"Have I?" she said; "ah! it's the sharp frost that's in the streets to-night. Let me deliver father's message, and hurry back before he gets fidgety about me."
Harriet Wesden and Mattie went into the parlour, Mattie taking up her position by the door, so as to command the approach from the street, Harriet sitting by the fire with her head against the chimney-piece. The message was delivered, sundry little account books were wanted at once, and Harriet was to take them back with her; Mattie had to find them in the shop, and make them up into a little parcel for our heroine.
When she returned, Harriet was in the same position, staring very intently at the fire.
"Is anything the matter?" asked our heroine.
"Oh! no—what should be the matter, dear?"
"You're very thoughtful, and it's not exactly your look, Miss Harriet."
"Fancies again, Mattie," remarked Harriet; "I'm only a little tired, having walked from Camberwell."
"I hope you'll not walk back—it's getting late. Unless," she added, archly, "Mr. Sidney up-stairs is to see you safely home. That must be one of the nicest parts of courtship, to go arm-in-arm together about the streets—to feel yourself safe with him at your side."
Harriet's thoughtful demeanour vanished; she gave a merry laugh at the gravity with which Mattie delivered this statement, taunted Mattie with having thoughts of a lover running in her head, darted from that subject to the pleasant fortnight she had been spending with the Eveleighs at New Cross, detailed the particulars of her visit, the people to whom she had been introduced, and lively little incidents connected with them—finally caught up her parcel and bade Mattie good night.
"Ah! you'll wait till I call down Mr. Sidney, I'm sure."