'Eight-and-six—no, eight-and-tenpence.'
I held out the half-sovereign. He felt in his pocket and gave me back the change—a shilling and twopence, and walked off with the halves of Pete's and my return tickets and the half-sovereign.
We all began to breathe more freely; but, as the train slowly moved again at last—we had been standing quite a quarter-of-an-hour—a new trouble started.
'It's very dark,' said Margaret, 'and it can't be late yet.'
I looked out of the window. Yes, it was very dark. I put my head out. It felt awfully chilly too—a horrid sort of chilly feeling. But that wasn't the worst of it.
'It's a fog,' I said. 'The horridest kind—I can't see the lights almost close to us. It's getting worse every minute. I believe it'll be as dark as midnight when we get into the station. What luck, to be sure!'
The other two seemed more excited than frightened.
'I've never seen a really bad fog,' said Margaret, as if she was rather pleased to have the chance.
Pete said nothing. I expect he'd have had a fairy-tale all ready about a prince lost in a mist, if I'd given him an opening. But I was again rather taken aback. How were we to find our way to Enderby Street?
I had meant to walk, you see, in spite of the red bundle! For I was afraid of being cheated by the cabman; and I was afraid too of running quite short of money, in case we didn't find Mrs. Wylie, or that she had left, and that, if the worst came to the worst, I might have to go to a hotel with the two children, and telegraph to mamma to say where we were. Papa, unluckily, was not in London just then. He had gone away on business somewhere—I forget where—for a day or two, and besides, I was not at all sure of the exact address of his chambers, otherwise I might have telegraphed there. I only knew it was a long way from Victoria.