’If it weren’t for baby theere, I could think as it were my death as ‘ud be best.  Them as one thinks t’ most on, forgets one soonest.’

It was Kinraid to whom she was alluding; but Hester did not understand her; and after standing for a moment in silence, she kissed her, and left her for the night.

CHAPTER XL

AN UNEXPECTED MESSENGER

After this agitation, and these partial confidences, no more was said on the subject of Philip for many weeks.  They avoided even the slightest allusion to him; and none of them knew how seldom or how often he might be present in the minds of the others.

One day the little Bella was unusually fractious with some slight childish indisposition, and Sylvia was obliged to have recourse to a never-failing piece of amusement; namely, to take the child into the shop, when the number of new, bright-coloured articles was sure to beguile the little girl out of her fretfulness.  She was walking along the high terrace of the counter, kept steady by her mother’s hand, when Mr. Dawson’s market-cart once more stopped before the door.  But it was not Mrs. Brunton who alighted now; it was a very smartly-dressed, very pretty young lady, who put one dainty foot before the other with care, as if descending from such a primitive vehicle were a new occurrence in her life.  Then she looked up at the names above the shop-door, and after ascertaining that this was indeed the place she desired to find, she came in blushing.

‘Is Mrs. Hepburn at home?’ she asked of Hester, whose position in the shop brought her forwards to receive the customers, while Sylvia drew Bella out of sight behind some great bales of red flannel.

‘Can I see her?’ the sweet, south-country voice went on, still addressing Hester.  Sylvia heard the inquiry, and came forwards, with a little rustic awkwardness, feeling both shy and curious.

‘Will yo’ please walk this way, ma’am?’ said she, leading her visitor back into her own dominion of the parlour, and leaving Bella to Hester’s willing care.

‘You don’t know me!’ said the pretty young lady, joyously.  ’But I think you knew my husband.  I am Mrs. Kinraid!’

A sob of surprise rose to Sylvia’s lips—­she choked it down, however, and tried to conceal any emotion she might feel, in placing a chair for her visitor, and trying to make her feel welcome, although, if the truth must be told, Sylvia was wondering all the time why her visitor came, and how soon she would go.

‘You knew Captain Kinraid, did you not?’ said the young lady, with innocent inquiry; to which Sylvia’s lips formed the answer, ‘Yes,’ but no clear sound issued therefrom.

’But I know your husband knew the captain; is he at home yet?  Can I speak to him?  I do so want to see him.’

Sylvia was utterly bewildered; Mrs. Kinraid, this pretty, joyous, prosperous little bird of a woman, Philip, Charley’s wife, what could they have in common? what could they know of each other?  All she could say in answer to Mrs. Kinraid’s eager questions, and still more eager looks, was, that her husband was from home, had been long from home:  she did not know where he was, she did not know when he would come back.