CHAPTER XXVI.
A WHITE VELLUM POCKET-BOOK.
"And there's pansies, that's for thoughts."—Hamlet.
"There'll be a comforting fire;
There'll be a welcome for somebody;
One in her neatest attire,
Will look to the table for somebody."
Swain.
It was in the gathering dusk of the afternoon when Waveney found herself in the neighbourhood of Cleveland Terrace. They had driven fast, and yet to the eager girl the way had seemed strangely long. As they approached the house, Althea shivered a little, as though her fur-lined cloak had suddenly lost its robin-like cosiness. The steely winter's sky, the raw dampness of the atmosphere, the gloom of the half light, which made all objects appear out of due proportion, and gave them a hazy indistinctness, made her feel depressed and uncomfortable.
As the carriage stopped, the door was quickly opened, though not by the footman, and a familiar voice in the darkness said,—
"Thank you, Miss Harford, a thousand times, for bringing the child home. Waveney, my darling, 'a happy Christmas to you!' Run out of the cold, dear, it is beginning to snow." But Waveney kept her place.
"I must say good-night first, father. Were you watching for me? Do you know you have not wished the dear ladies a happy Christmas yet?" Then Althea's gentle, melancholy voice interrupted her.