AENEAS MANSTON,
     133, TURNGATE STREET,
          LIVERPOOL.

’Now, then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a selection, and I will add one or two,’ Miss Aldclyffe said.

Mr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of letters, testimonials, and references, sorting them into two heaps.  Manston’s missive, after a mere glance, was thrown amongst the summarily rejected ones.

Miss Aldclyffe read, or pretended to read after the lawyer.  When he had finished, five lay in the group he had selected.  ’Would you like to add to the number?’ he said, turning to the lady.

‘No,’ she said carelessly.  ’Well, two or three additional ones rather took my fancy,’ she added, searching for some in the larger collection.

She drew out three.  One was Manston’s.

‘These eight, then, shall be communicated with,’ said the lawyer, taking up the eight letters and placing them by themselves.

They stood up.  ’If I myself, Miss Aldclyffe, were only concerned personally,’ he said, in an off-hand way, and holding up a letter singly, ’I should choose this man unhesitatingly.  He writes honestly, is not afraid to name what he does not consider himself well acquainted with—­a rare thing to find in answers to advertisements; he is well recommended, and possesses some qualities rarely found in combination.  Oddly enough, he is not really a steward.  He was bred a farmer, studied building affairs, served on an estate for some time, then went with an architect, and is now well qualified as architect, estate agent, and surveyor.  That man is sure to have a fine head for a manor like yours.’  He tapped the letter as he spoke.  ’Yes, I should choose him without hesitation —­speaking personally.’

‘And I think,’ she said artificially, ’I should choose this one as a matter of mere personal whim, which, of course, can’t be given way to when practical questions have to be considered.’

Cytherea, after looking out of the window, and then at the newspapers, had become interested in the proceedings between the clever Miss Aldclyffe and the keen old lawyer, which reminded her of a game at cards.  She looked inquiringly at the two letters—­one in Miss Aldclyffe’s hand, the other in Mr. Nyttleton’s.

‘What is the name of your man?’ said Miss Aldclyffe.

‘His name—­’ said the lawyer, looking down the page; ’what is his name?—­it is Edward Springrove.’

Miss Aldclyffe glanced towards Cytherea, who was getting red and pale by turns.  She looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe.

‘The name of my man,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, looking at her letter in turn; ‘is, I think—­yes—­AEneas Manston.’

5.  SEPTEMBER THE THIRD

The next morning but one was appointed for the interviews, which were to be at the lawyer’s offices.  Mr. Nyttleton and Mr. Tayling were both in town for the day, and the candidates were admitted one by one into a private room.  In the window recess was seated Miss Aldclyffe, wearing her veil down.