‘Oh no, it’ll do any time.’

‘Whilst I think of it,’ said Mrs. Bower, letting her sewing fall upon her lap and settling the upper part of her stout body in an attitude of dignity; ’you and your sister ‘ll come an’ eat your Christmas dinner with us?’

Lydia east down her eyes.

’It’s very kind of you, Mrs. Bower, but I’m sure I don’t know whether Thyrza ’ll be well enough.  I must be very careful of her for a time.’

’Well, well, you’ll see.  It’ll only be a quiet little fam’ly dinner this year.  You’ll know there’s places kep’ for you.’

Lydia again expressed her thanks, then took leave.  As she left the shop, she heard Mr. Bower’s voice again raised in impressive oratory.

On entering the house in Walnut Tree Walk, she found Mrs. Grail just descending the stairs.  The old lady never spoke above her breath at such casual meetings outside her own door.

‘Come in for a minute,’ she whispered.

Lydia followed her into the parlour.  Gilbert was settled for the evening at the table.  A volume lent by Egremont lay before him, and he was making notes from it.  At Lydia’s entrance he rose and spoke a word, then resumed his reading.

’I’ve just taken Thyrza a little morsel of jelly I made this afternoon,’ Mrs. Grail said, apart to the girl.  ’I’m sure she looks better to-night.’

’How good you are, Mrs. Grail!  Yes, she does look better, but I couldn’t have believed a day or two ’ud have made her so weak.  I shan’t let her go out before Christmas.’

‘No, I don’t think you ought, my dear.’

As Mrs. Grail spoke, the knocker of the house-door sounded an unusual summons, a rat-tat, not loud indeed, but distinct from the knocks wont to be heard here.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Jarmey are both out,’ said Lydia.  ’They’re gone to the theatre.  Perhaps it’s for you, Mrs. Grail?’

‘No, that’s not at all likely.’

‘I’ll go.’

Lydia opened.  A gentleman stood without; he inquired in a pleasant voice if Mr. Grail was at home.

‘I think so,’ Lydia said.  ‘Will you please wait a minute?’

She hurried back to the parlour.

‘It’s a gentleman wants to see Mr. Grail,’ she whispered, with the momentary excitement which any little out-of-the-way occurrence produces in those who live a life void of surprises.  And she glanced at Gilbert, who had heard what she said.  He rose: 

’I wonder whether it’s Mr. Egremont!  Thank you, Miss Trent; I’ll go to the door.’

Lydia escaped up the stairs.  Gilbert went out into the passage, and his surmise was confirmed.  Egremont was there, sheltering himself under an umbrella from rain which was once more beginning to fell.

‘Could I have a word with you?’ he said, with friendly freedom.  ’I should have written, but I had to pass so near—­’

‘I’m very glad.  Will you come in?’

It was the first time that Egremont had been at the house.  Gilbert conducted him into the parlour, and took from him his hat and umbrella.