Mrs Molesworth
"White Turrets"
Chapter One.
“Hertha.”
A dull afternoon in November. In London, too, where, though bright and beautiful November days are not utterly unknown, they are, it must be allowed, the exception.
A not very lively scene indoors either.
A large—too large for the present purpose at least—concert-room in a public building, very far from well filled, and somewhat dimly lighted; the dimness aggravated by a suspicion of fog.
“Rather an unlucky day, I fear,” said one lady to her next neighbour. “Still, at this season, what can one expect?”