Emilia did not answer.

“What extraordinary expedition are you making?  But, tell me one thing:  are you here of your own accord, or at somebody else’s bidding?”

Impatient at the prospect of a continuation of silences, Lady Charlotte added, “Come with me.”

Emilia seemed to be refusing.

“The appointment was made at that house, I know,” said the lady; “but if you come with me, you will see him just as readily.”

At this instant, the lamp was placed on the pillar, showing Wilfrid, in his sailor’s hat and overcoat, beside the fluttering Irishwoman.

“Come, I must speak to you first,” said Lady Charlotte hurriedly, thinking that she saw Emilia’s hands stretch out.  “Pray, don’t go into attitudes.  There he is, as you perceive; and I don’t use witchcraft.  Come with me; I will send for him.  Haven’t you learnt by this time that there’s nothing he detests so much as a public display of the kind you’re trying to provoke?”

Emilia half comprehended her.

“He changes when he’s away from me,” she said, low toneless voice.

“Less than I fancied,” the lady thought.

Then she told Emilia that there was really no necessity for her to whine and be miserable; she was among friends, and so forth.  The simplicity of her manner of speech found its way to Emilia’s reason quicker than her arguments; and, in the belief that Wilfrid was speaking to Mrs. Chump on urgent private matters (she had great awe of the word ’business’), Emilia suffered herself to be led away.  She uttered twice a little exclamation, as she looked back, that sounded exceedingly comical to Lady Charlotte’s ears.  They were the repressions of a poignant outcry.  “Doggies make that noise,” thought the lady, and succeeded in feeling contemptuous.

Wilfrid, when he found that Lady Charlotte was not coming, bestowed a remark upon her sex, and went indoors for his letter.  He considered it politic not to read it there, Mrs. Chump having grown so friendly, and even motherly, that she might desire, out of pure affection, to share the contents.  He put it by and talked gaily, till Mrs. Chump, partly to account for the defection of the lady, observed that she knew they had a quarrel.  She was confirmed in this idea on a note being brought in to him, over which, before opening it, he frowned and flushed.  Aware of the treachery of his countenance, he continued doing so after his eyes had taken in the words, though there was no special ground furnished by them for any such exhibition.  Mrs. Chump immediately, with a gaze of mightiest tribulation, burst out:  “I’ll help ye; ’pon my honour, I’ll help ye.  Oh! the arr’stocracy!  Oh, their pride!  But if I say, my dear, when I die (which it’s so horrud to think of), you’ll have a share, and the biggest—­this vary cottage, and a good parrt o’ the Bank property—­she’ll come down at that.  And if ye marry a lady of title, I’ll be ’s good as my word, I will.”