We never _can_ be serious
with each other after this, can we?"
St. Ives nodded.
"I'll never forget Pontresina climbing the rail," she said. "I used to
think him so haughty; now--"
"Albemarle Road--don't you want Albemarle Road?" the conductress was asking
me. She spoke very loudly.
"Pontresina--I'm Pontresina," I answered.
"This is Albemarle Road. If you're going on it'll be another penny," she
insisted.
I rose in bewilderment.
St. Ives was looking at me while she knitted. I raised my hat to her and
smiled. We had been such good friends all the evening--how could I ever
forget it? But she did not smile; she only stared. She seemed to think I
was mad. Macclesfield was reading his _Star_ just as if he had never hurled
himself on to the top of the 'bus. The flapper was squinting at herself in
a little pocket-mirror; she looked contemptuously at me as I passed. Old
York was half asleep. One would think they had never been rushing about in
that frantic General Post. And we were all inside the car again.
It _was_ odd!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "THE BLOKE WOT PAINTED THAT KNEW 'OW TO DO A BIT O' FOOD
'OARDING, DIDN'T 'E?"]
* * * * *
'TWAS FIFTY YEARS AGO.
Pages:
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62