Wodehouses.
This is why they were all proceeding together on this particular
afternoon in the week before Christmas towards St Roque's.

In the church, when the party arrived, a little group of workers were
busy. The chancel arch was already bristling with glossy holly-leaves.
At a little distance from the active group occupied with this pleasant
work, and full of chatter and consultation, as was natural, stood one
little figure pointing out to two children the wonders of that decorative
art. Every one of the new-comers, except Mr Wodehouse, recognised Nettie
before she was aware of their presence. She stood with her bonnet fallen
a little back, as it generally was, either by encounter of the wind, or
by the quantity and luxuriance of her beautiful hair, looking upwards
to the point where she had directed the children's eyes. She looked a
little forlorn and solitary, as was natural, all by herself, so near
that group of busy girls in the chancel--so little separated from them
by age, so entirely divided by circumstances. If a certain softening of
half-tender pity shone in the curate's eye, could Lucy Wodehouse blame
him? But the fact was, Lucy swept past the little Australian with a very
brief salutation, and burst into sudden criticism of the work that had
been done in her absence, which startled her collaborateurs, while Mr
Wentworth followed her into the chancel with a meekness quite unusual
to that young priest. Nettie noted both circumstances with a little
surprise; but, not connecting them in the most distant degree with
herself, turned round with a little twitch of Freddy's arm to go away,
and in doing so almost walked into the arms of her older and more faithful
friend. Miss Wodehouse kissed her quite suddenly, touching with her
soft old cheek that rounder, fairer, youthful face, which turned, half
wondering, half pleased, with the look of a child, to receive her
caress. Nettie was as unconscious that Miss Wodehouse's unusual warmth
was meant to make up for Lucy's careless greeting, as that Lucy had
passed her with a positive flutter of resentment and indignation, and
that she had been the subject of the conversation and thoughts of all
the party. Miss Wodehouse turned with her, taking Freddy's other hand--a
proceeding to which that hero rather demurred. They went out together
to the frosty road, where the bare willow-branches rustled between
the church and the cottage. When they reached the porch of St Roque's,