It was a habit of his to talk to himself. “Have you not heard?” she said. She was marvellously pretty, but he was not quite sure—yet—that it was advisable for him to sit with her in so public a place. ‘And I’ll say it as often as I choose, you confounded impertinent wench! Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m your grandfather, girl. Like carpenter, like chips. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. “I cannot keep silence any longer. Take me to the Stone Room. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out.
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