“I lived a year in London with my brother Charles. We lived in Little Worsted Street, No. 95, near the Aquarium: a little house with green blinds; perhaps, sir, you know it. I believe it is still standing; I loved London. Charles was a curate at St. Michael’s, the grey church at the corner of Merritt Street; Mr. Roper was rector at the time. I remember seeing our late beloved Queen pass in her carriage. I have a distinct recollection of her black bonnet and gracious bow. I was very much moved.” Maradick had, very fortunately, touched on the only topic that could possibly be said to make Miss Minns loquacious. Everyone became interested and animated. “Oh! I should so love London!” Janet said, looking through the window at the stars outside. “People! Processions! Omnibuses! Father has told me about it sometimes—Dick Whittington, you know, and the cat. I suppose you’re not called Dick?” she said, looking anxiously at Tony. “No,” said Tony, “I’m afraid I’m not. But I will be if you like.” “It is scarcely polite, Janet,” said Morelli, “to ask a gentleman his name when you’ve only known him five minutes.” “I wasn’t,” she answered. “Only I do want to know a Dick so very badly, and there aren’t any down here; but I expect London’s full of them.” “It’s full of everything,” said Tony, “and that’s why I like this place so awfully. London chokes you, there’s such a lot going on; you have to stop, you know. Here you can go full tilt. May I have another chop, please? They’re most awfully good.” Tony was rapidly becoming his usual self. He was still a little nervous, but he was talking nonsense as fluently as ever. “You really must come up to London though, Miss Morelli. There are pantomimes and circuses and policemen and lots of funny things. And you can do just what you like because there’s no one to see.” “Oh! theatres!” She clapped her hands. “I should simply love a theatre. Father took me once here; it was called ‘The Murdered Heir,’ and it was most frightfully exciting; but that’s the only one I’ve ever seen, and I don’t suppose there’ll be another here for ages. They have them in Truro, but I’ve never been to Truro. I’m glad you like the chops, I was afraid they were rather dry.” “They are,” said Morelli. “It’s only Mr. Gale’s politeness that makes him say they’re all right. They’re dreadfully dry.” “Well, you were late,” she answered; “it was your fault.” She was excited. Her eyes were shining, her hands trembled a little, and her cheeks were flushed. Maradick fancied that there was surprise in her glance at her father. Miss Minns also was a little astonished at something. It was possibly unusual for Morelli to invite anyone into the house, and they were wondering why he had done it.