As to Elizabeth’s feelings toward Tom, they will hardly bear analyzing; probably hardly any strong emotion will, especially one that is not sudden but progressive.  She admired him extremely, and yet she was half sorry for him.  Some things in him she did not at all like, and tried heartily to amend.  His nervous fancies, irritations, and vagaries she was exceedingly tender over; she looked up to him, and yet took care of him; this thought of him, and anxiety over him, became by degrees the habit of her life.  People love in so many different ways; and perhaps that was the natural way in which a woman like Elizabeth would love, or creep into love without knowing it, which is either the safest or the saddest form which the passion can assume.

Thus things went on, till one dark, rainy Sunday night, walking round and round the inner circle of the square, Tom expressed his feelings.  At first, in somewhat high flown and poetical phrases, then melting into the one, eternally old and eternally new, “Do you love me?” followed by a long, long kiss, given under shelter of the umbrella, and in mortal fear of the approaching policeman; who, however, never saw them, or saw them only as “pair of sweet-hearts”—­too common an occurrence on his beat to excite any attention.

But to Elizabeth the whole thing was new, wonderful; a bliss so far beyond any thing that had ever befallen her simple life, and so utterly unexpected therein, that when she went to her bed that night she cried like a child over the happiness of Tom’s loving her, and her exceeding unworthiness of the same.

Then difficulties arose in her mind.  “No followers allowed,” was one of the strict laws of the Russell Square dynasty.  Like many another law of that and of much higher dynasties it was only made to be broken; for stray sweet-hearts were continually climbing down area railings, or over garden walls, or hiding themselves behind kitchen doors.  Nay, to such an extent was the system carried out, each servant being, from self-interest, a safe co-conspirator, that very often when Mr. and Mrs. Ascott went out to dinner, and the old housekeeper retired to bed, there were regular symposia held below stairs—­nice little supper-parties, where all the viands in the pantry and the wines in the cellar were freely used; where every domestic had his or her “young man” or “young woman,” and the goings-on, though not actually discreditable, were of the most lively kind.

To be cognizant of these, and yet to feel that, as there was no actual wickedness going on, she was not justified in “blabbing,” was a severe and perpetual trial to Elizabeth.  To join them, or bring Tom among them as her “young man,” was impossible.

“No, Tom,” she said, when he begged hard to come in one evening—­for it was raining fast, and he had a bad cough—­

“No, Tom, I can’t let you.  If other folks break the laws of the house, I won’t—­you must go.  I can only meet you out of doors.”