Morning came; the black frost had gone, and the sun shone. After breakfast Jane put on her shawl and bonnet.
Mr. Ashley's residence was very near to them—only a little higher up the road. It was a large house, almost a mansion, surrounded by a beautiful garden. Jane had passed it two or three times, and thought what a nice place it was. She repeatedly saw Mr. Ashley walk past her house as he went to or came from the manufactory: she was not a bad reader of countenances, and she judged him to be a thorough gentleman. His face was a refined one, his manner pleasant.
She found that she had gone at an untoward time. Standing before the hall door was Mr. Ashley's open carriage, the groom standing at the horse's head. Even as Jane ascended the steps the door opened, and Mr. and Mrs. Ashley were coming forth. Feeling terribly distressed and disappointed, she scarcely defined why, Jane accosted the former, and requested a few minutes' interview.
Mr. Ashley looked at her. A fair young widow, evidently a lady. He did not recognise her. He had seen her before, but she was in a different style of dress now.
Mr. Ashley raised his hat as he replied to her. "Is your business with me pressing? I was just going out."
"Indeed it is pressing," she said; "or I would not think of asking to detain you."
"Then walk in," he returned. "A little delay will not make much difference."
Opening the door of a small sitting-room, apparently his own, he invited her to a seat near the fire. As she took it, Jane untied the crape strings of her bonnet and threw back her heavy veil. She was as white as a sheet, and felt choking.
"I fear you are ill," Mr. Ashley remarked. "Can I get you anything?"
"I shall be better in a minute, thank you," she panted. "Perhaps you do not know me, sir. I live in your house, a little lower down. I am Mrs. Halliburton."