His tone was frigid. Alice felt it painfully. She stood there before him in the blaze of light, all too conscious of her shabby dress, her subdued manner, all her other disadvantages. Not far off sat a young lady in rich white silk and lace, diamond bracelets gleaming on her arms. Times had indeed changed!
"Are any of your family here to-night, Miss Raynor? I do not see them."
"No; oh no;—I am only the governess here," replied poor Alice, making the confession in bitter pain. And he might hear it in her voice.
"Oh—the governess," he assented, quite unmoved. "I hope Mrs. Raynor is well."
"Not very well, thank you."
Mr. Stane moved away. She saw him several times after that in different parts of the room; but he did not come near her again.
And that, the first night that Alice spent at her new home, was passed in the same cruel pain, her pillow wet with tears. Pain, not so much for the life of ease she had once enjoyed, the one of labour she had entered upon, not so much in regret for the changed position she held in the world, as for the loss of the love of William Stane.
[CHAPTER V.]
THE MISSING DESK
But there is something yet to relate of the afternoon. It was about five o'clock when Edina reached home. Very much to her astonishment she saw a gentleman seated by Mrs. Raynor. The tea-things were on the table. Bobby sat on the floor. Kate stood, her back to the window, gazing with some awe at the visitor—so unusual an event in the retired household. He was a scanty-haired little gentleman, with cold, light eyes, and a trim, neat dress. Edina knew him at once, and held out her hand. It was Street, the banker.