When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. They’ll face facts as facts, and understand. We have to hang about in the interval. ‘Gerald had to change both shirt and breeches. She was the social leader of Morningside Park, and in her superficial and euphuistic way an extremely kind and pleasant woman. There is light enough from the sun,’ she said, relieved. Now what? There was an interest, or why ask him who they were.
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