CHAPTER XIII.—ON THE ROAD TO ST. ALBANS.
There was some excitement in the street wherein stood Westminster Chambers. The old lodging house itself was all astir. Maria Cortinas stood on the balcony waving a white scarf and smiling as divinely as she smiled when she acknowledged the applause of great audiences.
Mrs. Ruggles, her mother, was also on the balcony in a rolling chair, nodding her fine old head and smiling gravely down the street at an old friend. The “Comet” was there. He wore a new scarlet coat spic and span, and boasted new red leather cushions, but he was still the “Comet,” polished and cleaned and oiled,—“tuned up,” as Billie said.
The Motor Maids and Miss Campbell were to say farewell to London that morning. They had seen all the sights and enjoyed themselves immensely, but the wander-thirst had taken hold of them now and they were off. The tea basket and the luncheon hamper were safely stored within; suit cases were strapped on and faces and forms swathed with motor veils and coats. It was exactly like all the old, familiar starts of the “Comet” and his burden of ladies; a last waving of hands and handkerchiefs, a last call of good-by, and off he flashed down the street, his red coat shining in the morning sunlight.
So eager were these seasoned travelers to be on the road, that the whir of the motor engine was music to their ears. The truth is, they were just a little tired of sight seeing. Their days had been filled with excursions to Windsor Castle and Hampton Court, visits to picture galleries, museums, bridges, cathedrals and the houses of parliament, and trips on the River Thames. It was a relief now to feel themselves flying along toward the country.
“If we make a hundred miles to-day, I shall not be disappointed,” Billie remarked.
London had not been without its disappointments to Miss Campbell and the girls. They had looked for a visit from their steamer friend, Feargus O’Connor, but he had not taken advantage of their invitation to call. Mr. Kalisch, also, had dropped out of sight, and they had seen him no more after the meeting at London Bridge.
But how easy it was to lose oneself in that vast city,—like a drop of water in the ocean! And yet, in the great ocean of humanity that overflows London, people drift together in the strangest way, and those who have been lost to each other for months turn the corner one morning and meet face to face. Of course, our young girls had no such ideas regarding Feargus O’Connor. No doubt he had gone to Ireland to see his people without waiting to call on his steamer friends. And yet, that very day, they were to meet the young Irishman under the strangest circumstances.
By the afternoon they were well on the road to St. Albans. The way lay between hedges all a-bloom with hawthorn blossoms. An occasional lane branched off between meadows of surpassing green, and here and there a pretty lodge proclaimed that somewhere hidden back of a splendid park was a great house.
“Shall we slip quietly down one of these little sylvan lanes for tea?” asked Billie. “It will be so jolly and English, don’t you know, drinking tea under an oak tree, perhaps; and I am that thirsty I can hardly wait for the water to boil!”