‘Ask the young lady who has just left me to step back again,’ she said to the attendant.  ‘Quick! or she will be gone.’

Cytherea was now in the vestibule, thinking that if she had told her history, Miss Aldclyffe might perhaps have taken her into the household; yet her history she particularly wished to conceal from a stranger.  When she was recalled she turned back without feeling much surprise.  Something, she knew not what, told her she had not seen the last of Miss Aldclyffe.

‘You have somebody to refer me to, of course,’ the lady said, when Cytherea had re-entered the room.

‘Yes:  Mr. Thorn, a solicitor at Aldbrickham.’

‘And are you a clever needlewoman?’

‘I am considered to be.’

‘Then I think that at any rate I will write to Mr. Thorn,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, with a little smile.  ’It is true, the whole proceeding is very irregular; but my present maid leaves next Monday, and neither of the five I have already seen seem to do for me. . . .  Well, I will write to Mr. Thorn, and if his reply is satisfactory, you shall hear from me.  It will be as well to set yourself in readiness to come on Monday.’

When Cytherea had again been watched out of the room, Miss Aldclyffe asked for writing materials, that she might at once communicate with Mr. Thorn.  She indecisively played with the pen.  ’Suppose Mr. Thorn’s reply to be in any way disheartening—­and even if so from his own imperfect acquaintance with the young creature more than from circumstantial knowledge—­I shall feel obliged to give her up.  Then I shall regret that I did not give her one trial in spite of other people’s prejudices.  All her account of herself is reliable enough—­yes, I can see that by her face.  I like that face of hers.’

Miss Aldclyffe put down the pen and left the hotel without writing to Mr. Thorn.

V. THE EVENTS OF ONE DAY

1.  August the eighth.  Morning and afternoon

At post-time on that following Monday morning, Cytherea watched so anxiously for the postman, that as the time which must bring him narrowed less and less her vivid expectation had only a degree less tangibility than his presence itself.  In another second his form came into view.  He brought two letters for Cytherea.

One from Miss Aldclyffe, simply stating that she wished Cytherea to come on trial:  that she would require her to be at Knapwater House by Monday evening.

The other was from Edward Springrove.  He told her that she was the bright spot of his life:  that her existence was far dearer to him than his own:  that he had never known what it was to love till he had met her.  True, he had felt passing attachments to other faces from time to time; but they all had been weak inclinations towards those faces as they then appeared.  He loved her past and future, as well as her present.  He pictured her as a child:  he loved her.  He pictured her of sage years:  he loved her.  He pictured her in trouble; he loved her.  Homely friendship entered into his love for her, without which all love was evanescent.