When she finished, it was nearly dark, and they had
reached Oxford Street, where, like Lucian in Regent's Park that
afternoon, she became conscious that her companion was an object of
curiosity to many of the young men who were lounging in that
thoroughfare.
"Alice will think that I am lost," she said, making a signal to a
cabman. "Good-bye; and many thanks. I am always at home on Fridays,
and shall be very happy to see you."
She handed him a card. He took it, read it, looked at the back to
see if there was anything written there, and then said, dubiously,
"I suppose there will be a lot of people."
"Yes; you will meet plenty of people."
"Hm! I wish you'd let me see you home now. I won't ask to go any
further than the gate."
Lydia laughed. "You should be very welcome," she said; "but I am
quite safe, thank you. I need not trouble you."
"But suppose the cabman bullies you for double fare," persisted
Cashel. "I have business up in Finchley; and your place is right in
any way there. Upon my soul I have," he added, suspecting that she
doubted him. "I go every Tuesday evening to the St. John's Wood
Cestus Club."
"I am hungry and in a hurry to got home," said Lydia. "'I must be
gone and live, or stay and die.
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