"Ah!" said Kathleen, looking with great appreciation around her—"ah! the lights—aren't they just lovely? And see—see that water. That must be the Thames. Oh, Ruth, mayn't we stand up in the hansom? We could see ever so much better standing."
"No; sit down," implored Ruth.
"Why? Surely you are not frightened. There never was any sort of conveyance that would frighten me. I wish I might drive that horse instead of the stupid old Jehu on the box. Isn't London a perfect place? Oh, this is lovely, isn't it, Ruth?"
"Thank goodness I'm not always bothered by that dread
ful speaking voice inside me that you seem to have got," said Kathleen.
Here the cab drew up with a jerk at the Métropole.
"How much are we to pay you?" asked Kathleen.
The man was honest, and asked the customary shilling. A porter was standing on the steps of the hotel. He flung the doors wide, and the two entered. Presently a man came up and asked Kathleen what she wanted. The hour was just before dinner, and the wide hall of the hotel was full. Both men and women turned and stared at the children. Both were extremely pretty, Kathleen almost startlingly so. But what about the gloveless little hands and the untidy neck and throat?
"Please," said Kathleen, "we have come to see my aunt, Miss O'Flynn. She is here, isn't she?"
The man said he would inquire, and went to the bureau.