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. . . What a magnificence might be made of life!
He was aroused by Amanda's voice.
"When we go back to London, old Cheetah," she said, "we must take a
house."
For some moments he stared at her, trying to get back to their point
of divergence.
"Why?" he asked at length.
"We must have a house," she said.
He looked at her face. Her expression was profoundly thoughtful,
her eyes were fixed on the slumbering ships poised upon the
transparent water under the mountain shadows.
"You see," she thought it out, "you've got to TELL in London. You
can't just sneak back there. You've got to strike a note of your
own. With all these things of yours."
"But how?"
"There's a sort of little house, I used to see them when I was a
girl and my father lived in London, about Brook Street and that
part. Not too far north. . . . You see going back to London for us
is just another adventure. We've got to capture London. We've got
to scale it. We've got advantages of all sorts. But at present
we're outside. We've got to march in."
Her clear hazel eyes contemplated conflicts and triumphs.


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