Emily moved slowly home again, and felt rather sensitive about the proposed luncheon at John Mortimer’s house.  She wished she had managed to spare him from being obliged to give the invitation.  She even considered whether Justina could be induced to go alone.  But there was no engagement that could be pleaded as a reason for absenting herself.  What must be done was before they went, to try, without giving needless pain, to place the matter in a truer light.  This would only be fair to poor Justina.

Emily scarcely confessed to her own heart that she was glad of what Miss Christie had said.  She was not, from any thought that it could make the least difference to herself, but, upon reflection, she felt ashamed of how John Mortimer had been wooed, and of how he had betrayed by his smile that he knew it.

That day was a Tuesday, the luncheon was to take place on Saturday, but on Friday afternoon Emily had not found courage or occasion to speak to her friend.  The more she thought about it, the more difficult and ungracious the matter seemed.

Such was the state of things.  Miss Christie was still up-stairs, Justina was seated at work in the drawing-room, and Emily, arrayed in a lilac print apron, was planting some fresh ferns in her jardiniere when the door was opened, and the servant announced Mr. Mortimer.  Emily was finishing her horticulture, and was not at all the kind of person to be put out of countenance on being discovered at any occupation that it suited her fancy to be engaged in.  She, however, blushed beautifully, just as any other woman might have done, on being discovered in her drawing-room so arrayed, and her hands acquainted with peat.

She presently left the room.  John knew she was gone to wash her hands, and hoped she would not stay away long.  “For it won’t do, my lady,” he thought, “however long you leave me.  I will not make an offer to the present candidate, that I am determined!”

In the meantime Justina, wishing to say something of Emily that would sound amiable, and yet help her own cause, remarked pleasantly—­

“Emily is a dear, careless creature—­just like what she was as a girl” (careless creatures, by the bye, are not at all suited to be stepmothers).

“Yes,” answered John, in an abstracted tone, and as if he was not considering Mrs. Walker’s mental characteristics, which was the case, for he was merely occupied in wishing she would return.

“But she wishes to look well, notwithstanding,” continued Justina, as if excusing her, “so no wonder she goes to divest herself of her housemaid’s apron.”

“Ah,” said John, who was no great observer of apparel, “I thought she was not dressed as usual;” but he added, “she is so graceful, that in any array she cannot fail to look well.”