‘Do you so utterly abhor the idea of marriage?’ I asked, profoundly astonished.

‘I do,’ said William.

A strange sound broke on our ears.  It seemed to come through the keyhole, and resembled the contemptuous sniff with which Elizabeth always expresses incredulity.  But, of course, it couldn’t have been that.

As I have said, Elizabeth never listens at doors.

CHAPTER VII

(William—­although he has a great regard for Pepys—­does not himself keep a diary.  From time to time, however, he ’chronicles the outstanding events in his career,’ as he puts it.  The following is one of William’s ‘chronicles,’ which shows more knowledge than I have of the happenings in this chapter.)

William’s Story:  The more I think of it the more terrible the thing becomes from every aspect.  Who could have thought that I, only a few days ago placidly drifting down the stream of life, should be jerked into such a maelstrom of difficulties?  I must, however, try to think calmly.  As Dr. Johnson has said, ’One of the principal themes of moral instruction is the art of bearing calamities.’

Let me try to narrate the events in their order—­to trace, as far as possible, how this particular calamity occurred.

It began with Elizabeth.  Or, I should say, she was the bearer of those disastrous tidings which have robbed me of my peace of mind and given me nights of sleepless horror.

Elizabeth, I ought to explain, is employed at the house of my friends, the Warringtons, as domestic worker.  Up to the time of which I write I had barely observed the girl, beyond remarking that she was exceedingly lank as to form, and had a distressing habit of breathing very heavily when serving at table, due, I thought, to asthmatic tendencies.

I learned later that it only betokened anxiety lest she should drop the various vessels she was handing round.

The circumstances which brought her particularly under my notice were singular.  I had called at the Warringtons’ one evening to have a smoke and chat with Henry, as is my wont.  Elizabeth, after showing me into the study, told me that her master had gone out, but asked me to wait as he was expected to return every minute.  I settled myself down, therefore, reached out for the tobacco jar, while my feet sought the familiar ledge below the mantelpiece, when I observed that Elizabeth was hovering in my vicinity.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ she said, speaking with apparent hesitation, ‘but—­but—­do you mind if I speak to you?’

‘Why shouldn’t you speak to me if you want to?’ I said, surprised and rather puzzled.

’Well, you see, sir, it’s a bit ’ard to tell you.  I dunno how to begin exactly—­makes me feel like a cat treadin’ on ‘ot plates.’  I quote exactly the rough vernacular of the lower classes in which she habitually expresses herself.