Our quarrel's quite over. She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. A jolly night we made of it, as you may suppose; for four such monarchs don't often come together. It is not the woman who speaks there. And there was no intimation whatever that the blinds would ever go up or the windows or doors be opened, or the chandeliers, that seemed to promise such a blaze of fire, unveiled and furnished and lit. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane.
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