They wished to know where it started, but n.o.body appeared interested in the subject. Guards and porters, of whom they inquired, seemed surprised at their questions and behaved as if they regarded them as signs of vulgar and impertinent curiosity. At Waterloo no-one seems to know when a train is going to start, where it is starting from, or where it is going to. Madame Frabelle unconsciously a.s.sumed an air of embarra.s.sment, as though she had no responsibility for the queries and excited manner of her companion. She seemed, indeed, surprised when Bruce asked to see the station-master. Here things came to a head. There was no train for Kingston at 11.10; the one at that hour was the Southampton Express; and it was worse than useless for Bruce and Madame Frabelle.

'Then the ABC and Bradshaw must both be wrong,' said Bruce reproachfully to Madame Frabelle.

An idea occurred to that resourceful lady. 'Perhaps the 11.10 was only to start on other days, not on Sat.u.r.days.'

She turned out to be right. However, they discovered a train at twenty minutes to twelve, which would take them where they wanted, though it was not mentioned, apparently, in any timetable, and could only be discovered by accident by someone who was looking for something else.

They hung about the station until it arrived, feeling awkward and uncomfortable, as people do when they have arrived too early for a train. Meanwhile they abused Bradshaw, and discussed the weather. Bruce said how wonderful it was how some people always knew what sort of weather it was going to be. Madame Frabelle, who was getting sufficiently irritable to be epigrammatic, said that she never cared to know what the weather was going to be; the weather in England was generally bad enough when it came without the added misery of knowing about it beforehand.

Bruce complained that she was too Continental. He very nearly said that if she didn't like England he wondered she hadn't remained in France, but he stopped himself.

At last the train arrived. Bruce had settled his companion with her back to the engine in a corner of a first-cla.s.s carriage, and placed her rugs in the rack above. As they will on certain days, every little thing went wrong, and the bundle promptly fell off. As she moved to catch it, it tumbled on to her hat, nearly crushing the crown. Unconsciously a.s.suming the expression of a Christian martyr, Madame Frabelle said it didn't matter. Bruce had given her _The Gentlewoman_, _The World_, _The Field_, _Punch_, and _The London Mail_ to occupy the twenty-five minutes or so while they waited for the train to start. The journey itself was much shorter than this interval. Knowing her varied interests, he felt sure that these journals would pretty well cover the ground, but he was rather surprised, as he took the seat opposite her, to see that she read first, in fact instantly started, with apparent interest, on _The London Mail_. With a quick glance he saw that she was enjoying 'What Everybody Wants to Know'--'Why the Earl of Blank looked so surprised when he met the pretty little blonde lady who had been said to be the friend of his wife walking in Bond Street with a certain dark gentleman who until now he had always understood to be her _bete noire_,' and so forth.

As an example to her he took up _The New Statist_ and read a serious article.

When they arrived it was fine and sunny, and they looked at once for a boat.

It had not occurred to him before that there would be any difficulty in getting one. He imagined a smart new boat all ready for him, with fresh, gay cushions, and everything complete and suitable to himself and his companion. He was rather irritated when he found instead that the best they could do for him was to give him a broken-down, battered-looking thing like an old chest, which was to be charged rather heavily for the time they meant to spend on the river. It looked far from safe, but it was all they could do. So they got in. Bruce meant to show his powers as an oarsman. He said Madame Frabelle must steer and asked her to trim the boat.

In obedience to his order she sat down with a bang, so heavily that Bruce was nearly shot up into the air. Amiable as she always was, and respectfully devoted as Bruce was to her, he found that being on the river has a mysterious power of bringing out any defects of temper that people have concealed when on dry ground. He said to her:

'Don't do that again. Do you mind?' as politely as he could.

She looked up, surprised.

'I beg your pardon, Mr Ottley?'

'Don't do that again.'

'Don't do what? What did I do?'

'Why, I asked you to trim the boat.'

'What did I do? I merely sat down.'

He didn't like to say that she shouldn't sit down with a b.u.mp, and took his place.

'If you like,' she said graciously, 'I'll relieve you there, presently.'

'How do you mean--relieve me?'

'I mean I'll row--I'll sit in the stern--row!'

'Perhaps you've forgotten the names of the different parts of a boat.

Madame Frabelle?'

'Oh, I think not, Mr Ottley. It's a good while since I was on the river, but it's not the sort of thing one forgets, and I'm supposed to have rather a good memory.'

'I'm sure you have--a wonderful memory--still, where I'm sitting is not the stern.'

There was a somewhat sulky silence. They admired the scenery of the river. Madame Frabelle said she loved the distant glimpses of the grey old palace of the Tudors, and asked him if he could imagine what it was like when it was gay all day with the clanking of steel and prancing horses and things.

'How I love Hampton Court!' she said. 'It looks so quiet and peaceful. I think I should like to live there. Think of the evenings in that wonderful old place, with its panelled walls, and the echo of feet that are no longer there, down the cold, stone corridors--'

Bruce gave a slight laugh.

'Echo of feet that are no longer there? But how could that be? Dear me, how poetical you are, Madame Frabelle!'

'I mean the imaginary echo.'

'Imaginary--ah, yes. You're very imaginative, aren't you, Madame Frabelle? Well, I don't know whether it's imagination or not, but, do you know, I fancy that queer feeling of mine seems to be coming on again.'

'What queer feeling?'

'I told you about it, and you were very sympathetic the other night, before dinner. A kind of emptiness in the feet, and a hollowness in the head, the feeling almost, but not quite, of faintness.'

'It's nearly two o'clock. Perhaps you're hungry,' said Madame Frabelle.

Bruce thought this was not fair, putting all the hunger on to him, as if she had never felt anything so prosaic. Madame Frabelle always behaved as if she were superior to the weaknesses of hunger or sleep, and denied ever suffering from either.

'It may be. I had no breakfast,' said Bruce untruthfully, as though it were necessary to apologise for requiring food to sustain life.

'Nor did I,' said Madame Frabelle hastily.

'Well, don't you feel that you would like a little lunch?'

'Oh no--oh dear, no. Still, I dare say some food would do you good, Mr Ottley--keep you up. I'll come and watch you.'

'But you must have something too.'

'Must I? Oh, very well, just to keep you company.'

They got out very briskly, and, leaving their battered-looking coffin (called ironically the _Belle of the River_), they walked with quick steps to the nearest hotel. Here they found a selection of large, raw-looking cold beef, damp, tired-looking ham, bread, cheese, celery, and dessert in the form of dry apples, oranges, and Brazil nuts that had long left their native land.

Bruce decided that the right thing to drink was shandy-gaff, but, to keep up her Continental reputation, Madame Frabelle said she would like a little light wine of the country.

'Red, white, or blue?' asked Bruce, whose spirits were rising.

She laughed very heartily, and decided on a little red.

They had an adequate, if not exquisite, lunch, then Madame Frabelle said she would like to go over Hampton Court. A tedious guide offered to go with them, but Madame Frabelle said she knew all about the place better than he did, so they wandered through the beautiful old palace.

'Oh, to think of King Charles II's beauties living there--those lovely, languid ladies--how charming they were!' exclaimed Madame Frabelle.

'They wore very low dresses,' said Bruce, who felt rather sleepy and stupid, and as if he didn't quite know what he was saying.

Madame Frabelle modestly looked away from the pictures.