"From father," murmured Mrs. MacWhirr. "What have you done with your
ribbon?"

The girl put her hands up to her head and pouted.

"He's well," continued Mrs. MacWhirr languidly. "At least I think so.
He never says." She had a little laugh. The girl's face expressed a
wandering indifference, and Mrs. MacWhirr surveyed her with fond pride.

"Go and get your hat," she said after a while. "I am going out to do
some shopping. There is a sale at Linom's."

"Oh, how jolly!" uttered the child, impressively, in unexpectedly grave
vibrating tones, and bounded out of the room.

It was a fine afternoon, with a gray sky and dry sidewalks. Outside the
draper's Mrs. MacWhirr smiled upon a woman in a black mantle of generous
proportions armoured in jet and crowned with flowers blooming falsely
above a bilious matronly countenance. They broke into a swift little
babble of greetings and exclamations both together, very hurried, as if
the street were ready to yawn open and swallow all that pleasure before
it could be expressed.

Behind them the high glass doors were kept on the swing. People couldn't
pass, men stood aside waiting patiently, and Lydia was absorbed in
poking the end of her parasol between the stone flags. Mrs. MacWhirr
talked rapidly.

"Thank you very much. He's not coming home yet. Of course it's very sad