“Oh, is it?” said Eve, and walked toward the Tube.
XI
As she turned into Jermyn Street a middle-aged man, walking briskly in the same direction, came level with her. He was in evening dress, and his coat was open to the night air. He wore a soft hat, and a pipe projected from his mouth at a jaunty angle. As he walked he sang to himself as one who is glad.
Eve caught a glimpse of his features, and gave a little exclamation, whereupon the man turned and looked at her.
“Hallo!” he said, “I know you—but—good heavens! I’ve got you. But what in blazes are you doing here by yourself, tonight of all nights?”
“I’m walking home, Uncle Clementine.”
“Then, begad! it’s meself will walk with you. Always talk Irish when I’m excited—at least I believe I do; but what’s it matter? I’m excited enough to talk double Dutch tonight—aren’t you?”
“Rather,” responded Eve, for Uncle Clem awoke an echo of his mood in others.
“I should think you were. Splendid! Top-hole! Lord! Lord! Lord! What a production! Aren’t you proud?”
“Very.”