She entered the shop.  A young female assistant came forward with respectful smile, and waited her commands.

‘I wish, if you please, to see Mrs. Peak.’

‘Oh yes, madam!  Will you have the goodness to walk this way?’

Too late Marcella remembered that she ought to have gone to the house-entrance.  The girl led her out of the shop into a dark passage, and thence into a sitting-room which smelt of lavender.  Here she waited for a few moments; then the door opened softly, and Mrs. Peak presented herself.

There was no shock.  The widow had the air of a gentlewoman—­walked with elderly grace—­and spoke with propriety.  She resembled Godwin, and this time it was not painful to remark the likeness.

‘I have come to Twybridge,’ began Marcella, gently and respectfully, ’that is to say, I have stopped in passing—­to ask for the address of Mr. Godwin Peak.  A letter has failed to reach him.

It was her wish to manage without either disclosing the truth about herself or elaborating fictions, but after the first words she felt it impossible not to offer some explanation.  Mrs. Peak showed a slight surprise.  With the courage of cowardice, Marcella continued more rapidly: 

’My name is Mrs. Ward.  My husband used to know Mr. Peak, in London, a few years ago, but we have been abroad, and unfortunately have lost sight of him.  We remembered that Mr. Peak’s relatives lived at Twybridge, and, as we wish very much to renew the old acquaintance, I took the opportunity—­passing by rail.  I made inquiries in the town, and was directed to you—­I hope rightly’——­

The widow’s face changed to satisfaction.  Evidently her straightforward mind accepted the story as perfectly credible.  Marcella, with bitterness, knew herself far from comely enough to suggest perils.  She looked old enough for the part she was playing, and the glove upon her hand might conceal a wedding-ring.

‘Yes, you were directed rightly,’ Mrs. Peak made quiet answer.  ’I shall be very glad to give you my son’s address.  He left London about last Christmas, and went to live at Exeter.’

‘Exeter?  We thought he might be out of England.’

’No; he has lived all the time at Exeter.  The address is Longbrook Street’—­she added the number.  ’He is studying, and finds that part of the country pleasant.  I am hoping to see him here before very long.’

Marcella did not extend the conversation.  She spoke of having to catch a train, and veiled as well as she could beneath ordinary courtesies her perplexity at the information she had received.

When she again reached the house at Notting Hill, Christian was absent.  He came home about nine in the evening.  It was impossible not to remark his strange mood of repressed excitement; but Marcella did not question him, and Christian had resolved to conceal the day’s event until he could speak of it without agitation.  Before they parted for the night, Marcella said carelessly: