Though rather too early in the day for the regular menu, consultation with a grey-headed waiter--who strongly reminded her of some Church dignitary (a dean for choice) in layman’s attire, and who became immensely interested in his client, partly because her blue eyes recalled to him those of a daughter “lost awhile”--resulted, within twenty minutes, in a dainty repast, some scalloped oysters, a “portion” of the choicest Scotch salmon cold, with cucumber, and dainty roll and butter, followed by a cheese soufflé, and--by the “dean’s” advice--neither tea, coffee, nor wine, but a glass, just one glass, of Pimm’s “particular” stout, a beverage our traveller was unaccustomed to, but found an admirable accompaniment to her fish luncheon. The bill was paid with a handsome _douceur_, which the “dean” condescended to accept; and refreshed, and with renewed determination to carry out her original line of march, Mrs. Rosamond stepped out and walked along Cheapside. There the shops at once attracted her attention: the jewellers, the hosiers--in one of which latter she bought some neckties and collars for her spouse--the print-sellers, and the London Stereoscopic Company’s seductive window. Here she looked up at the church clock far above her head, and finding the time getting on, and becoming just a little flurried at the discovery, started at once to resume her wanderings. “If you please, constable, can you tell me the nearest way to the Underground Railway?” “Straight as you can go, miss, down the lane, Bow Lane, in front of you, and you will find the station across the road at the bottom.” “Thank you very much,” and, mentally, “What a fine set of fellows the City policemen are! I wonder if they are all married; where do they live, and what are their wages?” Straight down the narrow lane she went, and at the Cannon Street end asked another policeman the way to the Underground. He pointed to the opposite side of the road, and, stopping the traffic, conveyed her across, and she found herself in the Mansion House Station of the District Railway. There were no officials to be seen, only the booking-clerks, one of whom, with the professional instinct for turning an honest penny for his employers, instead of advising her to return to the Bank close by, up Victoria Street, promptly recommended her to book by the District Railway to Bishopsgate Street, get across Finsbury Circus to Moorgate Street, and then take the City and South London Tube Railway to the “Angel.” By this time Mrs. Rosamond had become too tired to discuss the matter, and was disinclined to go back by the way she had come. So she got into a first-class carriage of a Circle train, and, with a sigh of relief, settled down snugly into the far corner.