René did not know, but he was pleased and excited. London had ceased to be a spectacle to him. He had been drawn into an adventure, taken to a place where people lived—and a very strange place—the friendliest of hands was on his arm, the cheeriest of voices ringing in his ears.
[II
MITCHAM MEWS]
Do not her dark eyes tell thee thou art not despised? The Heaven’s messenger! All Heaven’s blessings be hers.
“I’M sorry,” she said, “but you’ll have to help me upstairs. Wasn’t I a fool to go and get tripped up like that?—O-o-h! Hercules!”
René took her in his arms and carried her up the narrow little stairs. She opened the door and asked him to come in and have a cup of tea. After she had put the kettle on and lit the gas she sat and took a long look at him.
“I like you,” she said. “And I suppose I shan’t see you again. That’s always the way. The people you like best you see only once, or in the train, or going by in a bus. Is it far where you live?”
“I don’t know where I live.”
“Go on. I’m not that sort.”
“It’s true. I’ve only just come to London. This morning.”