Mr. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. At the back of her mind there seemed always one irrelevant qualifying spectator whose presence she sought to disregard. 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. "By my shalvation, boy," he added, fiercely, "if you don't take your hande off my peard, I'll sthrangle you. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America. She feasted reluctantly, partly out of wonder at the new function of her often elongated canines.
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