s! You have
always told me that the late Mr. Oldershaw doted on you. Just recall the
first time he took your hand, and whispered a word or two addressed to
your private ear. To what did you attribute his behavior that occasion?
I have no doubt, if you had been playing on the piano in the course of
the evening, you would have attributed it entirely to the music!

"No! you may take my word for it, the harm is done. _This_ man is no
rattle-pated fool, who changes his fancies as readily as he changes his
clothes. The fire that lights those big black eyes of his is not an easy
fire, when a woman has once kindled it, for that woman to put out. I
don't wish to discourage you; I don't say the changes are against us.
But with Mrs. Milroy threatening me on one side, and Mr. Midwinter on
the other, the worst of all risks to run is the risk of losing time.
Young Armadale has hinted already, as well as such a lout can hint, at
a private interview! Miss Milroy's eyes are sharp, and the nurse's eyes
are sharper; and I shall lose my place if either of them find me out. No
matter! I must take my chance, and give him the interview. Only let me
get him alone, only let me escape the prying eyes of the women, and--if
his friend doesn't come between us--I answer for the result!

"In the meantime, have I anything more to tell you? Are there any other
people in our way at Thorpe Ambrose? Not another creature! None of the
resident families call here, young Armadale being, most fortunately, in
bad odor in the neighborhood. There are no handsome highly-bred women to
come to the house, and no persons of consequence to protest against his
attentions to a governess. The only guests he could collect at his
party to-night were the lawyer and his family (a wife, a son, and
two daughters), and a deaf old woman and _her_ son--all perfectly
unimportant people, and all obedient humble servants of the stupid young
squire.

"Talking of obedient humble servants, there is one other person
established here, who is employed in the steward's office--a miserable,
shabby, dilapidated old man, named Bashwood. He is a perfect stranger to
me, and I am evidently a perfect stranger to him, for he has been asking
the house-maid at the cottage who I am. It is paying no great compliment
to myself to confess it, but it is not the less true that I produced the
most extraordinary impression on this feeble old creature the first
time he saw me. He turned all manner of colors