"Yes, miss, you have; you've been very kind to me, indeed you have, miss—I shall never forget you, miss. I've been very happy in your service, and should like nothing better than to remain on with you."
"All I can say, Esther, is that you have been a very good servant, and I'm very sorry to part with you. And I hope you'll remember if things do not turn out as well as you expect them to, that I shall always be glad to do anything in my power to help you. You'll always find a friend in me. When are you going?"
"As soon as my box is packed, miss, and I shall have about finished by the time the new servant comes in. She's expected at nine; there she is, miss—that's the area bell. Good-bye, miss."
Miss Rice involuntarily held out her hand. Esther took it, and thus encouraged she said—
"There never was anyone that clear-headed and warm-hearted as yerself, miss. I may have a lot of trouble, miss…. If I wasn't yer servant I'd like to kiss you."
Miss Rice did not answer, and before she was aware, Esther had taken her in her arms and kissed her. "You're not angry with me, miss; I couldn't help myself."
"No, Esther, I'm not angry."
"I must go now and let her in."
Miss Rice walked towards her writing-table, and a sense of the solitude of her life coming upon her suddenly caused her to burst into tears. It was one of those moments of effusion which take women unawares. But her new servant was coming upstairs and she had to dry her eyes.
Soon after she heard the cabman's feet on the staircase as he went up for Esther's box. They brought it down together, and Miss Rice heard her beg of him to be careful of the paint. The girl had been a good and faithful servant to her; she was sorry to lose her. And Esther was equally sorry that anyone but herself should have the looking after of that dear, kind soul. But what could she do? She was going to be married. She did not doubt that William was going to marry her; and the cab had hardly entered the Brompton Road when her thoughts were fully centred in the life that awaited her. This sudden change of feeling surprised her, and she excused herself with the recollection that she had striven hard for Fred, but as she had failed to get him, it was only right that she should think of her husband. Then quite involuntarily the thought sprang upon her that he was a fine fellow, and she remembered the line of his stalwart figure as he walked down the street. There would be a parlour behind the bar, in which she would sit. She would be mistress of the house. There would be a servant, a potboy, and perhaps a barmaid.