He let himself lapse into a dreamy mood; he was enchanted to have her so near him, to feel the afternoon and evening stretching endlessly before them--a veritable lifetime of golden moments. Lady Betty's manner offered a marked contrast. Hers was a frank exhilaration, an excited gaiety, of which he had the full impression; though she kept it in a low key, like love's whisper intended for his ear alone. Soon, as he had predicted, the sky grew bluer, the sunshine warmer; the traffic and the bustle of the streets were cheerfully pleasant to the eye and the ear in the fresh day. "Even the London we know seems delightful," he remarked. "London, though sometimes impelling to revolt, is always wonderful--it has always the fascination of the unknown." "And is as supremely problematic as the unknowable of the philosophers." "But it is solid and real, comes to us through all the five senses. Look at that strange old man with the tiger-lilies. I wonder how he comes by them at this time of year." "That is one of the wonders of London," said Wyndham. "One sees the flowers of all seasons at every season." "And sometimes the weather of all seasons at every season. Has Aldgate Pump a history?" He confessed to ignorance, though he had an idea that he had read much about it in his boyhood, an epoch when he had been fascinated by all the odd monuments of the town. He recalled, however, after a time, that there was a legend connected with it, not unlike that of the wandering Jew. "Is it actually a pump?" she asked. "Oh, it's a real pump," he assured her. "Because I had a suspicion just now; it struck me it might be a sort of old coaching-inn or something of the kind. I've often been deceived like that, have gone off to see strange things, and have found a coaching-inn." "At least there is the consolation of refreshment at the inn." "Not a bad idea," she conceded. "It would be a thing to boast about for the rest of one's life--to have refreshed one's self at the Aldgate Pump." Both laughed. The omnibus pursued its way with a steady rumble. They had turned out of Piccadilly and passed through Waterloo Place, and soon after through Trafalgar Square into the Strand, where the scene proved much busier. The pavements were thronged; people were pressing forward with an appearance of being very much in earnest. A sprinkling of tourists, clearly self-proclaimed by their holiday air and the style of their attire and grooming, paraded at leisure or gazed into the shop-windows. Here and there a young girl, in a picture frock and a big hat, tripped along daintily, holding her skirt with a touch that suggested Paris, and swinging her little bag from her free hand. "Actresses going to rehearsal?" hazarded Wyndham, in response to his companion's interrogation.