But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. ‘Certainly you must have seen her. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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