‘Is she, ma’am? About how old is the young lady?’
‘About sixteen. Ellen, you know how I trust your judgment—what confidence I have in you?’
‘You have often proved it, Miss Sara, and I hope I shall always deserve it.’
‘I know you will. Well, you will wait upon us at breakfast, and I wish you to notice both Mr. Wellfield and his sister well. I want your opinion about them.’
‘I will do so, Miss Sara,’ said Mrs. Nelson, to whom such proofs of confidence on her mistress’s part were by no means new. She had been the girl’s closest attendant, most faithful servant, and most trusty friend from her earliest infancy. Mrs. Ford had committed her child to Ellen’s care on her death-bed. She loved her lady with the devotion of a mother, and with the dog-like fidelity, as well, of an old, trusty, conservative retainer. Sara was accustomed to consult her upon all imaginable matters, save only those concerning the toilette, in which, she told Ellen, her tastes inclined to the sombre, ‘to the good, old-fashioned dining-room furniture style, Ellen. Your dress always reminds me of maroon rep curtains.’ Ellen knew as well as a woman can know, that there must be something between her mistress and this Mr. Wellfield of the nature of a love-affair. How far it had gone, she did not know. She shrewdly suspected that, sooner or later, she would hear more on the subject. It pleased Sara to enlighten her, at the present moment, on another point.
‘Mr. Wellfield has had a great misfortune lately,’ she said. ‘His father is dead, and he has lost his whole property and estate. He does not know what he may have to live upon, or if anything will be left. He is going to England to settle his affairs, and I have invited Miss Wellfield to stay with me in the meantime.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Ellen had just replied, when the two rings, following quickly one upon the other, announced the expected visitors. Ellen went downstairs to admit them. Sara paced up and down her parlour, thrilling with the sensation that Jerome was far more formidable now, when he had her secret in his keeping, than before, when at best he could only have guessed it.
They stood within the room. Sara felt her heart beating and her eyes swimming, but she discovered where Avice stood, and holding out her arms said, in a faltering voice:
‘Has he told you? Will you come to me?’
‘Oh, how good you are!’ sobbed the girl, springing forward, throwing her arms about her neck, and hiding her face on her shoulder. ‘How very good you are!’