It was her habit to stop for a last look at little Frances before she left the house, but to-day she hurried past the nursery, and ran downstairs and out of doors, where Mrs.Fowler was getting into a hansom with the assistance of Burrows, the English butler.
"May I drop you somewhere, Gabriella ?" inquired Mrs.Fowler, while Burrows arranged the parcels on the seat of the hansom.

In the strong sunshine all the little lines which were imperceptible in the shadow of the house--lines of sleeplessness, of anxiety, of prolonged aching suspense--appeared to start out as if by magic in her face.

And over this underlying network of anxious thoughts there dropped suddenly, like a veil, that look of artificial pleasantness.

She would have died sooner than lift it before one of the servants.
"No, thank you.

I need the walk," answered Gabriella, stopping beside the hansom.