They stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put her into a Pullman,—solely on account of the warmth there; and she regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved out into the country.
'I wish I knew where we are going,' she repeated for the twentieth time. The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the run, and Maisie was enlightened.
'Oh, Dick, you villain!'
'Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been here since old times, have you?'
'No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was ever there.'
'Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I shut you up in it?'
'Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.'
'She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door
