gratefully overhauled the best tea service and polished the lacquer tray which was only used on State occasions.
Not merely the mother-elect, but also godmother Harriet, saw the hand of a very special Providence in the impending visit of Aunt Annie to Beaconsfield Villas. It was only right and fit that the news should be first told to her. The matter must have her sanction. By comparison the rest of the world was of small account. The entire clan Sanderson lived in awe of her, and particularly her imprudent and démodé niece Eliza. The prestige of Aunt Annie was immense, and it did not make things easier for those who lived within the sphere of her influence that the old lady was fully alive to the fact.
Eliza confided to Harriet that she would breathe more freely when the morrow's visit had taken place. Harriet boldly said it didn't really matter what view Aunt Annie took of the affair. But Eliza knew better. In spite of the joys of vicarious motherhood, there could be no peace of mind for Eliza until the fateful day was over.
Half-past four in the afternoon was the hour mentioned in the official note. And it was then, punctual to the minute, that a vehicle of antique design even for that remote period of the world's history, in charge of a Jehu to match it, drew up on the cobblestones exactly opposite Number Five. The fog had cleared considerably since the previous evening, therefore three urchins, spellbound by the appearance of such a turnout in their own private thoroughfare, beheld the slow and stately emergence of a superbly Victorian bonnet of the most authentic design and a black mantle of impressive simplicity.
