An elderly woman sat in the carriage opposite
her, while a grave and dignified coachman, attired somewhat similarly to
the footman, kept his place like a seated statue in front. John Kenyon
took off his hat as he approached the young woman, whom he had not seen
since the last day on the steamer.
'How are you, Mr. Kenyon?' said Edith Longworth brightly, holding out her
hand to the young man by her carriage. 'Will you not step in? I want to
talk with you, and I am afraid the police will not allow us to block such
a crowded thoroughfare as Cheapside.'
As she said this, the nimble footman threw open the door of the carriage,
while John, not knowing what to say, stepped inside and took his seat.
'Holborn,' said the young woman to the coachman; then, turning to Kenyon,
she continued: 'Will you not tell me where you are going, so that I may
know where to set you down?'
'To tell the truth,' said John, 'I do not think I was going anywhere.
I am afraid I have not yet got over the delight of being back in
London again, so I sometimes walk along the streets in rather a
purposeless manner.'
'Well, you did not seem delighted when I first caught sight of you. I
thought you looked very dejected, and that gave me courage enough to ask
you to come and talk with me. I said to myself, "There is something wrong
with the mica-mine," and, with a woman's I curiosity, I wanted to know
all about it. Now tell me.'
'There is really very little to tell.
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