The yellow book: an illustrated quarterly (7.1895)

166 A Correspondence
sight—a girl in a long shiny waterproof, picking her way carefully
through the mud from one pavement to the other. The rain
dripped steadily, drearily from the square portico overhead.
Gretchen shivered as she looked.
The door was opened and she stepped into the dazzle of the
brightly lighted hall, and began to take off her wet cloak. When
the bright mist cleared, she saw that there was a portmanteau on
the oak chest against the wall; a bundle of rugs lay beside it;
from the drawing-room came a distant murmur of voices.
“ Has any one come, then, Price ? ” asked Gretchen, stopping
at the last button of her waterproof.
“Yes, miss; Mr. Margrave. He came unexpected, about two
hours ago. I don’t know why James hasn’t taken up his things,
I’m sure. I’ve told him to, times enough.” Gretchen put her
cloak into the maid’s hands and turned to the stairs.
“ Will you have some tea, miss ? ”
“ No, thank you,” she answered quietly.
Upstairs, the door of Cecily’s room stood half-open. She was
dressed for dinner already, and she stood before the fire, the tips of
her fingers touching the mantelpiece, her forehead resting upon
them.
Gretchen hesitated a moment, then went in. “ This is a delight-
ful surprise for you, Cecily, isn’t it ? ”
“Yes,” said Cecily starting. She had raised her head quickly
when she heard Gretchen’s step, but she did not turn round.
Gretchen stood looking at her with an indescribable ex-
pression.
“Why did he come ? ” she asked after a moment.
“ He has been working too hard. The doctor said he was to
rest a little, and take a holiday. So he made up his mind
suddenly to come and see us. He wrote, but the letter hasn’t

come