“I want,” said Lady Harman, “to go to Kensington Gardens, I think. This can’t be far from Kensington Gardens—and I want to sit there on a green chair and—meditate—and afterwards I want to find a tube railway or something that will take me back to Putney. There is really no need for me to go directly home.... It’s very stupid of me but I don’t know my way about London as a rational creature should do. So will you take me and put me in a green chair and—tell me how afterwards I can find the Tube and get home? Do you mind?”
“All my time, so long as you want it, is at your service,” said Mr. Brumley with convincing earnestness. “And it’s not five minutes to the gardens. And afterwards a taxi-cab——”
“No,” said Lady Harman mindful of her one-and-eightpence, “I prefer a tube. But that we can talk about later. You’re sure, Mr. Brumley, I’m not invading your time?”
“I wish you could see into my mind,” said Mr. Brumley.
She became almost barefaced. “It is so true,” she said, “that at lunch one can’t really talk to anyone. And I’ve so wanted to talk to you. Ever since we met before.”
Mr. Brumley conveyed an unfeigned delight.
“Since then,” said Lady Harman, “I’ve read your Euphemia books.” Then after a little unskilful pause, “again.” Then she blushed and added, “I had read one of them, you know, before.”
“Exactly,” he said with an infinite helpfulness.
“And you seem so sympathetic, so understanding. I feel that all sorts of things that are muddled in my mind would come clear if I could have a really Good Talk. To you....”
They were now through the gates approaching the Albert Memorial. Mr. Brumley was filled with an idea so desirable that it made him fear to suggest it.