No sooner said than done. It was astonishing how quickly hats and jackets were donned, and in a quarter of an hour’s time the four girls were fearfully clambering up the narrow steps leading to the top of a “City” ’bus, and taking their seats on the foremost benches. Hope took an outside place, but begged to change seats before she had driven a hundred yards; at every turn and crossing her heart died within her, and she seemed to look death in the face. She hung on to Philippa’s arm and groaned incessantly, but when asked if she would like to return home, “Oh no, no! I love it,” she cried, and groaned again, more fearfully than before.
The other occupants of the benches stared with curious gaze at the five young people, whose animation was in such marked contrast to their own phlegmatic calm; and Theo studied them in her turn, making up little romances concerning them, as her nature was. “That fat dark man is married to the little woman in blue. She was left an orphan, and he was a friend of her father’s. He offered to marry her, and she was lonely and sad, and didn’t care very much what she did. He is very kind to her; he is carrying all the parcels; but her heart isn’t satisfied. She stares before her all the time, and never speaks... The girl with the pearl beads serves in a shop. She is going home to a suburb, and her ‘young man’ will meet her at the station. They are going to have a little shop together, and she is thinking how she will manage it. How she does turn and twist! Her hair is like a great turban round her head. She would be pretty if she would not spoil herself so... That poor, sad-looking young fellow has just had notice to leave his situation. He is thinking how he can tell his wife. He will put his arms round her, and they will cry together. She will kiss him and say, ‘For better, for worse, dear; for richer, for poorer.’ Her voice will be like music. He will look at her, and his face will shine. Oh dear! I am crying myself. How stupid! I’ll write an article—‘On a City ’Bus’—a character sketch, short and strong and dramatic. Where shall I send it?”
She went off into a reverie, turning over in her mind the names of different papers and magazines, planning, wondering, weaving dreams, while the omnibus made its way down Holborn towards the Viaduct. Madge and Steve were chattering gaily together. Hope sat with clasped hands, gazing eagerly ahead for the first glimpse of the majestic dome. Tired Philippa blinked at the rows of lamps, the flaring advertisements, and gaily lighted saloons, and wished that the drive would last for hours, so that she might sit still and feel the refreshing night-air play upon her brow. She groaned when the stoppage came and Madge pulled her impatiently by the arm; and had nothing but yawns to mingle with her sisters’ ecstasies as they stood at the corner of the Churchyard, and gazed and gazed until it seemed that they would never tear themselves away. Hope was hearing in imagination the swell of the great organ, the reed-like sweetness of the voices of the white-robed choristers. Madge was already painting a picture of the great edifice by night, the twinkling lights beneath, the vast outline losing itself mysteriously in the clouds.
Theo was trembling, and biting her lips to keep back the tears. To her it was not a building at all; it was a sign—a symbol! The wide steps were not empty—she saw on them the blaze of great national pageants; the wide nave was filled with happy faces, with black-robed women who wept and wrung their hands; in her ears was the tramp of armed men. She shivered and drew her cloak closely round her. When the next omnibus for Victoria came along she took a surreptitious opportunity of flicking the drops from her eyelashes. Some day she would write about this too! Oh, what wealth of subjects, what capital, what inspiration in this wonderful, throbbing world! And then Stephen tapped her on the shoulder and cried a well-known name:
“Fleet Street, Theo! Allow me to introduce you. Your special beat, my dear.”
“My publishers! Where are my publishers!” cried Theo loudly, as though she expected to see the heads of the great firms ranged in a body to greet her.
The other occupants of the benches overheard her words, and gazed upon her with becoming awe. This was evidently a distinguished author! Note her well—consider her features, so that she may be recognised by the portraits in the shop windows! Philippa smiled whimsically at the thought that already Theo had made an impression. What further triumphs or humiliations had this Fleet Street in store for her?
Well, it was a wonderful drive! If Saint Paul’s had been impressive, what about that glorious pile of buildings at Westminster, and the first glimpse of the river by night! It was like a dream—a wonderful dream—in which the imagined glories of the world passed in review before the eyes.
That night the girls were in the clouds, lifted far above mercenary anxieties; but they came back to earth again next morning when their boxes had been unpacked and stored away, and they were confronted with the all-important question of the next move. When lunch was over silence fell suddenly upon the little room, and four pairs of eyes met in solemn conclave.