‘I wonder whether Mrs. Jarmey knows I’m here,’ Thyrza said.  ’You think not?  Won’t someone be coming to see you?  Won’t Mary?’

’Yes.  She always calls for me to go to chapel.  Would you rather not see her?’

‘Not to-day, Lyddy.  Not till I’m in my own home.’

’But I may tell her you’re here?  I’ll go down in time to meet her, and I won’t go to chapel this morning.  No, I’ll stay with you this morning, dear.’

So it was arranged.  And they cooked their dinner as they used to; only Thyrza declared that Lydia had been extravagant in providing.

’I see how you indulge yourself, now that I’m away!  Oh yes, of course you pretend it’s only for me.’

How could she be so merry?  Lydia thought.  But this smile was not always on her face.

The day passed very quickly.  Lydia said she would go out whilst Thyrza was with the Grails; she had promised to see someone.  Thyrza did not ask who it was.

When she came upstairs again the other had not yet returned.  She was yet a quarter of an hour away.  Then she appeared with signs of haste.

‘I was afraid you’d be here alone,’ she said.

‘But have you had tea, Lyddy?’

‘Yes.’

This ‘yes’ was said rather mysteriously.  And Lydia’s subsequent behaviour was also mysterious.  She took her hat off and stood with it in her hand, as if not knowing where to put it.  Then she sat down, forgetting that she still wore her jacket.  Reminded of this, she stood about the room, undecidedly.

‘What are you thinking of, Lyddy?’

‘Nothing.’

She sat down at last, but had so singular a countenance that Thyrza was obliged to remark on it.

‘What have you been doing?  Never mind, if you’d rather not tell me.’

Two or three minutes passed before Lydia could make up her mind to tell.  She began by saying: 

‘You know when I went down to see Mary this morning?’

‘Yes,’

’She said she’d seen—­that she’d seen Mrs. Poole, and that I was to be sure to go round to Mrs. Poole’s some time in the afternoon, as she wanted to see me, particular.’

‘Yes.  And that’s where you went?’

Lydia seemed to have no more to say.  Thyrza looked at her searchingly.

’Well, Lyddy, there’s nothing in that.  What else?  I know there’s something else.’

’Yes, there is.  I went to the house, and, when I knocked at the door, Mr. Ackroyd opened it.’

Thyrza had begun to tremble.  Her eyes watched her sister’s face eagerly; she read something in the heightened colour it showed.

‘And then, Lyddy?  And then?’

’He asked me to come into the sitting-room.  And then he—­he said he wanted me to marry him, Thyrza.’

‘Lyddy!  It is true?  At last?’