"It is so heavy," said Sybil. "Thanks. Do you know that you have been
making confidences to me, Mr. Surbiton?" she asked, turning and facing
him, with a half-amused, half-serious look in her blue eyes.
"I am afraid I have," he answered, after a short pause. "You must think I
am very foolish."
"Never mind," she said gravely. "They are safe with me."
"Thanks," said Ronald in a low voice.
Josephine entered the room, clad in many furs, and a few minutes later all
three were on their way to Mrs. Wyndham's, the big booby sleigh rocking
and leaping and ploughing in the heavy dry snow.
CHAPTER XV.
Pocock Vancouver was also abroad in the snowstorm. He would not in any
case have stayed at home on account of the weather, but on this particular
morning he had very urgent business with a gentleman who, like Lamb, rose
with the lark, though he did not go to bed with the chickens. There are no
larks in Boston, but the scream of the locomotives answers nearly as well.
Vancouver accordingly had himself driven at an early hour to a certain
house not situated in the West End, but of stone quite as brown, and
having a bay window as prominent as any sixteen-foot-front on Beacon
Street; those advantages, however, did not prevent Mr.
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