This niggardliness compelled him to cross and recross streets. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. Hastening to the spot where he had tied his horse to a tree, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode off across the fields,—for he was fearful of encountering the hostile party,—till he reached the Edgeware Road. We can’t afford to turn our women, our Madonnas, our Saint Catherines, our Mona Lisas, our goddesses and angels and fairy princesses, into a sort of man. Everyone will grumble to you confidentially—Miss Ellicot, she’s our swagger young lady, you know—up there, next to Miss White, she will tell you that it is so out of the world here, so far away from everyone one knows. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. Most subjects of any depth were taboo between them, especially when they were in his convertible.
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