It had been a long day to her--a long, weary, aimless day.

She had tried to read, to play, to sing, to work; and failed in all.

She had visited Mr.
Richards; she had wandered, in a lost sort of way, from room to room; she had lain listlessly on sofas, and tried to sleep, all in vain.

The demon of ennui had taken possession of her; and now, at the end of every resource, she stood looking drearily out at the wintry scene.

She was dressed for the evening, and looked like a picture, buttoned up in that black velvet jacket, its rich darkness such a foil to her fair face and shining golden hair.