“Well, the sooner we leave London the better,” she said. “I’m not going to be mixed up with all this; we’ll avoid any open breach with the family of course, but for goodness’ sake do let the house and let us settle down elsewhere. There’s that house at Croydon I was very partial to, and you could go up and down easy enough from there.”
“We’ll think of it,” said Mr. Horner reflectively. “And, by the by, must, I suppose, get them some sort of wedding present.”
“By good luck,” said Mrs. Horner, “I won a sofa-cushion last week in a raffle at the bazaar for the chapel organ fund. It’s quite good enough for them, I’m sure. I did half think of sending it to the youngest Miss Smith, who is to be married on New Year’s Day, but they’re such rich people that I suppose I must send them something a little more showy and expensive. This will do very well for Sigrid Falck.”
Luckily the opinion of outsiders did not at all mar the happiness of the two lovers. They were charmed to hear that the Horners were leaving London, and when in due time the sofa-cushion arrived, surmounted by Mrs. Horner’s card, Sigrid, who had been in the blessed condition of expecting nothing, was able to write a charming little note of thanks, which by its straightforward simplicity, made the donor blush with an uncomfortable sense of guilt.
“And after all,” remarked Sigrid to Cecil, “we really owe a great deal to Mrs. Horner, for if she had not asked me to that children’s fancy ball I should never have met Madame Lechertier, and how could we ever have lived all together if it had not been for that?”
“In those days I think Mrs. Horner rather liked you, but somehow you have offended her.”
“Why of course it was by earning my living and setting up in model lodgings; I utterly shocked all her ideas of propriety, and, when once you do that, good-by to all hopes of remaining in Mrs. Horner’s good books. It would have grieved me to displease any of your relations if you yourselves cared for them, but the Horners—well, I can not pretend to care the least about them.”
The two girls were in the little sitting-room of the model lodgings, putting the finishing touches to the white cashmere wedding-dress which Sigrid had cut out and made for herself during the quiet days they had spent at Rowan Tree House. Every one entered most heartily into all the busy preparations, and Sigrid could not help thinking to herself that the best proof that trouble had not spoiled or soured the lives either of Cecil or Frithiof lay in their keen enjoyment of other people’s happiness.
The wedding was to be extremely quiet. Early in the morning, when Cecil went to see if she could be of any use, she found the bride-elect in her usual black dress and her housekeeping apron of brown holland, busily packing Frithiof’s portmanteau.
“Oh, let me do it for you,” she said. “The idea of your toiling away to-day just as if you were not going to be married!”