Janet did not look up.

Hilda, her heart beating, thought, with affrighted swiftness: "Why
should I tell her? It is no business of anybody's except _his_. I will
tell him, and him alone, and then act according to his wishes. After
all, I am not to blame. I am quite innocent. But I won't tell him
to-day. Not to-day! I must be more sure. It would be ridiculous to tell
him to-day. If I told him it would be almost like inviting a proposal!
But when the proper time comes,--then I will tell him, and he will
understand! He is bound to understand perfectly. He's in love with me."

She dared not tell Janet. In that abode of joyful and successful
propriety the words would not form themselves. And the argument that she
was not to blame carried no weight whatever. She--she, Hilda--lacked
courage to be candid.... This was extremely disconcerting to her
self-esteem.... And even with Edwin Clayhanger she wished to temporize.
She longed for nothing so much as to see him; and yet she feared to meet
him.

"Yes?" Janet repeated.

A bell rang faintly in the distance of the house.

Hilda, suddenly choosing a course, said: "I forgot to tell you. I'm
supposed to be going down to Clayhanger's at three to see a machine at
work--it was too late last night. Do come with me. I hate going by
myself." It was true: in that instant she did hate going by herself. She
thought, knowing Janet to be at liberty and never dreaming that she
would refuse: "I am saved--for the present."

But Janet answered self-consciously:

"I don't think I must leave mother. You'll be perfectly all right by
yourself."

Hilda impetuously turned her head; their glances met for an instant, in
suspicion, challenge, animosity. They had an immense mutual admiration
the one for the other, these two; and yet now they were estranged.
Esteem was nullified by instinct. Hilda thought with positive savagery:
"It's all fiddlesticks about not leaving her mother! She's simply on her
high horse!" The whole colour of existence was changed.

II

Martha entered the room. Neither of the girls moved. Beneath the
deferential servant in Martha was a human girl, making a third in the
room, who familiarly divined the moods of the other two and judged them
as an equal; and the other two knew it, and therefore did not trouble to
be spectacular in front of her.

"A letter, miss," said Martha, approaching Hilda. "The old postman says
it was insufficiently addressed, or it 'ud ha' been here