Lucy had just began to invoke a solace where John was concerned, doing her best to shelve him as not so special after all. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. She was wholly unable to conceal her knowledge of his presence. Instead of passing on, as Jack expected, these persons stopped opposite the cage, when one of them, as he judged from the sound, for he did not dare to look out of his hiding place, dismounted. It is a matter of degree. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. “They seem smaller, you know, even physically smaller,” she said. Every house-top, every window, every wall, every projection, had its occupants. 1. I pity her from the bottom of my heart. I am far too much the gentleman.
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