But he might have. And also he might have heard the following conversation between the good-looking--or best-looking--young lady and the gentleman, after the latter had made sure that his selected four-wheeler was prepared to go as far as Wimbledon. "Now, Mr. Challis, I know you're not to be trusted to give my message to your wife...." "Yes, I am. She's to write you a line to say when she'll be at home." "Stupid man! Now you know quite well it was nothing as bold as that. No, dear Mr. Challis, tell her I don't want to make a formal 'call.' I want to know her--as well as I know you. And I never shall unless we see each other quietly, when there's no one else there. Oh dear!--if only people I want to know would give me a cup of tea and say 'not at home' to everyone else!" "I should myself! But I quite understand. I'll wrap up the message to Marianne exactly to that effect. She shall write and fix a day. And I'm not to be there--that's it, isn't it?" "That's it. Good man! And you understand that I'm entirely in earnest about Aminta Torrington--(all right! Nobody can hear. They're all in the carriage)--and you're to speak to Mr. Magnus at the Megatherium about it." "Oh yes! I'm going to speak. Honour bright!" "Very well, then! Now good-bye, Mr. Challis." "Good-bye. I _have_ had a pleasant time." But Mr. Onions heard none of this, as, while he was disposing of the portmanteau, his attention was engaged by conversation with the cabman. "Where's Wimbledon, Honey?" the latter had said, as he took the box from him. He seemed over-ripe, did this cabman. He could not fall off the box, though, for he had bound himself to it by tarpaulins of an inflexible nature. "Honey" was not Irish: it was short for "Onions." "What's the use of askin' me, when you know yourself? Mean to say you don't?" "I was born there, my son. I've lived there ever since. Likewise, I'm going to hend my days there, exceptin' I should 'appen to live for ever. I was just a-puttin' the question to see if _you_ knew." "Couldn't say to harf an inch where it is. But it's a place _you_ get a pint at, every wisit." "Right you are, my son!... All right, governor--just off, as soon as these cloths are tucked in. You never mentioned any 'urry, or I'd have seen to it!" And then Royd and its luxurious life have finally vanished, and everyday life has come back, as the cab growls through its rather long ride. Challis was paying the penalty of coming home by a different route, and now almost wished he hadn't made up his mind to cab the whole way. But you know what it is when you have a large portmanteau that won't go on a hansom.