"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. The rest. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. It is not possible for us to be on friendly terms with a young man who has been seen in a public place, having supper alone with your sister after midnight. "You read it, Ruth.
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