"Yes," answered Lucy, rather dismally; "we shall soon have the winter in full swing, fogs and all."
She had been up to the studio of an artist at St. John's Wood that morning, making photographs of various studies of drapery for a big picture, and the results, when examined in the dark-room later on, had not been satisfactory; hence her unusual depression of spirits.
"For goodness' sake, Lucy, don't speak in that tone!" cried Phyllis, who was standing idly by the window. "What does it matter about Mr. Lawrence's draperies? Nobody ever buys his pokey pictures. You've not been the same person ever since you developed those plates this afternoon."
"Don't you see, Phyllis, Mr. Russel introduced us to him; and besides, though he is obscure himself, he might recommend us to other artists if the work was well done."
"Oh, bother! Come over here, Lucy. Do you see that lighted window opposite? It is Conny's Mr. Jermyn's."
"What an interesting fact!"
"Conny said he danced well. I wish he would come and dance with us sometimes. It is ages and ages since I had a really good waltz."
"Phyllis! do you forget that you are in mourning?" cried Fanny, shocked, as she moved towards the table, where Lucy had lit the lamp.
Gertrude came through the folding-doors bearing a covered dish. Her aspect also was undeniably dejected. Business had been slacker, if possible, than usual, during the past week; regarded from no point of view could their prospects be considered brilliant; and, to crown all, Aunt Caroline had paid them a visit in the course of the day, in which she had propounded some very direct questions as to the state of their finances; questions which it had been both difficult to answer and difficult to evade.
Phyllis ceased her chatter, which she saw at once to be out of harmony with the prevailing mood, and took her place in silence at the table.