“Bricklayers’ Arms Station, Old Kent Road,” said Lady Frances. Mr. Danks, in livery, and his hair prematurely whitened, had jumped down to close the door. Mr. Danks touched his hat, and, without emotion, resumed his seat at the side of the coachman. “You are keeping well, I hope?” To Louisa.
“I have been feeling a bit chippy,” said Erb’s sister, trying to loll back in the seat, but fearful of losing her foothold.
“So sorry,” said Lady Frances. “And you?”
“Thank you,” said Erb, “middlin’. Can’t say more than that. Been somewhat occupied of late with various matters.”
“I know, I know,” she remarked briskly. “It is that that makes it providential I should have met you. My uncle is a director on one of the railways, and he was talking about you only last night at dinner.”
“Very kind of the gentleman. What name, may I ask?” Lady Frances gave the information, gave also an address, and Erb nodded. “Me and him are somewhat in opposite camps at the present time.”
“My uncle was anxious to meet you,” said young Lady Frances, in her agreeable way.
“Just at this moment I scarcely think—”
“Under a flag of truce,” she suggested. “I was going to write to you, but this will save me from troubling you with a note.”
“No trouble.”