“But her age, Major Hockin! Her age—what is it?”

“Upon that proverbially delicate point I can tell you but little, Erema. Perhaps, however, I may safely say that she can not be much under twenty.”

“It is not right to provoke me so. You call her 'the old woman,' and compare her to your letter-box. You must have some idea—is she seventy?”

“Certainly not, I should say; though she can not expect me to defend her, when she will not show her face to me; and what is far worse, at my time of life, she won't even pay me a half-penny of rent. Now let us go back to Aunt Mary, my dear; she always insists upon packing overnight.”

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CHAPTER XLVII

CADMEIAN VICTORY

Before two o'clock of the following day Major Hockin and myself were in London, and ready to stay there for two or three days, if it should prove needful. Before leaving Bruntsea I had written briefly to Lord Castlewood, telling him that important matters had taken me away from Shoxford, and as soon as I could explain them, I would come and tell him all about it. This was done only through fear of his being annoyed at my independence.

From London Bridge the Major took a cab direct to Clerkenwell; and again I observed that of all his joys one of the keenest was to match his wits against a cabman's. “A regular muff, this time,” he said, as he jerked up and down with his usual delight in displaying great knowledge of London; “no sport to be had out of him. Why, he stared at me when I said 'Rosamond Street,' and made me stick on 'Clerkenwell.' Now here he is taking us down Snow Hill, when he should have been crossing Smithfield. Smithfield, cabby, Smithfield!”

“Certain, Sir, Smiffle, if you gives the order;” and he turned the poor horse again, and took us up the hill, and among a great number of barriers. “No thoroughfare,” “No thoroughfare,” on all hands stretched across us; but the cabman threaded his way between, till he came to the brink of a precipice. The horse seemed quite ready, like a Roman, to leap down it, seeing nothing less desirable than his present mode of life, till a man with a pickaxe stopped him.