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. And in the Avenue she had an encounter with Ramage. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Though he walked by the side of the governor, he seldom exchanged a word with him, but appeared wholly absorbed in the contemplations inspired by a broadbowled Dutch pipe. About her, as she had gone day by day to and from the Tredgold College, she had seen and not seen many an incidental aspect of those sides of life about which girls are expected to know nothing, aspects that were extraordinarily relevant to her own position and outlook on the world, and yet by convention ineffably remote. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. “Who?” She asked. Honestly, I never did. Lucy cringed, her eyes widening.
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