Emily Watson told the story of her misfortunes in a low, musical voice, heedless of two or three interruptions, hardly conscious of her listener, impressed and interested by the fatality of circumstances which she believed in design against her.  She was a small, slender girl of about eighteen.  Her abundant chestnut hair—­exquisite, soft, and silky—­was looped picturesquely, and fastened with a thin tortoiseshell comb.  The tiny mouth trembled, and the large, prominent eyes reflected a strange, yearning soul.  She was dressed in white muslin, and the fantastically small waist was confined with a white band.  Her friend and companion, Julia Bentley, was a woman of about thirty, well above the medium height, full-bosomed and small-waisted.  The type was Anglo-Saxon even to commonplace.  The face was long, with a look of instinctive kindness upon it.  She was given to staring, and as she looked at Emily, her blue eyes filled with an expression which told of a nature at once affectionate and intelligent.  She was dressed in yellow linen, and wore a gold bracelet on a well-turned arm.

The room was a long, old-fashioned drawing-room.  It had three windows, and all three were filled with views of the park, now growing pale in the evening air.  The flower-gardens were drawn symmetrically about the house and were set with blue flower-vases in which there were red geraniums.  It was a very large room, nearly forty feet long, with old portraits on the walls—­ugly things and ill done; and where there were no portraits the walls were decorated with vine leaves and mountains.  The parqueted floor was partially covered with skins, and the furniture seemed to have known many a generation; some of it was heavy and cumbersome, some of it was modern.  There was a grand piano, and above it two full-length portraits—­a lady in a blue dress and a man in black velvet knee-breeches.  At the end of a long silence, Emily suddenly threw herself weeping into Julia’s arms.

’Oh, you are my only friend; you will not leave me now....  We shall always love one another, shall we not?  If anything ever came between us it would kill me....  That poor old man lying dead up-stairs!  He loved me very dearly, and I loved him, too.  Yet I said just now I could not have married him even if I had known it would save his life.  I was wrong; yes, I would have married him if I had known....  You don’t believe me?’

’My dearest girl, you must try to forget that Mr. Burnett ever entertained so foolish a thought.  He was a very good man, and loved you for a long time as he should have loved you—­as a daughter.  We shall respect his memory best by forgetting the events of the last six weeks.  And now, Emily, dinner will be ready at seven o’clock, and it is now six.  What are you going to do?’

‘I shall go out for a little walk.  I shall go down and see the swans.’

‘Shall I come with you?’

‘No, thank you, dear; I think I’d sooner be alone.  I want to think.’