Then Honor told him that he and she were awaited at Langford, and she went upstairs to get herself ready. In the corner of her room was an old oak box, in which she kept her clothes and few treasures. She opened it, and took out the red cloak, her best and brightest pair of red stockings. Then she touched the paper that contained the kerchief Larry had given her. Should she wear it? No; that she could not wear, and yet she felt as if to have it crossed over her bosom would give it warmth and strength. She opened the paper and looked at the white silk, with its pretty moss-rose buds and sprigs of forget-me-not. A tear fell from her eye on it. She folded it up again, and put it away. Presently she came downstairs, dressed to go with her father. On Sundays she wore a straw bonnet with cherry-coloured ribbons in it, but now that the air was full of moisture she could not risk her pretty bows in the wet. She would draw the hood of her scarlet cloak over her head. Neither she nor her father spoke much on the way to Langford. He was, as Kate had said, not ill-pleased at the alliance—indeed, but for the trouble about Charles, he would have been exultant. Honor had been brought to accept what was best for her and for all the family at last. Oliver had easily accepted Kate’s assertion that Charles was innocent, but he would not maintain the innocence of Charles before Honor, lest it should cause her to draw back from her engagement. Even on a fine day, with the sun streaming in at the two windows, Langford’s parlour was not cheerful. It was panelled with deal, painted slate-grey; the mouldings were coarse and heavy. There were no curtains to the windows, only blinds, no carpet on the floor, and the furniture was stiff, the chairs and sofa covered with black horsehair. What was in the room was in sound condition and substantial, but tasteless. Even the table was bare of cover. Till Honor entered in her scarlet cloak there was not a speck of pure colour in the room. She removed her cloak, and stood in a dark gown, somewhat short, showing below it a strip of red petticoat and her red stockings. Round her neck was a white handkerchief, of cotton, not of silk. Mr. Physick and Langford were at the table; they were waiting, and had been expecting them. Both rose to receive her and her father, the first with effusion, the latter with some embarrassment. ’What is the matter with you, sir?’ asked the carrier of Taverner Langford. ’You don’t look yourself to-day.’