He was entranced as she walked towards him. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it. 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. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. I didn’t betray you, I swear I didn’t. Until that moment, Jarvis had imagined the child to be safe in the wet-nurse’s cottage. Imagination, coloured by the obscurity, peopled the air with phantoms. ‘It is not your affair.
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