"I hardly expected it, sir; if you will be so kind as to get a carriage for me, I will not trouble you further."
Her smile thawed the old man's churlishness. He volunteered, his foot upon the step "to see her all the way home;" but she would not consent.
"I am not afraid; this kind 'uncle' will carry me safely."
The driver scraped and grinned, although his woolly whiskers were hoary with rime. "Pity all women can't be agreeable!" said the escort, trudging through the drifts, to his hack. That a gentleman of his temperament was ever otherwise, even on a raw morning, did not occur to him.
An omnibus blocked up the street;—Ellen's carriage was behind it, and the driver's objurgative eloquence retarded, instead of quickening the movements of its proprietor, who was stowing away baggage upon the roof.
"Hallo!" cried a young man, to another, who was knocking the snow from his boots against the curb-stone. "When did you get in?"
"Just now. Horrid weather for March!—isn't it? Any news going?"
"Not a bit—all frozen up—ah! yes! Lynn Holmes is dead."
"What! not the artist! when did it happen? I saw him on the street a week ago—another duel?"