"Oh, but it's her livelihood! We could hardly turn her away like that, unless there was anything definite. There should always be infinite pitifulness, to my mind. Mine is only a humble little creed, but that's the keynote of it all. Long-suffering. Sometimes a woman can do more than a man in such cases. Much as one would dislike it, perhaps one might say a word or two."
"Well, well, it's very good of you, I'm sure. The poor thing may be in a false position altogether," said the Alderman, with more compassion than Edna, in spite of her creed, thought altogether called for by the possible plight of the Lady Superintendent.
"I know I can rely on you to keep all this to yourself absolutely. Perhaps I ought hardly to have spoken, but it gave me a great shock this afternoon. However, we needn't go into that. There is really nothing to be done, except to be very much on one's guard as to possible gossip amongst the staff."
"We must await developments," said the Alderman solemnly.
On this noncommittal cliché, he thanked Lady Rossiter very much for having brought him to the steps of the Council House, and ponderously ascended them, still evidently full of thought as to her hinted revelations.
Edna, deeply reflective, was motored back to Culmhayes. The question of the presentation had almost been driven from her mind by the preoccupation engendered at the sight of Mark Easter and Miss Marchrose in their companionable solitude. Her suspicions, already stirring, were now in a lively state of activity, and her feelings divided between an unconscious satisfaction in having been proved a true prophet and a very real apprehension as to the condition of Mark Easter's affections. She remained, however, carefully compassionate in her thoughts of the chief culprit, and was resolved that no impetuosity of Alderman Bellew's should summarily deprive Miss Marchrose of a good post, and incidentally provide her with a grievance.
Edna's appeal to the Alderman had been as nearly impulsive as any utterance of hers ever could be. She had chosen her words—as she always did—but the instinct that had moved her to speak at all was the age-old and overmastering desire of drawing attention instantly to the failure of a fellow-creature in subscribing to the recognised code.
She consecrated several grave moments of thought to the situation, which she mentally qualified as a problem, although she would have been puzzled to define the exact necessity for a solution.
In her own room, Lady Rossiter became still further conscious of the disturbed state of her spirits.
She rang for her maid.