le autumn season, there would
be several bedrooms empty. Hilda, like George, did not want to bother
with a lot of tedious details, important or unimportant. The attitude of
each was: "Let me get married first, and then I'll see to all that."

Thus had the return been formidable to Hilda. All the way from Ireland
she had been saying to herself: "I shall have to go up the steps, and
into the house, and be spoken to as Mrs. Cannon! And then there'll be
Sarah...!" But the entry into the house had produced no terror.
Everywhere George's adroitness had been wonderful, extraordinarily
comforting and reassuring, and nowhere more so than in the vestibule of
No. 59. The tone in which he had said to Louisa, "Take Mrs. Cannon's
handbag, Louisa," had been a marvel of ease. Louisa had incontestably
blenched, for the bizarre Sarah, who conserved in Brighton the inmost
spirit of the Five Towns, had thought fit to tell the servants nothing
whatever. But the trained veteran in Louisa had instantly recovered, and
she had replied "Yes, sir," with a simplicity which proved her to be the
equal of George Cannon.... The worst was over for Hilda. And the next
moments were made smooth by reason of a great piece of news which,
forcing Sarah Gailey to communicate it at once, monopolized attention,
and so entirely relieved the bride's self-consciousness.

Florence Bagster, having insolently quarrelled with her mistress, had
left her service without notice. Mr. Boutwood had also gone, and the
connection between the two departures was only too apparent, not merely
to Sarah, but also to the three Miss Watchetts, who had recently
arrived. Florence, who could but whisper, had shouted at her mistress.
Little, flushing, modest Florrie, who yesterday in the Five Towns was an
infant, had compromised herself with a fat widower certainly old enough
to be her father. And the widower, the friend of the house, had had so
little regard for the feelings of the house that he had not hesitated to
flaunt with Florrie in the town. It was known that they were more or
less together, and that he stood between Florrie and the world.

II

"I suppose I'd better write at once to her mother--or perhaps her aunt;
her aunt's got more sense," said Hilda, as she dropped the sponge and
groped for a towel, her eyes half blinded.

In moving she had escaped from his hands.

"What do you say?" she asked, having heard a vague murmur through the
towel.

"I say you can write if