"At this hour then," panted Will.
"Yes."
Lambeth bells were lost amid a hollow boom of distant thunder.
"I must run," cried Rosamund. "Good-bye."
He followed, keeping her in sight until she entered the house. Then
he turned and walked like a madman through the hissing rain--
walked he knew not whither--his being a mere erratic chaos, a
symbol of Nature's prime impulse whirling amid London's multitudes.
CHAPTER 35
Tired and sullen after the journey home from the seaside, Mrs. Cross
kept her room. In the little bay-windowed parlour, Bertha Cross and
Rosamund Elvan sat talking confidentially.
"Now, do confess," urged she of the liquid eyes and sentimental
accent. "This is a little plot of yours--all in kindness, of
course. You thought it best--you somehow brought him to it?"
Half laughing, Bertha shook her head.
"I haven't seen him for quite a long time. And do you really think
this kind of plotting is in my way? It would as soon have occurred
to me to try and persuade Mr. Franks to join the fire-brigade."
"Bertha! You don't mean anything by that? You don't think I am a
danger to him?"
"No, no, no! To tell you the truth, I have tried to think just as
little about it as possible, one way or the other. Third persons
never do any good in such cases, and more often than not get into
horrid scrapes."
"Fortunately," said Rosamund, after musing a moment with her chin on
her hand, "I'm sure he isn't serious.
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