Kate's soul was in her ears during this communication; and while she chided herself for thinking of him, her thoughts dwelt on Egerton, till, at last, wearied by the excitement, she had gone through, her slight, graceful form lent more and more against the side of the carriage, and she slept. Winter carefully drew her cloak round her, and fastened it closer to her throat; and, as she opened her eyes, slightly roused by his movement, she silently thanked God that she was no more uncared for and alone.
"Tickets if you please," were the next sounds that met her ear—"Great time! only just eight," from Winter, as she looked up bewildered after the disturbed sleep in which she had indulged.
"Where are we?"
"Near home," said Winter, while his bead-like eyes twinkled with more than usual vivacity.
"Sure you have left no indispensable carpet-bag behind? got your parasol? all right—in with you—14, Orchard Street—drive fast."
And away through dull, dark streets, now whisk round a corner into a blaze of light and flaring gas jets over butchers' stalls—now winding through omnibusses—anon dashing past the brilliantly lit up entré to some concert room—again into darkness undiminished save by the street lamps and hall lights—then a rumble over the side stones.
"Here we are," from Winter—as the door flew open before their charioteer could knock.
Mrs. Winter, standing under the lamp, in a cap that looked as if it had been made at A——, herself neat, as though she never had encountered a Spanish flea.
"Dearest Kate! I thought you would never come!"