"No. Mrs. Thompson—taking her Thursday drive. Just gone round the corner to Bridge Street."
In Bridge Street, people on the top of trams stood up to stare at her; and if it chanced that there rode on the car some stranger to Mallingbridge, the conductor and all the passengers volubly instructed him.
"Who did you say it was?"
"Mrs. Thompson!... She's Bence's; she is ... Mrs. Thompson, don't I tell you? But Bence's is all hers.... She built that tower what you're looking at now.... She gave the money to build the new hospital that we're coming to presently.... Mrs. Thompson! They say she's rich enough to buy the blooming town."
When she got home she thanked her companions for giving her the treat.
"It is sweet of you both—and I hope you haven't been bored. It has been the greatest treat for me."
Another of her great treats—enjoyed more rarely than the carriage drive—was on a Sunday night, when she and her granddaughter went in to Mallingbridge for the evening service at St. Saviour's Church.
"We won't ask your mother to come, because I fancy she is a little tired. But if you feel up to it?"
"Rather," said Jane.