Notwithstanding the pleasurable sensations with which John set out on his walk, it was no small business to get home. Nothing could be more confusing than the streets, the corners which he seemed to recognise, and then felt that he had mistaken, the curious windings of the way, the impossibility of distinguishing one from another. He seemed to himself to have been walking for hours, much hustled and knocked about, but serenely indifferent in his happy state of mind, when he became aware of the great mass of the Houses of Parliament rising against the sky of night, which now was full of stars and soft clearness; and the bridge leading away from all the noise and crowding into darkness and quiet. He scarcely paused this time to look at the carriages coming and going, but passed by with a pleasant consciousness that there were other centres of existence almost as important as that of Parliament. He knew nothing really about Parliament, beyond what everybody knew, beyond what was in the papers every morning: but his head was buzzing with anecdotes of the great people of the drama, the ‘stars’ whom Montressor knew, and among whom he had figured, and hoped to figure again. The names of these distinguished persons rustled confusedly through the boy’s brain. He almost felt that he had been supping with them, hearing all their wit. What a fine thing to have come so near that brilliant sphere on his very first night in town! And Montressor had promised him tickets for the first night on which he should himself assume the leading place to which he had been accustomed.
‘A box, me dear young gentleman, to which you can take the ladies of your family,’ that, high-minded individual had said; ‘for ye will never see the name of Montressor in any play-bill where the performance is not fit for a refined female’s eyes.’
John found this phrase delicious as it came back to his mind--‘a refined female.’ It was like ‘Pride and Prejudice,’ he said to himself. But at that moment he came in sight of the great hospital looming up against the sky, and its shadow came upon him like--like what?--like the shadow of death, he would have said in a graver mood, like a wet blanket, he said in his levity. But even the levity sank when he perceived that the lights were very faint in the great building, and that along the row of little houses opposite, so far as he could see, there was but one point of light, and that a very feeble one. Then, for the first time, John began to think that this new and delightful experience of his might have a very different aspect from another point of view. All was very still in the little street. If he had to knock to rouse the landlady, the echo would carry, he thought, ever so far, would penetrate the big walls opposite and wake the sick people, and disturb one stern sleeper. How should he explain himself? The first night! that which made the experience so delightful, made it also rather dreadful from the other side: for how could he make it clear to _her_ that it was the first time he had ever essayed the adventures of the streets? His heart failed him as he drew near the house, and indeed he was not quite clear about the house, among so many others exactly the same.