romantic, Bohemian manner (the young man was very docile and
appreciative about this), walking the short distance to the Victoria
station and taking the mysterious underground railway. In the carriage
she anticipated the inquiry that she figured to herself he presently
would make and said, laughing: 'No, no, this is very exceptional; if we
were both English--and both what we are, otherwise--we wouldn't do
this.'

'And if only one of us were English?'

'It would depend upon which one.'

'Well, say me.'

'Oh, in that case I certainly--on so short an acquaintance--would not go
sight-seeing with you.'

'Well, I am glad I'm American,' said Mr. Wendover, sitting opposite to
her.

'Yes, you may thank your fate. It's much simpler,' Laura added.

'Oh, you spoil it!' the young man exclaimed--a speech of which she took
no notice but which made her think him brighter, as they used to say at
home. He was brighter still after they had descended from the train at
the Temple station (they had meant to go on to Blackfriars, but they
jumped out on seeing the sign of the Temple, fired with the thought of
visiting that institution too) and got admission to the old garden of
the Benchers, which lies beside the foggy, crowded river, and looked at
the tombs of the crusaders in the low Romanesque church, with the
cross-legged figures sleeping so close to the eternal uproar, and
lingered in the flagged, homely courts of brick, with their
much-lettered door-posts, their dull old windows and atmosphere of
consultation--lingered to talk of Johnson and Goldsmith and to remark
how London opened one's eyes to Dickens; and he was brightest of all
when they stood in the high, bare cathedral, which suggested a dirty
whiteness, saying it was fine but wondering why it was not finer and
letting a glance as cold as the dusty, colourless glass fall upon
epitaphs that seemed to make most of the defunct bores even in death.
Mr. Wendover was decorous but he was increasingly gay, and these
qualities appeared in him in spite of the fact that St. Paul's was
rather a disappointment. Then they felt the advantage of having the
other place--the one Laura had had in mind at dinner--to fall back upon:
that perhaps would prove a compensation. They entered a hansom now (they
had to come to that, though they had walked also from the Temple to St.
Paul's) and drove to Lincoln's Inn Fields, Laura making the reflection
as they went that it was really a charm to roa