Speaking apparently in the name of the nation, he welcomed us to England, adding a regret that Her Majesty was not at the moment in London.
We could not reply to him in kind.

Nothing of this sort had been anticipated by the book.

We called him "coachman," at which he again bowed to the pavement, and asked him if he would have the goodness to drive us to the Westminster Bridge road.
He laid his hand upon his heart, and said the pleasure would be his.
Taking the third sentence in the chapter, George asked him what his fare would be.
The question, as introducing a sordid element into the conversation, seemed to hurt his feelings.

He said he never took money from distinguished strangers; he suggested a souvenir--a diamond scarf pin, a gold snuffbox, some little trifle of that sort by which he could remember us.
As a small crowd had collected, and as the joke was drifting rather too far in the cabman's direction, we climbed in without further parley, and were driven away amid cheers.

We stopped the cab at a boot shop a little past Astley's Theatre that looked the sort of place we wanted.