Perhaps it was well that Ernest was not at home for very long together, but as yet his affection though hearty was quite Platonic.  He was not only innocent, but deplorably—­I might even say guiltily—­innocent.  His preference was based upon the fact that Ellen never scolded him, but was always smiling and good tempered; besides she used to like to hear him play, and this gave him additional zest in playing.  The morning access to the piano was indeed the one distinct advantage which the holidays had in Ernest’s eyes, for at school he could not get at a piano except quasi-surreptitiously at the shop of Mr Pearsall, the music-seller.

On returning this midsummer he was shocked to find his favourite looking pale and ill.  All her good spirits had left her, the roses had fled from her cheek, and she seemed on the point of going into a decline.  She said she was unhappy about her mother, whose health was failing, and was afraid she was herself not long for this world.  Christina, of course, noticed the change.  “I have often remarked,” she said, “that those very fresh-coloured, healthy-looking girls are the first to break up.  I have given her calomel and James’s powders repeatedly, and though she does not like it, I think I must show her to Dr Martin when he next comes here.”

“Very well, my dear,” said Theobald, and so next time Dr Martin came Ellen was sent for.  Dr Martin soon discovered what would probably have been apparent to Christina herself if she had been able to conceive of such an ailment in connection with a servant who lived under the same roof as Theobald and herself—­the purity of whose married life should have preserved all unmarried people who came near them from any taint of mischief.

When it was discovered that in three or four months more Ellen would become a mother, Christina’s natural good nature would have prompted her to deal as leniently with the case as she could, if she had not been panic-stricken lest any mercy on her and Theobald’s part should be construed into toleration, however partial, of so great a sin; hereon she dashed off into the conviction that the only thing to do was to pay Ellen her wages, and pack her off on the instant bag and baggage out of the house which purity had more especially and particularly singled out for its abiding city.  When she thought of the fearful contamination which Ellen’s continued presence even for a week would occasion, she could not hesitate.

Then came the question—­horrid thought!—­as to who was the partner of Ellen’s guilt?  Was it, could it be, her own son, her darling Ernest?  Ernest was getting a big boy now.  She could excuse any young woman for taking a fancy to him; as for himself, why she was sure he was behind no young man of his age in appreciation of the charms of a nice-looking young woman.  So long as he was innocent she did not mind this, but oh, if he were guilty!