A voice whispered, a very timid, one would have said a guilty, voice, ’Who will be called ‘Mrs. Egremont’?’ Not once; the voice, faint as it was, had an echo, a tingling echo from her heart outwards to the smallest vein.  Who will bear that name?  Some tall, beautiful, richly-clad lady, such as Miss Newthorpe.  Was there any one who at this moment sat alone, longing for one look of his eyes?  Did ladies think and feel in that way? or only foolish little work-girls, who all their lives had dreamed dreams of a world that was not theirs?  Did ladies ever press down a heart beating almost to anguish and say, half-aloud, to themselves:  ‘I love you!’

No; a stately life theirs, no weakness, no sense of a measureless need, self-respect ever, and ever respect from all about them.  Think of Miss Newthorpe’s face.  How noble it was!  How impossible that it should plead for anything It might concede with a high, gracious smile, but not beseech anything.  That was the part of poor girls who had not been taught, in whom it was no shame to look up to one far above them and long—­long for kindness.

The sunlight was creeping along the floor, nearer to her.  Oh sun of spring! nearer, nearer!  Your warmth upon my hands, upon my face!  Your warmth upon my heart, that something warm may press there!

The clocks were striking ten.  It was unkind to leave Mrs. Grail alone.  The girl hired to do rough work was coming today, but for all that it behoved her to be attentive to the good old lady, who never spoke to her save with good, motherly words.

Yes, away with it all!  She must go down and be company to Gilbert’s mother.  Had she forgotten that in less than a week she would be Gilbert’s wife?  A simple test:  could she speak out these thoughts of hers to Lyddy?  The hot current in her veins was answer enough.  And that had been the criterion of right and wrong with her since she was a little child.  Lyddy knew the right instinctively, and never failed to act upon her knowledge.  What had been Lyddy’s thoughts of Luke Ackroyd?  Perhaps not very different from these to which she had been listening; for Lyddy too was a work-girl, not a lady.  Yet the brave sister had kept it all hidden away; more, had done her very best to bring together Luke and someone else whom he loved.  How was it possible to reach that height of unselfishness?  But the example should not be without its effect.

Thyrza presented herself in the parlour.  The room was in some disorder; a girl was on her knees by the fireplace, cleaning.  Thyrza went down to the little back kitchen, which was behind the room where Mr. and Mrs. Jarmey practically lived.  It was dark and cold.  Mrs. Grail was making a pudding,

‘Good-morning, my dear!’ she said, nodding several times.  ’Better now?  I hoped you wouldn’t be down yet, but I suppose you couldn’t sleep for the sunshine.  I don’t think you ought to sit here.’

’Oh, but I’m going to help you.  Please give me something to do.  Shall I clean these knives?’