"You're an awful brick, Teddy!" she said.
"Who wouldn't be for you?"
The train began to move. "You're splendid!" said Teddy, with his
hair wild in the wind. "Good luck! Good luck!"
She waved from the window until the bend hid him.
She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must
do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home
or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face.
She felt smaller and more adventurous even than she had expected
to feel. "Let me see," she said to herself, trying to control a
slight sinking of the heart, "I am going to take a room in a
lodging-house because that is cheaper. . . . But perhaps I had
better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. . . .
"It's bound to be all right," she said.
But her heart kept on sinking. What hotel should she go to? If
she told a cabman to drive to an hotel, any hotel, what would he
do--or say? He might drive to something dreadfully expensive,
and not at all the quiet sort of thing she required. Finally she
decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that
meanwhile she would "book" her luggage at Waterloo. 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. But that was soon put
right, and she walked out into London with a peculiar exaltation
of mind, an exaltation that partook of panic and defiance, but
was chiefly a sense of vast unexampled release.
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