During the drive to the City, Kitty diligently studied her handbook. She was conscious of a slight feeling of fatigue, so when she discovered that the guide thought poorly of the interior of St. Paul’s, likening it, in fact, to a vast vault, she fell in with Freddy’s suggestion that they should content themselves with a view of the exterior. After this, she thought, they ought to drive to Cornhill, to look at the Bank of England, and the Royal Exchange. But here again the Picture of London came to Freddy’s rescue. “It is unnecessary to describe minutely such architecture as that of the Royal Exchange,” stated the guide austerely. “It is of a mixed kind, in bad taste.”
“Well, there’s no sense in going to look at that!” said Freddy, relieved. “What’s it say about the Bank of England?”
“ ‘One of the wonders of commerce; and one of the abortions of art,’ “ read out Miss Charing.
“Is it, though? Well, that settles it! We needn’t go to Cornhill at all. You know, Kit, that’s a dashed good book! We can go home now!”
“Yes, for we should scarcely have time to visit the Tower, I suppose,” agreed Kitty. “Only do you think we should see some of the prisons?”
“See the prisons?” exclaimed Freddy. “Why?”
“Well, I don’t precisely know, but the book says that ‘no stranger who visits London should omit to view these mansions of misery’.”
But Freddy decided that they had had enough misery for one day, and bade the coachman drive back to Berkeley Square, reminding Miss Charing, when she suggested that they ought, perhaps, to pause at the Temple on the way, that since she was accompanying Meg to an informal party that evening it would not do for her to be late in returning home. She agreed to this, consoling herself with the reflection that the Temple might easily be visited on their way to the Tower on the morrow.
Freddy groaned, but attempted no remonstrance. Any hope that he might have cherished that Miss Charing would be too weary to embark upon a second voyage of exploration was slain by her appearance on the following morning, dressed in a very smart habit, and obviously in fine fettle. She took her place beside him in the carriage, drew the Picture of London from her muff, and proved to him, by reading aloud from this book, that it clearly behoved her to see the Guildhall on the way to the Tower. This ordeal behind them, the rest of the day was spent more agreeably than Freddy had expected. He would not have chosen to waste his time in such a fashion, and he could only deprecate Miss Charing’s determination to omit no corner of the various buildings from her tour; but he was pleasantly surprised to find that the Tower housed a fine collection o< wild beasts; and he was even roused to real interest in the Mint, where they were allowed to watch the stamping of various coins. A tendency on Miss Charing’s part to brood over the sufferings of such former visitors to the Tower as Lady Jane Grey and Sir Walter Raleigh he quelled, saying that there was no sense in falling into a fit of the dismals about things which had happened in the Middle Ages; and a moving account of the behaviour of the Princess Elizabeth at the Traitors’ Gate quite failed to impress him.
“Silly thing to do!” he remarked. “Shouldn’t wonder at it if she caught a chill. I had an uncle who got soaked to the skin once. Had an inflammation of the lungs. Dead as a herring within the week. Come along, let us take a look at this Ladies’ Line they talk about!”