“In that case,” she said affrightedly, taking a grip of her parcel, “I’d better move down nearer towards the door.”
They made room for her in the newly selected position; the folk there not disguising their satisfaction with the change. The string of the parcel came undone, and they assisted her in recovering the contents. “Giving everybody a lot of trouble,” she remarked penitently; “and that ain’t my usual plan, not by no manner of means. Can I temp’ you with a apple, sir? I don’t know you, and I hope you’ll excuse what looks like a liberty, but if you’re a judge of a Ribston pippin, you’ll enjoy that one.”
“I recollect,” said the man, “what ’appened in the Garden of Eden.”
“That were before my time,” she said, putting it back into her pocket. “But I always like to reward kindness wherever I come across it. And I must say you London folk are partic’lar nice to strangers. Nothing you won’t do for them. When I get back home, I shall tell my neighbours how pleasant you’ve been to me. What’s that building supposed to be, may I ask?” Pointing through the window at Bayswater Road.
“That,” answered the man, “is a monument put up to Julius Cæsar. The chap, you know, who was in the Battle of Trafalgar.”
“I remember. At least, I say I remember; but that’s a lie. I recollect reading about it when I was at school. And isn’t this a nice open part here, too! Trees, and goodness knows what all!”
“Richmon’ Park,” explained her informant readily. “That’s the proper name of it.”
“Thought that was situated a long way out.”
“It’s been moved.”
“Ah, well,” she said resignedly, “I find the best plan in London is to take everything as it comes. What I’ve always been hoping— But there, it’s no use talking about what isn’t likely to happen.” They pressed for details. “It would be too much like luck for it to occur to me. But what I’ve always wished for was that I might catch sight, just for once in my life, of the new King and Queen—”