Though Yootha Hagerston had now inherited the little fortune left to her by her aunt, she had not thought it necessary to change her mode of living, or even to move from her flat near Knightsbridge into more expensive quarters, as one or two of her snobbish-minded acquaintances had told her they supposed she would do.
Of late she had, however, changed in some ways, as many people had noticed. She seemed pensive, at times quite distraite, and this gave rise to various conjectures among her many casual acquaintances. By some it was hinted that “there must be a man in the case,” though none could think who the man could be, as Yootha was not by any means fond of men’s society; on the contrary, she often freely admitted that the conversation of most young men, and even middle-aged men, bored her considerably.
“Yootha Hagerston will never marry—mark my words,” a woman who had known her “since she was so high,” observed sententiously one day. She lived in the neighborhood of Yootha’s home in Cumberland with a crushed creature she called a husband, and had always strongly disapproved of what she called “the girl’s abominable independence” in deserting the stagnation of her native village to live her own life in London. “What is more,” the woman used sometimes to add, “I should not be a bit surprised if one day we heard some deplorable story about her. It’s just what the Bible says, ‘Bring up a child and away it do go,’ and the Bible speaks the truth every time, you know.”
It was this futile person who had first hinted to Yootha’s parents that it was not comme il faut for a daughter of theirs to live a bachelor life in London, and it was on the strength of her having said so that Yootha’s father had spoken as he had done on the occasion of his visit to London with his wife some months before, when they had tried to induce Yootha to go back with them to Cumberland.
“I wish you would tell me, Yootha darling, what is the matter with you these days.”
The speaker was her dear friend, Cora Hartsilver, and as she spoke she encircled the girl with her arm and pressed her cheek to hers.
“Don’t you think you might tell just little me?” she went on coaxingly, as Yootha tried feebly to disengage herself. “Haven’t we always exchanged secrets, and confided in each other implicitly? Don’t say there is nothing the matter, because I can see that you have something on your mind. I have noticed the change in you for weeks, and others have noticed it too. Who is it, my darling? Or perhaps—you will let me give one little guess?”
“Cora, what nonsense you talk!” the girl answered quickly. “I am perfectly well, I have never been better, and there is nothing at all on my mind.”
“On your word of honor?”
“On my word of——”