“I am afraid I have taken a liberty in answering you personally, when I ought to have answered by letter.  My only excuse is that I have no time to arrange for an interview, in London, by correspondence.  I live in Scotland, and I am obliged to return by the mail to-night.”

He paused.  She was looking at him.  Did she understand him?

She understood him only too well.  For the first time, poor soul, in the miserable years of her school life, she saw eyes that rested on her with the sympathy that is too truly felt to be uttered in words.  The admirable resignation which had learned its first hard lesson under her mother’s neglect—­which had endured, in after-years, the daily persecution that heartless companionship so well knows how to inflict—­failed to sustain her, when one kind look from a stranger poured its balm into the girl’s sore heart.  Her head sank; her wasted figure trembled; a few tears dropped slowly on the bosom of her shabby dress.  She tried, desperately tried, to control herself.  “I beg your pardon, sir,” was all she could say; “I am not very well.”

Miss Wigger tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the door.  “Are you well enough to see your way out?” she asked.

Linley turned on the wretch with a mind divided between wonder and disgust.  “Good God, what has she done to deserve being treated in that way?” he asked.

Miss Wigger’s mouth widened; Miss Wigger’s forehead developed new wrinkles.  To own it plainly, the schoolmistress smiled.

When it is of serious importance to a man to become acquainted with a woman’s true nature—­say, when he contemplates marriage—­his one poor chance of arriving at a right conclusion is to find himself provoked by exasperating circumstances, and to fly into a passion.  If the lady flies into a passion on her side, he may rely on it that her faults are more than balanced by her good qualities.  If, on the other hand, she exhibits the most admirable self-control, and sets him an example which ought to make him ashamed of himself, he has seen a bad sign, and he will do well to remember it.

Miss Wigger’s self-control put Herbert Linley in the wrong, before she took the trouble of noticing what he had said.

“If you were not out of temper,” she replied, “I might have told you that I don’t allow my house to be made an office for the engagement of governesses.  As it is, I merely remind you that your carriage is at the door.”

He took the only course that was open to him; he took his hat.

Sydney turned away to leave the room.  Linley opened the door for her.  “Don’t be discouraged,” he whispered as she passed him; “you shall hear from me.”  Having said this, he made his parting bow to the schoolmistress.  Miss Wigger held up a peremptory forefinger, and stopped him on his way out.  He waited, wondering what she would do next.  She rang the bell.

“You are in the house of a gentlewoman,” Miss Wigger explained.  “My servant attends visitors, when they leave me.”  A faint smell of soap made itself felt in the room; the maid appeared, wiping her smoking arms on her apron.  “Door.  I wish you good-morning”—­were the last words of Miss Wigger.