“May I tell you why I came to-day?—­Because I want advice and help, and I think you can give it, from something I heard about you yesterday.”

“Indeed!  From whom?”

“In rather a roundabout way; from Mrs. Jones, who told our maid-servant.”

“The same girl I met on the staircase at your bones?  I beg your pardon, but I know where you live, Miss Leaf; your landlady happens to be an acquaintance of mine.”

“So she said:  and she told our Elizabeth that you were a rich and benevolent woman, who took a great interest in helping other women; not in money”—­blushing scarlet at be idea—­“I don’t mean that, but in procuring them work.  I want work—­oh! so terribly.  If you only knew—­”

“Sit down, my dear;” for Hilary was rambling much, her voice breaking, and her eyes filling, in spite of all her self-command.

Miss Balquidder—­who seemed accustomed to wait upon herself—­went out of the room, and returned with cake and glasses; then she took the wine from the side-board, poured some oat for herself and Hilary, and began to talk.

“It is nearly my luncheon-time, and I am a great friend to regular eating and drinking.  I never let any thing interfere with my own meals, or other folks’ either, if I can help it.  I would as soon expect that fire to keep itself up without coals, as my mind to go on working if I don’t look after my body.  You understand?  You seem to have good health, Miss Leaf.  I hope you are a prudent girl, and take care of it.”

“I think I do;” and Hilary smiled.  “At any rate my sister does for me, and also Elizabeth.”

“Ah, I liked the look of that girl.  If families did but know that the most useful patent of respectability they can carry about with them is their maid-servant!  That is how I always judge my new acquaintances.”

“There’s reason in it, too,” said Hilary, amused and drawn out of herself by the frank manner and the cordial voice—­I use the adjective advisedly; none the less sweet because its good terse English had a decided Scotch accent, with here and there a Scotch word.  Also there was about Miss Balquidder a certain dry humor essentially Scotch—­neither Irish “wit” nor English “fun,” but Scotch humor; a little ponderous perhaps, yet sparkling:  like the sparkles from a large lump of coal, red-warm at the heart, and capable of warming a whole household.  As many a time it had warmed the little household at Stowbury—­for Robert Lyon had it in perfection.  Like a waft as from old times, it made Hilary at once feel at home with Miss Balquidder.  Equally, Miss Balquidder might have seen something in this girl’s patient, heroic, forlorn youth which reminded her of her own.  Unreasoning as these sudden attractions appear, there is often a hidden something beneath which in reality makes them both natural and probable, as was the case here.  In half an hour these two women were sitting talking like old friends; and Hilary had explained her present position, needs and desires.  They ended in the one cry—­familiar to how many thousands more of helpless young women!—­“I want work!”