At this moment, a coach passed them, and was instantly hailed by Thames. “I think I ought to have one. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. Suddenly she had become afraid. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk, unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. “I have a letter for him from his brother, which I was just leaving. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted. But also this must not go on. You never can tell.
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