"Let's go to my room.

Your father will be busy for some time, and we shall not be disturbed there." She led the way, and lit a small gas fire.

"I can't be cold in my bedroom," she said; "and though I hate these things, they are better than nothing.

Now, dear, what is it ?" Hilda seated herself on a footstool on the other side of the fire, and stared into it.

The light shone on her fair skin and hair, and Mrs.
Lessing contemplated her with satisfaction from several points of view.
For one thing, Hilda was so sensible....
"What is it ?" she asked again.