"Really!" she exclaimed, unmistakably startled. She spoke a second too
soon. If she had delayed only one second, she might have concealed from
Hilda that which Hilda had most plainly perceived, to wit, anxiety and
jealousy. Yes, jealousy, in this adorably benevolent creature's tone.
Hilda's interest in to-morrow afternoon was intensified.

"Shall you be able to come?" she asked.

"What time?"

"He said about half-past six, or a quarter to seven."

"I can't," said Janet dreamily, "because of that Musical Society
meeting--you know--I told you, didn't I?"

In the faint light of the dying fire, Hilda made out little by little
the mysterious, pale heaps of clothes, and all the details of the room
strewn and disordered by reason of an additional occupant. The adventure
was now of infinite complexity, and its complexity seemed to be
symbolized by the suggestive feminine mysteriousness of what she saw and
what she divined in the darkness of the chamber. She thought: "I am here
on false pretences. I ought to tell my secret. That would be fair--I
have no right to intrude between her and him." But she instinctively and
powerfully resisted such ideas; with firmness she put them away, and
yielded herself with a more exquisite apprehension to the anticipation
of to-morrow.

II

The order of meals at Lane End was somewhat peculiar even then, and
would now be almost unique. It was partly the natural expression of an
instinctive and justified feeling of superiority, and partly due to a
discretion which forbade the family to scandalize the professional
classes of the district by dining at night. Dinner occurred in the
middle of the day, and about nine in the evening was an informal but
copious supper. Between those two meals, there came a tea which was
neither high or low, and whose hour, six o'clock in theory, depended to
a certain extent, in practice, on Mr. Orgreave's arrival from the
office. Not seldom Mr. Orgreave was late; occasionally he was very late.
The kitchen waited to infuse the tea until a command came from some
woman, old or young, who attentively watched a window for a particular
swinging of the long gate at the end of the garden, or listened, when it
was dark, for the bang of the gate and a particular crunching of gravel.

On this Tuesday evening, Osmond Orgreave was very late, and the movement
of the household was less smooth than usual, owing to Mrs. Orgreave's
illness and to the absence of Janet at Hillpor