“That were before my time,” she said, putting it back into her pocket. “But I always like to reward kindness wherever I come across it. And I must say you London folk are partic’lar nice to strangers. Nothing you won’t do for them. When I get back home, I shall tell my neighbours how pleasant you’ve been to me. What’s that building supposed to be, may I ask?” Pointing through the window at Bayswater Road. “That,” answered the man, “is a monument put up to Julius Cæsar. The chap, you know, who was in the Battle of Trafalgar.” “I remember. At least, I say I remember; but that’s a lie. I recollect reading about it when I was at school. And isn’t this a nice open part here, too! Trees, and goodness knows what all!” “Richmon’ Park,” explained her informant readily. “That’s the proper name of it.” “Thought that was situated a long way out.” “It’s been moved.” “Ah, well,” she said resignedly, “I find the best plan in London is to take everything as it comes. What I’ve always been hoping— But there, it’s no use talking about what isn’t likely to happen.” They pressed for details. “It would be too much like luck for it to occur to me. But what I’ve always wished for was that I might catch sight, just for once in my life, of the new King and Queen—” Two passengers called her attention eagerly to a couple walking along by the railings, arm-in-arm; gave a fervid assurance. “Well, well, well!” fanning herself with an ungloved hand. “To think of him strolling along with a pipe in his mouth, for all the world like an ordinary individual! And not over-dressed neither. That’s something more for me to tell ’em when I get home. Wouldn’t have missed the sight for anything. But I were always under the impression that he was a gentleman with a beard.” “Shaves it off, just about this time, every year.” “I see,” she remarked contentedly. “More for the sake of change, I suppose, than anything. Talking of that, I suppose there’s nobody here could oblige me with silver for a sovereign?” Out of sheer gratitude to an admirable target, they found the coins she required, and in giving her thanks she mentioned that the sooner now that she reached Notting Hill the better she would be pleased. They seemed to have a desire to conceal the truth, but the conductor happened to overhear the statement; he rang the bell sharply and informed her she was going in the wrong direction. She asked him to explain, pointing out that his conveyance certainly bore the words Notting Hill, and suggesting that he was possibly making a mistake; the delay to the motor-omnibus induced her fellow-travellers to declare that the conductor was telling the truth, and she bade them separately and collectively goodbye, expressing a hope that she might be so fortunate as to meet them again on some future visit to town. “And which way do I go now, young man?” “You get off the step,” replied the irritated conductor. “You cross the roadway. You take a ’bus going West.”