Nan nodded at her seriously.
"I mean it.

You've no idea how good that smoky, petrolly smell is after the innocuous breezes of the country.

It's full of gorgeous suggestions of cars and people and theatres and--and life!" They hurried to the other end of the platform where the porters were disinterring the luggage from the van and dumping it down on the platform with a splendid disregard for the longevity of the various trunks and suit-cases they handled.

Nan's attendant porter quickly extricated her baggage from the motley pile, and very soon she and Penelope were speeding away from the station as fast as their chauffeur--whose apparent recklessness was fortunately counter-balanced by consummate skill--could take them.
"How nice and familiar it all looks," said Nan, as the car granted up the Haymarket.

"And it's heavenly to be going back to the dear old flat.