Anna thrust hers into her pocket unopened, and for the first time left the house without a smile upon her face. It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. 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. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade. Her glasses moved quickly as her glance travelled from face to face. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air.
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