“Once you’ve made up your mind, as you may say, about a young man, you’ve got to be jeggerin’ well careful you don’t go and lose him. Makes all the difference whether you get the right man or the wrong man, or no man at all. Now what about this Drury Lane? We’d bedder be too soon than too late.” A wonderful old person for her age, and Rosalind, made rather thoughtful for some reason by the conversation, had much ado to keep up with her as they walked through Leicester Square and Long Acre in the direction of Autumn Melodrama. When the doors opened, Erb’s aunt fought her way in with the best of them, securing two seats in the second row, and keeping strong men and insurgent women at bay until Rosalind came up; she ordered a very tall man in the front row to sit down, and when he replied that he was a sitting down Aunt Emma suggested that he should lie down. Then the old lady loosened her elastic-sided boots slightly, and prepared to meet enjoyment. A great evening. Aunt Emma confessed to Rosalind, as they came out, that, say what you liked, there was no place like London, and, but for the fact that she wanted to save the bit of money she had put away, she would willingly bid good-bye to Penshurst and come up to town, spending every afternoon at Moore and Burgess’, and every evening at Drury Lane. Outside the theatre was Erb. “Nice young woman, if ever there was one,” whispered Emma to her nephew. “Superior manner, and all that.” “Thought you’d get along all right with her,” remarked Erb. “I’ve been giving her advice.” “Trust you.” “Wonnerful to see such qualities of people about,” said the old lady, hailing Rosalind into the discussion as they walked along the crowded Strand. “Nothin like this down where I live.” “Have you far to walk at the other end?” asked the girl solicitously. “Not fur,” replied the wonderful old lady. “Ony ’bout four mile and h’af.” The excursion train was nearly ready to start, and Erb, finding an old acquaintance in the guard, arranged for appropriate finish to a great day by placing his aunt in a first-class compartment. She remarked gleefully that this would be something to tell Mrs. Turley. “God bless ye, my dear,” she said, kissing Rosalind. “And don’t forget what I told you. Erb, take care of her.” Rosalind wanted to go into the Strand telegraph office opposite the station for a moment, if Erb did not mind. Erb did not mind, and he waited. “As much as that?” said Rosalind to the clerk. “Seems a lot of money.” “Well, you see, miss,” replied the clerk, apologetically, “people don’t telegraph to these distant parts unless it’s about something important.” CHAPTER XI