The cabman, unseen, took an admiring look at her. 'Nice little bit,
this!' it said.

'Grandfather bathes here,' thought Thyme. 'Poor darling! I pity everyone
that's old.'

The cab passed on under the shade of trees out into the road.

'I wonder if we have only one self in us,' thought Thyme. 'I sometimes
feel that I have two--Uncle Hilary would understand what I mean. The
pavements are beginning to smell horrid already, and it's only June
to-morrow. Will mother feel my going very much? How glorious if one
didn't feel!'

The cab turned into a narrow street of little shops.

'It must be dreadful to have to serve in a small shop. What millions of
people there are in the world! Can anything be of any use? Martin says
what matters is to do one's job; but what is one's job?'

The cab emerged into a broad, quiet square.

'But I'm not going to think of anything,' thought Thyme; 'that's fatal.
Suppose father stops my allowance; I should have to earn my living as a
typist, or something of that sort; but he won't, when he sees I mean it.
Besides, mother wouldn't let him.'

The cab entered the Euston Road, and again the cabman's broad face was
turned towards Thyme with an inquiring stare.