"The crush when Charlotte gets in will be abominable," she
remarked. For they were to pick up Miss Bartlett at Summer
Street, where she had been dropped as the carriage went down, to
pay a call on Mr. Beebe's old mother. "We shall have to sit three
a side, because the trees drop, and yet it isn't raining. Oh, for
a little air!" Then she listened to the horse's hoofs--"He has
not told--he has not told." That melody was blurred by the soft
road. "CAN'T we have the hood down?" she demanded, and her mother,
with sudden tenderness, said: "Very well, old lady, stop the
horse." And the horse was stopped, and Lucy and Powell wrestled
with the hood, and squirted water down Mrs. Honeychurch's neck.
But now that the hood was down, she did see something that she
would have missed--there were no lights in the windows of Cissie
Villa, and round the garden gate she fancied she saw a padlock.
"Is that house to let again, Powell?" she called.
"Yes, miss," he replied.
"Have they gone?"
"It is too far out of town for the young gentleman, and his
father's rheumatism has come on, so he can't stop on alone, so
they are trying to let furnished," was the answer.
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