Ralph remarked that the latter must have a cab. She could not walk all the way to Jermyn Street.
"I suppose you mean it's improper for me to walk alone!" Henrietta exclaimed. "Merciful powers, have I come to this?"
"There is not the slightest need of your walking alone," said Mr. Bantling, in an off-hand tone expressive of gallantry. "I should be greatly pleased to go with you."
"I simply meant that you would be late for dinner," Ralph answered. "Think of those poor ladies, in their impatience, waiting for you."
"You had better have a hansom, Henrietta," said Isabel.
"I will get you a hansom, if you will trust to me," Mr. Bantling went on. "We might walk a little till we met one."
"I don't see why I shouldn't trust to him, do you?" Henrietta inquired of Isabel.
"I don't see what Mr. Bantling could do to you," Isabel answered, smiling; "but if you like, we will walk with you till you find your cab."
"Never mind; we will go alone. Come on, Mr. Bantling, and take care you get me a good one."
Mr. Bantling promised to do his best, and the two took their departure, leaving Isabel and her cousin standing in the square, over which a clear September twilight had now begun to gather. It was perfectly still; the wide quadrangle of dusky houses showed lights in none of the windows, where the shutters and blinds were closed; the pavements were a vacant expanse, and putting aside two small children from a neighbouring slum, who, attracted by symptoms of abnormal animation in the interior, were squeezing their necks between the rusty railings of the inclosure, the most vivid object within sight was the big red pillar-post on the south-east corner.
