e that she, Justina, had any
rights in John Mortimer, she would not stand in her light, even though
she might have begun to think highly of his house, and his position, as
advantageous for herself. Love she did not take into her consideration,
she neither felt that nor imputed it to others.

She was thoroughly mean herself, but if Emily had done anything mean, it
would positively have shaken her faith and trust in Goodness itself. It
would actually have been bad for her, and there is no saying how much
lower she might have declined, if one of the few persons she believed in
had made a descent.

Though she thought thus of Emily, she had notwithstanding felt towards
her a kind of serene superiority, as might be felt towards one who could
only look straight before her, by one who could see round a corner; but
that morning, for the first time, she had begun to fear her, to
acknowledge a certain charm in her careless, but by no means ungracious
indifference; in her sweet, natural ways with John's children, and in
those dark lashes which clouded her soft grey eyes.

The contradictions in her face were dangerous; there was a wistful
yearning in her smile; joyous as her laugh sounded, she often put a stop
to its sudden sweetness with a sigh.

Justina felt Emily's silence very oppressive, and while it lasted she
fully expected that it would be broken at last by some important words.

Emily might tell her that she must be deceiving herself, and might be
able to give such decisive proof of the fact as would oblige her to give
up this new hope. That was what Justina feared. On the other hand, she
might show her ignorance and lighten Justina's heart by merely asking
her whether she thought she could love and bear with another woman's
children. She might even ask whether John Mortimer had made his
intentions plain.

But no, when Emily did speak, she appeared completely to ignore these
hints, though her face retained its air of wonder and cogitation.

"By-the-bye, Justina," she said, "you put me a little out of countenance
just now. John Mortimer never meant to ask us to luncheon; I know he
seldom or ever comes home in the middle of the day."

"Are you sure of that?" said Justina.

"Quite sure; you invited yourself."

"Did I make a mistake? Well, if he did not at first intend it, he
certainly caught at the notion afterwards."

"Do you think so? I thought, on the contrary, that he spent some moments
in considering what day