kissed her hurriedly. Maisie's eyebrows climbed to the top of her forehead; she was altogether unused to these demonstrations. 'Mind my hat,' she said, hurrying away, and ran down the steps to Dick waiting by the hansom.
'Are you quite warm enough? Are you sure you wouldn't like some more breakfast? Put this cloak over your knees.'
'I'm quite comfy, thanks. Where are we going, Dick? Oh, do stop singing like that. People will think we're mad.'
'Let 'em think,—if the exertion doesn't kill them. They don't know who we are, and I'm sure I don't care who they are. My faith, Maisie, you're looking lovely!'
Maisie stared directly in front of her and did not reply. The wind of a keen clear winter morning had put colour into her cheeks. Overhead, the creamy-yellow smoke-clouds were thinning away one by one against a pale-blue sky, and the improvident sparrows broke off from water-spout committees and cab-rank cabals to clamour of the coming of spring.
'It will be lovely weather in the country,' said Dick.
'But where are we going?'
'Wait and see.'
