Once inside, he looked around, worried that his parents would suddenly cancel their trip and return home. She told the porter to take it to the booking-office, and it was only after a disconcerting moment or so that she found she ought to have directed him to go to the cloak-room. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. Before her stretched blank spaces, dotted with running people coming toward her, and below them railings and a statue. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door.
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