Gilbert had a desire to join Ackroyd, now that the latter was alone.  But as he began to recross the street, the young man moved on and turned into a public-house.  Gilbert again stopped, and, disregarding the crowds about him, lost himself in thought.  He determined at length to go his way.

Mrs. Grail had supper ready, with some mince pies of her own making.

‘Each lot I make,’ she said, as they sat down, ’I say to myself they’ll be the last.’

‘No, no, mother; we shall eat a good many together yet,’ Gilbert replied, cheerily.  The wind had brought a touch of colour to his cheeks and made his eyes glisten.

‘Have you taken any upstairs?’ he asked presently.

‘No, my dear.  Do you think I may?’

‘Oh, I should think so.’

The old lady looked at him and grew thoughtful.

There was no work to rise to on the morrow.  With a clear conscience Gilbert could sit on into the still hours which were so precious to him.  And again, before going to rest, he stepped quietly from the house to look at the upper windows.

CHAPTER X

TEMPTING FORTUNE

Thyrza continued to be far from well.  The day-long darkness encouraged her natural tendency to sad dreaming.  When alone, in Lydia’s absence at the work-room, she sometimes had fits of weeping; it was a relief to shed tears.  She could have given no explanation of the sufferings which found this outlet; her heart lay under a cold weight, that was all she knew.

Lydia pursued her course with the usual method and contentment, yet, in these days just before Christmas, with a perceptible falling off in the animation which was the note of her character.  Perhaps she too was affected by the weather; perhaps she was anxious about Thyrza; one would have said, however, that she had some trouble distinct from these.

On Christmas Eve she ran round to Paradise Street, to make arrangements for the next day.  Evidently it would not be wise for Thyrza to leave home; that being the ease, it was decided that Mr. Boddy should come and have tea with the girls in their own room.  Lydia talked over these things with Mary in the kitchen below the shop, where odours of Christmas fare were already rife.  The parlour was full of noisy people, amid whom Mr. Bower was holding weighty discourse; the friends had gone below for privacy.

’So I shall keep the coat till he comes, Lydia said.  ’I know Thyrza would like to see his poor old face when he puts it on.  And you might come round yourself, Mary, just for an hour.’

‘I’ll see if I can.’

‘I suppose you’ll have people at night?’

’I don’t know, I’m sure.  I’d much rather come and sit with you, but mother may want me.’

Lydia asked: 

‘Has Mr. Ackroyd been here lately?’

‘I haven’t seen him.  I hope not.’

‘Why do you say that, Mary?’ asked Lydia impatiently.