I did not know she could be so eloquent. I rose and went to the window. It was a noble morning.
"Yes," I said after a little reflection, "put on your best hat and collect your paper-money. But try and pack it all into the kit-bag if you possibly can." (She winced a little.) "I know a bank where you will be able to get all the gold you want...."
Shoulder to shoulder we fought the good fight for the motor-bus.
"Two to the Bank," I gasped.
But it was at Charing Cross station I made her descend. She looked extraordinarily mystified, and I explained that the Bank's country branches are the only ones where gold is still to be had.
She and an empty milk-can and I were all that got out at the little station in the hills. However, a cuckoo introduced himself boldly by name. He seemed so near he might have been in the booking-office. But the booking-office was deserted.
"There can't possibly be a bank in this out-of-the-world place," she protested.
"Patience," I replied, leading her down a steep path between high thick hedges to a small gateway. Through this we went, and I heard her draw in her breath.