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” She slipped on her cloak and stepped into the hansom with him. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. 144 I think he heard about the backpack and the spitballs finally. \"Well, I hear that you totally slammed the door in his face after he walked you home! Did you know he lives clear on the other side of town and walked three miles home after you slammed him?\" \"No. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. She seemed just as stiff and shy as a girl ought to be, Lady Palsworthy thought, neither garrulous nor unready, and free from nearly all the heavy aggressiveness, the overgrown, overblown quality, the egotism and want of consideration of the typical modern girl. Tears flowed in rivulets down 121 her cheeks and she began to cry. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it. I don’t think of you as a kid. And instead he found her playing the great lady, and playing it well.
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