“Where has she gone to?” smiled Samuel, superiorly, as with Constance at the window he watched her turn down King Street towards the church.
“I expect she has gone to look at father’s grave,” said Constance.
“Oh!” muttered Samuel, apologetically.
Constance was mistaken. Before reaching the church, Mrs. Baines deviated to the right, got into Brougham Street and thence, by Acre Lane, into Oldcastle Street, whose steep she climbed. Now, Oldcastle Street ends at the top of St. Luke’s Square, and from the corner Mrs. Baines had an excellent view of the signboard. It being Thursday afternoon, scarce a soul was about. She returned to her daughter’s by the same extraordinary route, and said not a word on entering. But she was markedly cheerful.
The waggonette came after tea, and Mrs. Baines made her final preparations to depart. The visit had proved a wonderful success; it would have been utterly perfect if Samuel had not marred it at the very door of the waggonette. Somehow, he contrived to be talking of Christmas. Only a person of Samuel’s native clumsiness would have mentioned Christmas in July.
“You know you’ll spend Christmas with us!” said he into the waggonette.
“Indeed I shan’t!” replied Mrs. Baines. “Aunt Harriet and I will expect you at Axe. We’ve already settled that.”
Mr. Povey bridled. “Oh no!” he protested, hurt by this summariness.
Having had no relatives, except his cousin the confectioner, for many years, he had dreamt of at last establishing a family Christmas under his own roof, and the dream was dear to him.
Mrs. Baines said nothing. “We couldn’t possibly leave the shop,” said Mr. Povey.