At the thought of this trust his heart suddenly
warmed, partly with shame and partly with pride.
They walked very happily along laughing and talking. They turned
into Henrietta Street, misty with lamps that were dim in a thin
evening fog, and at the corner of the street, facing the Square, was
Uncle Mathew's hotel. It was a place for the use, in the main, of
commercial gentlemen, and it was said by eager searchers after local
colour, to have retained a great deal of the Dickens spirit. In the
hall there was a stout gentleman with a red nose, a soiled waiter, a
desolate palm and a large-bosomed lady all rings and black silk, in
a kind of wooden cage. Down the stairs came a dim vapour that smelt
of beef, whisky and tobacco, and in the distance was the regular
click of billiard-balls and the brazen muffled tones of a
gramophone. Uncle Mathew seemed perfectly at home here, and it was
strange to Maggie that he should be so nervous with Aunt Anne, his
own sister, when he could be so happily familiar with the powdered
lady in the black silk.
"We're to have dinner in a private room upstairs," said Uncle Mathew
in a voice that was casual and at the same time important.
Pages:
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261