Then the driver lifted the reins with a noble gesture, and Priam had to be decisive and get into the cab.
"250 Queen's Gate," said he.
As, keeping his head to one side to avoid the reins, he gave the direction across the roof of the cab to the attentive cocked ear of the cabman, he felt suddenly that he had regained his nationality, that he was utterly English, in an atmosphere utterly English.

The hansom was like home after the wilderness.
He had chosen 250 Queen's Gate because it appeared the abode of tranquillity and discretion.

He felt that he might sink into 250 Queen's Gate as into a feather bed.

The other palace intimidated him.

It recalled the terrors of a continental hotel.