Lucy smiled and hurried away. A cab? No! A woman who knows what it is to earn shillings cannot willingly afford to spend them because another woman’s whim delays her. Lucy, too, looked at her watch. There would be just time for her to reach home ere her guests arrived.
When they got into the quieter streets she shortened the journey by running little races with Hugh. Nevertheless, just as they came in sight of the house with the verandah, they saw Mr. Somerset’s cab drive up.
They all went in together. Of course, Mrs. Morison opened the door. She had on a fresh white apron as if she were ready to serve up dinner. Mr. Somerset had a big parcel to get out of his cab, and that made a little delay, during which Mrs. Morison hurried off again downstairs.
Lucy was comforted to find that Miss Latimer had not arrived yet, nor the lad Tom Black. Mr. Somerset was such an old and familiar friend that she could easily leave him to the chattering ministrations of little Hugh, while she hurried to her own room to take off her walking garb and add a few touches of lacy brightness to her apparel.
While she was thus employed, she heard Hugh give a shout of joy and go leaping downstairs. From the drawing-room window, he had seen Miss Latimer approach. Lucy heard him and the old governess exchanging rapturous greetings. She went out and met Miss Latimer, and led her to her own room, where the old lady had some little titivations to make, and a few private inquiries to get answered, so that they lingered there until another knock announced Tom Black, and they went downstairs to receive him.
They found the youth standing awkwardly alone on the landing outside the drawing-room door. He had only just reached that spot, led thereto by the sound of Hugh’s shrill pipe and Mr. Somerset’s deeper tones. He was vastly relieved to see Lucy, and to be made welcome by her. Lucy herself made the inward reflection that Mrs. Morison was either less trained in receiving guests than in other departments of service, or that she felt her devotion to the Christmas dinner must justify any lapse in minor attentions.
They went into the drawing-room. Tom Black was introduced all round, and a little conversation was got up about the weather, about Hugh’s gifts, and about Mr. Challoner, and how he was possibly keeping his Christmas day.
By this time it was fully half-past four. Lucy did not feel at all nervous on that score. If her husband had been at home to remain with her guests, she would certainly have stepped out of the room and taken a housewifely survey. But she did not care to leave her visitors quite to themselves, since she had the just idea that hospitality loses its sweetest grace if it seems burdensome to the hosts. It was natural, too, that dinner should be a little deferred. Mrs. Morison had probably thoughtfully retarded matters when her mistress’s return had been so late.
Lucy had not even begun to feel anxious—when there came a sudden heavy fall and a smash!
(To be continued.)