I had just said, "Nance Olden—" To myself I still speak to me as Nancy Olden; it's good for me, Mag; keeps me humble and for ever grateful that I'm so happy. "Nance, you'll never be able to carry all these things and lift your buful train, too. And there's never a hansom round when it's snowing and—"
And then I caught sight of the carriage. Yes, Maggie, the same fat, low, comfortable, elegant, sober carriage, wide and well-kept, with rubber-tired wheels. And the two heavy horses, fat and elegant and sober, too, and wide and well-kept. I knew whose it was the minute my eyes lighted on it, and I couldn't—I just couldn't resist it.
The man on the box-still wide and well-kept—was wide-awake this time. I nodded to him as I slipped in and closed the door after me.
"I'll wait for the Bishop," I said, with a red-coated assurance that left him no alternative but to accept the situation respectfully.
Oh, dear, dear! It was soft and warm inside as it had been that long, long-ago day. The seat was wide and roomy. The cushions had been done over—I resented that—but though a different material, they were a still darker plum. And instead of Quo Vadis, the Bishop had been reading Resurrection.
I took it up and glanced over it as I sat there; but, you know, Mag, the heavy-weight plays never appealed to me. I don't go in for the tragic—perhaps I saw too much of the real thing when I was little.
At any rate, it seemed dull to me, and I put it aside and sat there absent-mindedly dreaming of a little girl-thief that I knew once when—when the handle of the door turned and the Bishop got in, and we were off.
Oh, the little Bishop—the contrast between him and the fat, pompous rig caught me! He seemed littler and leaner than ever, his little white beard scantier, his soft eye kindlier and his soft heart {?}
"God bless my soul!" he exclaimed, jumping almost out of his neat little boots, while he looked sharply over his spectacles.
What did he see? Just a red-coated ghost dreaming in the corner of his carriage. It made him doubt his eyes—his sanity. I don't know what he'd have done if that warm red ghost hadn't got tired of dreaming and laughed outright.