaliste que le Roi!
According to Heine, an Englishman loves liberty as a good husband loves his wife; that is also how he loves the land of his birth; at all events, England has a kind of wifely embrace for the home‑coming Briton, especially if he comes home by the Thames.
It is not unexpected, nor madly exciting, perhaps; but it is singularly warm and sweet if the conjugal relations have not been strained in the meanwhile. And as the Thames narrows itself, the closer, the more genial, the more grateful and comforting this long‑anticipated and tenderly intimate uxorious dalliance seems to grow.
Barty felt very happy as he stood leaning over the bulwarks in the sunshine, between Ida and Leah, and looked at Rotherhithe, and promised himself he would paint it some day, and even sell the picture!
Then he made himself so pleasant to the custom‑house officers that they all but forgot to examine the Gibson luggage.
Was I delighted to grasp his hand at St. Katharine's wharf, after so many months? Ah!...
Mr. Gibson was there, funny as ever, and the Gibsons went home with him to Conduit Street in a hired fly. Alas! poor Mrs. Gibson's home‑coming was the saddest part for her of the delightful little journey.
And Barty and Ida and I went our own way in a four‑wheeler to eat the fatted calf in Brunswick Square, washed down with I will not say what vintage. There were so many available from all the wine‑growing lands of Europe that I've forgotten which was chosen to celebrate the wanderers' return!