There are some islands upon which he is not permitted to land any more. Come along, master. “Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. The road which wound by Westbourne Green, gave him a full view of the hill of Hampstead with its church, its crest of houses, and its villas peeping from out the trees. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. What hotel should she go to? If she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he do—or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive, and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required.
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