"It will be lovely weather in the country," said Dick.
"But where are we going?"
"Wait and see."
The stopped at Victoria, and Dick sought tickets. For less than half the
fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the
waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the booking-
office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. Dick put her into a
Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she regarded the
extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved out into the
country.
"I wish I knew where we are going," she repeated for the twentieth time.
The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the run,
and Maisie was delighted.
"Oh, Dick, you villain!"
"Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been here
since the old times, have you?"
"No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was ever
there."
"Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the potato-fields;
they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I shut you up in it?"
"Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you."
"She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was burying
Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me.
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