The thoughts of a maiden, as Lala Roy said, are secret thoughts.

She looked upon the river from the bridge with Arnold.

When he turned, she turned with him, and neither spoke.
They left the bridge, and passed through the wooden gate at the Battersea end of it, and across the corner where the stone columns lie, like an imitation of Tadmor in the Desert, and so to the broad terrace overlooking the river.
There is not, anywhere, a more beautiful terrace than this of Battersea Park, especially when the tide is high.

Before it lies the splendid river, with the barges which Arnold had seen from the bridge.
They are broad, and flat, and sometimes squat, and sometimes black with coal, and sometimes they go up and down sideways, in lubberly Dutch fashion, but they are always picturesque; and beyond the river is the Embankment, with its young trees, which will before many years be tall and stately trees; and behind the trees are the new red palaces; and above the houses, at this time of the year and day, are the flying clouds, already colored with the light of the sinking sun.
Behind the terrace are the trees, and lawns of the best-kept park in London.
In the afternoon of a late September day, there are not many who walk in these gardens.

Arnold and Iris had the terrace almost to themselves, save for half-a-dozen girls with children, and two or three old men making the most of the last summer they were ever likely to see, though it would have been cruel to tell them so.
"This is your favorite walk, Iris," said Arnold at last, breaking the silence.
"Yes; I come here very often.