e horse--you would suit me ideally.
One's own life would be unaltered, but the Delverton mothers would cease
from troubling, and at the head of my establishment there would be a
lady of whom I should be most justly proud. And even in my own life I
should, I hope, be the more than occasional gainer by her society; may I
also add, by her sympathy, by her advice? Mrs. Minchin," cried Steel,
with sudden feeling, "the conditions shall be very rigid; my lawyer
shall see to that; nor shall I allow myself a loophole for any weakness
or nonsense whatsoever in the future. Old fellows like myself have made
fools of themselves before to-day, but you shall be safeguarded from the
beginning. Let there be no talk or thought of love between us from first
to last! But as for admiration, I don't mind telling you that I admire
you as I never admired any woman in the world before; and I hope, in
spite of that, we shall be friends."

Still the indicative mood, still not for a moment the conditional!
Rachel did not fail to make another note; but now there was nothing
bitter even in her thoughts. She believed in this man, and in his
promises; moreover, she began to focus the one thing about him in which
she disbelieved. It was his feeling towards her--nothing more and
nothing else. There he was insincere; but it was a pardonable
insincerity, after all.

Of his admiration she was convinced; it had been open and honest all
along; but there was something deeper than admiration. He could say what
he liked. The woman knew. And what could it be but love?

The woman knew; and though the tragedy of her life was so close behind
her; nay, though mystery and suspicion encompassed her still, as they
might until her death, the woman thrilled.

It was a thrill of excitement chiefly, but excitement was not the only
element. There was the personal factor, too; there was the fascination
which this man had for her, which he could exert at will, and which he
was undoubtedly exerting now.

To escape from his eyes, to think but once more for herself, and by
herself, Rachel rose at last, and looked from the window which lit this
recess.

It was the usual November day in London; no sun; a mist, but not a fog;
cabmen in capes, horses sliding on the muddy street, well-dressed women
picking their way home from church--shabby women hurrying in
shawls--hurrying as Rachel herself had done the night before--as she
might again to-night. And whither? And whither, in