"And you have lived so long with me," said old Mother Christmas, reproachfully, "and you don't know yet that sooner than let my comfort bring you to harm, Annie, or tempt you to a false step, I would twenty times rather beg my bread?"
"Forgive me, mother!" said the girl, impetuously, "but I don't know what I've been saying. Everything seems wrong, and cruel, and if I forget that you have been a mother to me, it is—it is because—I am—so miserable that——"
And here the two women had a hearty cry together, which smoothed down their troubles for the present, and drew them closer to each other.
CHAPTER XXIX.
LEFT ALONE.
"No," said Dove, blocking up the doorway with her slight little figure, as the waggonette was driven round, "neither of you stirs a step until you tell me where you are going."
Will's last injunction to his father had been, "Don't let the women know." So the women did not know; and on this Monday morning both men were stealthily slipping away up to London when the heroic little Dove caught them in the act.
"We are going to London, my dear," said Mr. Anerley.
"On business," said Will.
"Yes, on business!" said Dove, pouting. "I know what it is. You go into somebody's office in the forenoon and talk a little; and then both of you go away and play billiards; then you dine at Will's club or at a hotel, and then you go to the theatre."