et it was all unconsciously said in words which betrayed a lingering
tenderness of love at every unguarded turn. Like Beatrice accusing
Dante from the chariot, try as she might to play the superior being
who contemned such mere eye-sensuousness, she betrayed at every point
a pretty woman's jealousy of a rival, and covertly gave her old lover
hints for excusing himself at each fresh indictment.

This done, Cytherea, still in a practical mood, upbraided herself with
weakness in allowing a stranger like Mr. Manston to influence her as he
had done that evening. What right on earth had he to suggest so suddenly
that she might meet him at the waterfall to receive his music? She would
have given much to be able to annihilate the ascendency he had obtained
over her during that extraordinary interval of melodious sound. Not
being able to endure the notion of his living a minute longer in the
belief he was then holding, she took her pen and wrote to him also:--

'KNAPWATER HOUSE
September 20th.

'I find I cannot meet you at seven o'clock by the waterfall as I
promised. The emotion I felt made me forgetful of realities.

'C. GRAYE.'

A great statesman thinks several times, and acts; a young lady acts,
and thinks several times. When, a few minutes later, she saw the postman
carry off the bag containing one of the letters, and a messenger with
the other, she, for the first time, asked herself the question whether
she had acted very wisely in writing to either of the two men who had so
influenced her.

IX. THE EVENTS OF TEN WEEKS

1. FROM SEPTEMBER THE TWENTY-FIRST TO THE MIDDLE OF NOVEMBER

The foremost figure within Cytherea's horizon, exclusive of the inmates
of Knapwater House, was now the steward, Mr. Manston. It was impossible
that they should live within a quarter of a mile of each other, be
engaged in the same service, and attend the same church, without meeting
at some spot or another, twice or thrice a week. On Sundays, in her
pew, when by chance she turned her head, Cytherea found his eyes waiting
desirously for a glimpse of hers, and, at first more strangely, the eyes
of Miss Aldclyffe furtively resting on him. On coming out of church he
frequently walked beside Cytherea till she reached the gate at
which residents in the House turned into the shrubbery. By degrees a
conjecture grew to a certainty. She knew that he loved her.