As they crossed the road she spoke of her cloud army to Eustace.
“This kite’s like a live thing,” was his reply. “It tugs as a fish tugs a line.”
He did not care for the tumult of a far-off world.
They entered the Park. It seemed, indeed, strangely deserted. A swaggering soldier passed them by, going towards the Marble Arch. His spurs clinked; his long cloak gleamed like a huge pink carnation in the dingy dimness of the startled night. How he stared with his unintelligent, though bold, eyes as he saw the kite bounding to be free.
Eustace seemed delighted.
“That man thinks us mad!” he said.
“Are we mad?” Winifred asked, surprised at her own strange enjoyment of the adventure.
“Who knows?” said Eustace, looking at her narrowly. “You like this escapade?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“My mask!” he thought, secretly longing to be quietly by the fire sipping tea and reading Punch. “She loves that.”