"May I light a cigar?"
"Yes, smoke everywhere, every one does," and she rushed upstairs for her hat. A moment later she returned, hat on head, and bearing in her hand a little basket adorned with blue ribbons: a pound of tea would have freighted it.
"How on earth is she going to get the dinner into that?" thought her companion, as he unbarred the hall door and followed her down the steps.
Then they found themselves walking down the weed-grown avenue, the birds twittering overhead in the light of the warm June evening.
That he should be going "a-marketing" in Highgate accompanied by a pretty girl with a basket did not, strangely enough, impress Charles Bevan as being an out-of-the-way occurrence.
He felt as if he had known the Lamberts for years—a good many years. He no longer contemplated the joyous tragedy of their life wholly as a spectator; he had become suddenly and without volition one of the actors, a subordinate actor—a thinking part, one might call it.
The fearful fascination exercised by these people seemed, strange to say, never so potent as when exercised upon hard-headed people, as Major Sawyer and many another could have told.
"I love marketing," said Fanny, as they trudged along, "at least buying things."
"Have you any money?"
"Lots," said Miss Lambert, producing a starved-looking purse.