That peculiar smile of the old Tudor Cardinal--which had in it
invincible self-reliance, and a sort of spiritual sneer--played over his
face when he speculated on his father's reception of the coming news;
and very soon he ceased to think of it at all, burying himself in the
work he had brought with him for the journey. For he had in high degree
the faculty, so essential to public life, of switching off his whole
attention from one subject to another.
On arriving at Paddington he drove straight to Valleys House.
This large dwelling with its pillared portico, seemed to wear an air
of faint surprise that, at the height of the season, it was not more
inhabited. Three servants relieved Miltoun of his little luggage; and
having washed, and learned that his father would be dining in, he went
for a walk, taking his way towards his rooms in the Temple. His long
figure, somewhat carelessly garbed, attracted the usual attention, of
which he was as usual unaware. Strolling along, he meditated deeply on
a London, an England, different from this flatulent hurly-burly, this
'omniuin gatherum', this great discordant symphony of sharps and flats.
A London, an England, kempt and self-respecting; swept and garnished
of slums, and plutocrats, advertisement, and jerry-building, of
sensationalism, vulgarity, vice, and unemployment.
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