“Good-night,” she said, “and good-bye, and,—thank you very much.” She put out her hand, as the cab drew up with a flourish before number twenty-five. “I hope you will have a delightful time,” she murmured.
“I have had a delightful time,” Carey answered, still holding her hand. “I ought to thank you for it.” He hesitated, took her other hand as well for a moment, and then released them both. “I shall not forget it,” he said, as he helped her to alight.
She did not ring the bell till the hansom had turned, and was on its way down the street.
Mrs. Fowler, cross and sleepy, opened the door, and closed it again with unnecessary vehemence. “I s’pose you won’t want any supper, Miss!” she said, as Bridget entered with a weary step.
PART II
CHAPTER VIII
“Five years ago since I saw Piccadilly!”
“Good Heavens! it must be—seems hardly possible!” exclaimed Carey’s friend, Trelawney.
The two men were in a hansom on their way to Mrs. Edgbaston Smith’s party.
“I can’t think how ever you came to stop away so long, old man! I should have gone mad; but then I’m like poor old Ortheris when I’ve been out of London six months,—‘sick fer the sounds of ’er, and the sights of ’er, and the stinks of ’er—orange peel, and hasphalte, an’ gas, and all!’” He laughed.