I was seldom
asked for more than three hours' work a day, I had a horse to ride, and
plenty of leisure for the books I loved. It would be very unfortunate to
have to give up all that. Verily the question "What is she like?" had a
practical, an economic, importance for me which raised it far above the
sphere of mere curiosity or the nonsense of irrelevant romance. Was she
a sensible young woman who would know a good secretary when she saw one?
Or, on the other hand, was she not? A secretary of some sort she would
certainly require.

Nay, perhaps, she wouldn't. The one utterance of hers which had been, so
far, credibly reported to my ears was to the effect that she could take
care--just a little care--of herself. This at sixteen! This on the top
of circumstances which at first sight indicated that she had taken
particularly bad care of herself! Letters to a man like Powers! My
imagination, forsaking my own position and prospects, constructed a
confident picture of Powers, proceeded to sketch Mrs. Powers--strong
lights here!--and to outline the family of the Smalls of Cheltenham. It
ended by rejoicing that she had been removed from the influence of
Powers and the environment of the Smalls of Cheltenham. Because, look at
the matter how one might or could, there was no denying that it was the
sort of incident which might just as well--or even better--not have
happened at all. At the best, it was not altogether pleasant. Surely
that was the truth--and not merely the abortive parson talking again?
Well, even the abortive parson was sometimes right.

Cartmell clapped me on the shoulder. The handsome boy had, it appeared,
departed, after receiving from an obsequious porter the copy of _Country
Life_, in quest of which he had ridden to the station from Fillingford
Manor.

"Here comes the train! I wonder if I shall know her again!"

Two minutes later, that observation of Cartmell's seemed to me plainly
foolish. A man might like her or dislike her, trust her or not trust
her--oh, away with these fatal alternatives, antitheses, or whatever
they are! They confine judgment, and often falsify it. He might do all
these things at once--and I fancied that she might welcome his
perplexity. He would not be very likely to forget her--nor she to be
pleased if he did.

That was only a first impression of her, as she got out of the train.

CHAPTER II

MAKING AMENDS

Cartmell's talk, as we drove back, was calculated to give her