Gwendoline

LONDON FOG.

"YOU won't go into the city to-day of course, Stuart?"

The voice betrayed anxiety. It was breakfast-time, but gaslights shone overhead, glittering on chased silver and on broad blue borders of delicate china. Beyond the panes of the two windows only a dense yellow haze was visible.

Mr. Selwyn looked up from a deluge of morning correspondence, following his wife's glance. "It will lessen," he said tranquilly.

"Just this once," she pleaded. "Such a day! Could you not be content to spend one day at home?"

"How about appointments, my love?"

"I daresay you have none of any importance."

"Gwendoline Halcombe, at twelve,—for instance."

"The pretty girl that we met in the Academy with her father? But that need not take you out. You don't seriously suppose any lady would keep an appointment in this fog."

The lawyer's grey eyes laughed pleasantly beneath their broad brows. He was unlawyer-like in aspect, according to conventional notions, being strong and upright in build, with ruddy colouring and particularly straightforward expression.

"I don't for a moment suppose so of 'any' lady," he said. "I suppose it to be not improbable in the case of Miss Halcombe."

"I do not like young women to be too independent,—very young and pretty ones especially."

"Perhaps Miss Halcombe does not like it either. Independence becomes a matter of necessity in certain instances,—with the eldest of ten, for example."

"Is she that?"

"Ten is the number, I believe—ranging from nineteen to three in age."

"What made her fix on to-day?"

"She wrote and asked if she might have a few words with me. I named the day and hour."

"Why not telegraph to put her off?"

"That is far from being my only engagement. Also, I could not reach her. She will be at her painting in the Academy or Kensington, I don't know which."

"Painting! Yes, you promised to take me some day to see her drawings. She is clever, is she not?"

The lawyer was becoming absorbed in another letter. His wife surveyed the window afresh, trying to glean encouragement thence. Failing to do so, the conclusion at which she arrived was uttered aloud, with a sigh of despair.

"It is perfectly awful."

"Eh?" said Mr. Selwyn.

"The fog! It is awful, Stuart."

"It is rather thick, but I have seen worse," mildly admitted Mr. Selwyn.

"If this is only 'rather,' I don't know what 'very' thick may be. You will never get back from the city alive."

"That will scarcely be the fate of every city man. I hope I shall be among the survivors."

"Oh, Stuart, don't joke about it. Suppose something really did happen."

She had been married only nine months, and was as yet unaccustomed to the vicissitudes of the London atmosphere, after twenty-six years in the clear air of a country village. There was something country-like still about her soft plumpness and rosy cheeks. She was rather a pretty little woman, over twenty years her husband's junior. Mr. Selwyn had been married once before for a brief space, and had spent a long widowhood before finding a second wife to his mind. He was still in the prime of life, a lawyer in good practice, a man of considerable private means, and a general favourite, greatly esteemed by all who knew him for his unswerving rectitude and for his kindliness of heart. He had one son, Mortimer by name, four or five and twenty in age.

"Never expect evils, Isobel. I am an old hand at fogs. But, as you say, no need to jest. I have a note from Miss Withers. Lady Halcot desires an interview."

"Halcot! Isn't she the old lady at Riversmouth, who gives you so much trouble?"

"I should not like that description to reach Lady Halcot."

"Not very likely. I don't know any one belonging to her. And Miss Withers is the lady-companion, is she not? I remember. What do they want you to do?"

"I shall have to run down to Riversmouth to-morrow."

"So soon?"

"Lady Halcot expects me to-day. Impossible, unfortunately."

"I am sure I would rather have you go into the country than into the city. There would be some likelihood of your leaving this horrible fog behind you."

"Yes, but I am tied to city work to-day,—no help for it. I think the fog shows signs of lifting."

"I wish I could see them," sighed his wife.

Mr. Selwyn went to his office as usual, only not so quickly as usual, for traffic was under serious difficulties, and the promised "lifting" of the fog took place but slowly. If other people kept to their appointments that day, however, Gwendoline Halcombe unexpectedly failed in hers.