"Oh, mother! how beautiful it used to be to look over London Bridge at night when we came back from the Crystal Palace!"
In the end Zillah accepted the compromise, and after their dinner of fish and vegetables—for which Brum had scant appetite—they were confided by the hotel porter to a bulbous-nosed cabman, who had instructions to restore them to the hotel. Zillah thought wistfully of her warm parlour in Dalston, with the firelight reflected in the glass cases of the wax flowers.
The cab stopped on a quay.
"Well?" said Brum breathlessly.
"Little fool!" said Zillah good-humouredly. "There is nothing but water—the same water as in London."
"But there are lights, aren't there?"
"Yes, there are lights," she admitted cheerfully.
"Where is the moon?"
"Where she always is—in the sky."
"Doesn't she make a silver path on the water?" he said, with a sob in his voice.