“Well!” cried the lady, her indignation quite overcoming her fright. “Do you mean to say you’ve brought us here against our wills and probably got me into dreadful trouble, and you don’t even know where we are?”
Mr Bunker looked up at the heavens with a studious air.
“One ought to be able to tell something of our whereabouts from one of those stars,” he replied; “but, to tell the truth, I don’t quite know which. In short, madame, it is not from want of goodwill, but merely through ignorance, that I cannot direct you.”
The lady turned impatiently to the Baron.
“You’ve helped to get me into this mess,” she said, tartly. “What do you propose to do?”
“My fairest——”
“Don’t!” she interrupted, stamping her foot on the frosty road, and then inconsequently burst into tears. The Baron and Mr Bunker looked at one another.
“It is a fine night for a walk, and the cab, I’m afraid, is smashed beyond hope of redemption. Give the lady your arm, Baron; we must eventually arrive somewhere.”
There was really nothing else for it, so leaving the horse and cab to be recovered by the first policeman who chanced to pass, they set out on foot. At last, after half an hour’s ramble through the solitudes of South London, a belated cab was hailed and all three got inside. Once on her way home, the lady’s indignation again gave way to fright.
“What am I to do? What am I to do?” she wailed. “Oh, whatever will my husband say?”