"That's among the hornets' nests," he said.
She raised her pretty eyebrows with a little air of perplexity.
"Hornets' nests?"
"Yes. Where a good many lawyers live, or used to live."
"Oh, I see!" And she smiled responsively to what he evidently intended as a brilliant satirical joke. "But is it easy to get there?"
"Quite easy. Take a 'bus."
"From the station?"
"Of course!"
And he subsided into silence.
She asked no more questions, and on her arrival at Paddington confided her anxieties to a friendly porter, who, announcing that he was "from Somerset born himself and would see her through," gave her concise directions which she attentively followed; with the result that despite much bewilderment in getting in and getting out of omnibuses, and jostling against more people than she had ever seen in the course of her whole life, she found herself at last at the entrance of a rather obscure-looking smutty little passage, guarded by a couple of round columns, on which were painted in black letters a considerable number of names, among which were those of "Vesey and Symonds." The numeral inscribed above the entrance to this passage corresponded to the number on the address of the packet which she carried for "Mr. Bulteel"—but though she read all the names on the two columns, "Bulteel" was not among them. Nevertheless, she made her way perseveringly into what seemed nothing but a little blind alley leading nowhere, and as she did so, a small boy came running briskly down a flight of dark stairs, which were scarcely visible from the street, and nearly knocked her over.