The train was swinging on, making up time between Kettering and Luton; the letters danced as he held out his open newspaper, with a finger on the place. Its heading stared at her—"A LEICESTERSHIRE ROMANCE."
"That," said Barnaby, and his eyes twinkled—he had put away seriousness—"is all about you and me."
She did not see any more pictures after that, only bits of what she had read before he took back his paper and, turning over the crackling sheet, settled into his corner. Whatever she tried to look at, she saw only the printed column proclaiming the dramatic return of a well-known sportsman supposed to be dead; and at the bottom, where his thumb had pressed the paper, a touching reference to the subject's beautiful American wife....
At St. Pancras he put her carefully into a hansom and got in beside her.
"Now," he said, "this is our dress rehearsal. First, we must see about your theatrical wardrobe; that's the expression, isn't it? I'm going to take you to the woman my mother goes to, and while she is rigging you out I'll cut away to my lawyers, and see my own tailor; and then I shall fetch you and we'll have lunch. We shall have to get accustomed to each other."
Driving through the streets with him was curiously exhilarating. Perhaps her spirit was responsive to a reaction. After all, she was young.... If Barnaby knew, and did not condemn her, might she not for a short while dare to be light-hearted—leave the weight of it on his shoulders?
London had become a city of enchantment. She had passed through in the care of Lady Henrietta's messenger, at the end of her journey over the sea; and then she had felt tired and frightened, and she had looked listlessly out of the cab windows, thinking that if Fate betrayed her, she might find herself wandering friendless in these very streets. Now the dark ways were gilded....
"Here we are," said Barnaby, jumping out. "Mélisande. She's a great friend of ours, but she ruined herself racing, and started the shop as a different kind of gamble. Let's go up."
In the show-room upstairs two or three haughty ladies were trailing up and down, on view. The customers were not allowed to touch them; these sat round the room on the sun-faded yellow cushions, gazing at the models as if they were made of wax.
"Mélisande is uncommonly sharp," said Barnaby. He had walked in boldly and given his name to the presiding genius, who had simply glanced and vanished. "Do you see these creatures sweeping to and fro?"