I long for home--_our_
home! I _should_ like to be there, and never leave it, and die there.'
But she remembered herself. 'That's only a momentary feeling. I have a
son, you know, a dear boy. He's at school now.'

'Somewhere handy, I suppose? I see there's lots on 'em along this road.'

'O no! Not in one of these wretched holes! At a public school--one of
the most distinguished in England.'

'Chok' it all! of course! I forget, ma'am, that you've been a lady for
so many years.'

'No, I am not a lady,' she said sadly. 'I never shall be. But he's a
gentleman, and that--makes it--O how difficult for me!'

CHAPTER III

The acquaintance thus oddly reopened proceeded apace. She often looked
out to get a few words with him, by night or by day. Her sorrow was that
she could not accompany her one old friend on foot a little way, and talk
more freely than she could do while he paused before the house. One
night, at the beginning of June, when she was again on the watch after an
absence of some days from the window, he entered the gate and said
softly, 'Now, wouldn't some air do you good? I've only half a load this
morning. Why not ride up to Covent Garden with me? There's a nice seat
on the cabbages, where I've spread a sack. You can be home again in a
cab before anybody is up.'

She refused at first, and then, trembling with excitement, hastily
finished her dressing, and wrapped herself up in cloak and veil,
afterwards sidling downstairs by the aid of the handrail, in a way she
could adopt on an emergency. When she had opened the door she found Sam
on the step, and he lifted her bodily on his strong arm across the little
forecourt into his vehicle. Not a soul was visible or audible in the
infinite length of the straight, flat highway, with its ever-waiting
lamps converging to points in each direction. The air was fresh as
country air at this hour, and the stars shone, except to the
north-eastward, where there was a whitish light--the dawn. Sam carefully
placed her in the seat, and drove on.

They talked as they had talked in old days, Sam pulling himself up now
and then, when he thought himself too familiar. More than once she said
with misgiving that she wondered if she ought to have indulged in the
freak. 'But I am so lonely in my house,' she added, 'and this makes me
so happy!'

'You must come again, dear Mrs. Twycott. There is no time o' day for
taking the air like this.'

It grew l