It was only by scorning all
she met that she kept herself from tears, and the friction of people
brushing past her was evidently painful. After watching the traffic on
the Embankment for a minute or two with a stoical gaze she twitched her
husband's sleeve, and they crossed between the swift discharge of motor
cars. When they were safe on the further side, she gently withdrew her
arm from his, allowing her mouth at the same time to relax, to tremble;
then tears rolled down, and leaning her elbows on the balustrade, she
shielded her face from the curious. Mr. Ambrose attempted consolation;
he patted her shoulder; but she showed no signs of admitting him, and
feeling it awkward to stand beside a grief that was greater than his, he
crossed his arms behind him, and took a turn along the pavement.
The embankment juts out in angles here and there, like pulpits; instead
of preachers, however, small boys occupy them, dangling string, dropping
pebbles, or launching wads of paper for a cruise. With their sharp eye
for eccentricity, they were inclined to think Mr. Ambrose awful; but
the quickest witted cried "Bluebeard!" as he passed. In case they should
proceed to tease his wife, Mr. Ambrose flourished his stick at them,
upon which they decided that he was grotesque merely, and four instead
of one cried "Bluebeard!" in chorus.
Although Mrs.
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