'And how absurd it is not to employ it more in our gloomy London
architecture!' said Frank. 'Imagine how grand a gilded dome of St.
Paul's would look, hanging like a rising sun over the City. But here
is our restaurant, Maude, and Big Ben says that it is a quarter to
two.



CHAPTER V--IN BRITAIN'S VALHALLA



They had discussed the rooms in their new house, and the bridesmaids'
dresses, and Maude's cooking, and marriage-presents, and the merits
of Brighton, and the nature of love, and volleying at tennis (Maude
was the lady-champion of a tennis club), and season tickets, and the
destiny of the universe--to say nothing of a small bottle of Perrier
Jouet. It was reprehensibly extravagant, but this would be their
last unmarried excursion, and so they drank to the dear days of the
past, and the dearer ones of the future. Good comrades as well as
lovers, they talked freely, and with pleasure. Frank never made the
common mistake of talking down, and Maude justified his confidence by
eagerly keeping up. To both of them silence was preferable to
conventional small talk.

'We'll just get down there after lunch,' said Frank, as he paid his
bill. 'You have not seen the Australians, have you?'

'Yes, dear, I saw them at Clifton four years ago.'