Mrs. Pearson was a smart, clever-looking woman of five or six and thirty.  She had all the variety of small-talk at her finger-ends, that was formerly needed by barbers to amuse the people who came to be shaved.  She had admired the town till Jemima was weary of its praises, sick and oppressed by its sameness, as she had been these many weeks.

“Here are some bonnets, ma’am, that will be just the thing for you—­elegant and tasty, yet quite of the simple style, suitable to young ladies.  Oblige me by trying on this white silk!”

Jemima looked at herself in the glass; she was obliged to own it was very becoming, and perhaps not the less so for the flush of modest shame which came into her cheeks, as she heard Mrs. Pearson’s open praises of the “rich, beautiful hair,” and the “Oriental eyes” of the wearer.

“I induced the young lady who accompanied your sisters the other day—­the governess, is she, ma’am?”

“Yes—­Mrs. Denbigh is her name,” said Jemima, clouding over.

“Thank you, ma’am.  Well, I persuaded Mrs. Denbigh to try on that bonnet, and you can’t think how charming she looked in it; and yet I don’t think it became her as much as it does you.”

“Mrs. Denbigh is very beautiful,” said Jemima, taking off the bonnet, and not much inclined to try on any other.

“Very, ma’am.  Quite a peculiar style of beauty.  If I might be allowed, I should say that hers was a Grecian style of loveliness, while yours was Oriental.  She reminded me of a young person I once knew in Fordham.”  Mrs. Pearson sighed an audible sigh.

“In Fordham!” said Jemima, remembering that Ruth had once spoken of the place as one in which she had spent some time, while the county in which it was situated was the same in which Ruth was born.  “In Fordham!  Why, I think Mrs. Denbigh comes from that neighbourhood.”

“Oh, ma’am! she cannot be the young person I mean—­I am sure, ma’am—­holding the position she does in your establishment.  I should hardly say I knew her myself; for I only saw her two or three times at my sister’s house; but she was so remarked for her beauty, that I remember her face quite well—­the more so, on account of her vicious conduct afterwards.”

“Her vicious conduct!” repeated Jemima, convinced by these words that there could be no identity between Ruth and “young person” alluded to.  “Then it could not have been our Mrs. Denbigh.”

“Oh no, ma’am!  I am sure I should be sorry to be understood to have suggested anything of the kind.  I beg your pardon if I did so.  All I meant to say—­and perhaps that was a liberty I ought not to have taken, considering what Ruth Hilton was——­”

“Ruth Hilton!” said Jemima, turning suddenly round, and facing Mrs. Pearson.

“Yes, ma’am, that was the name of the young person I allude to.”

“Tell me about her—­what did she do?” asked Jemima, subduing her eagerness of tone and look as best she might, but trembling as on the verge of some strange discovery.