8. An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious. The imbecile. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Now I have done something for which you might be pardoned if you did kill me. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. You must come and tell me all about it, although I am not sure whether we shall forgive you for not having written to any of us. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B.
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