Chapter 9

On the next morning, after a sharp frost, the sun shone brightly as in
spring. Fan was up early and enjoyed her breakfast, notwithstanding the
late supper, and not in the least disturbed by the scornful words flung
at her by the housemaid when she brought up the tray. After breakfasting
she went to Miss Starbrow's room, to find her still in bed and not
inclined to get up.

"Put on your dress and go for a walk in Kensington Gardens," she said. "I
think it is a fine day, for a wonder. You may stop out until one o'clock,
if you like, and take my watch, so as to know the time. And if you wish
to rest while out don't sit down on a bench, or you will be sure to have
someone speak to you. According to the last census, or Registrar-
General's report, or whatever it is, there are twenty thousand young
gentlemen loafers in London, who spend their whole time hanging about the
parks and public places trying to make the acquaintance of young girls.
Sit on a chair by yourself when you are tired--you can always find a
chair even in winter--and give the chairman a penny when he comes to
you."

"I haven't got a penny, Mary. But it doesn't matter; I'll not get tired."

"Then I must give you a purse and some money, and you must never go out
without it, and don't mind spending a little money now and then, and
giving away a penny when you feel inclined. Give me my writing desk and
the keys."

She opened the desk and took out a small plush purse, then some silver
and coppers to put in it, and finally a sovereign.

"The silver you can use, the sovereign you must not change, but keep it
in case you should require money when I am not with you."

With all these fresh proofs of Mary's affection to make her happy, in her
lovely new dress and hat, and the beautiful gold chain on her bosom, Fan
went out for her walk feeling as light-hearted as a linnet. It was the
last day of November, usually a dreary time in London, but never had the
world looked so bright and beautiful to Fan as on that morning; and as
she walked along with swift elastic tread she could hardly refrain from
bursting bird-like into some natural joyous melody. Passing into the
Gardens at the Queen's Road entrance, she went along the Broad Walk to
the Round Pond, and then on to the Albert Memorial, shining with gold and
brilliant colours in the sun like some fairy edifice. Running up the
steps she walked round and round the sculptured base of the monument,
studying the marble faces and reading the names, and above all admiring
the figures there--blind old Homer playing on his harp, with Dante,
Shakespeare, Milton, and all the immortal sons of song, grouped about him
listening. But nothing to her mind