“It is a strange thing,” he began, and broke off to wonder, “Is this mirror my own or have I sold it? I know there have been great transactions of late to which I am a party, but at the moment I cannot remember whether they are concluded. At any rate my reflection is my own. Ha! That is an asset they cannot rive from me.” He picked up the broken thread again. “It is a strange thing, the pleasure one can draw, in the most disadvantageous circumstances, from knowing what is a secret to the vulgar. I will own that on going down to the Cabinet meeting this early afternoon, and passing the posters which cried out again and again, ‘Fall of Mondh,’ I felt a certain gratification because I was aware that they announced the piece of news quite other than that the consternated city imagined. When I tipped my hat to the crowd which had gathered round Downing Street to give me that dreadful croaking which betokens loyalty to the unfortunate (I am a sinking ship) I had much ado not to point my stick at the newsboy who hawked his wares on its fringe, and explain, “Ladies and gentlemen, you have misread that notice.
What do You think about Harriet Hume: A London Fantasy?
