’You inserted the advertisement for a situation as lady’s-maid giving the address, G., Cross Street?’

‘Yes, madam.  Graye.’

’Yes.  I have heard your name—­Mrs. Morris, my housekeeper, mentioned you, and pointed out your advertisement.’

This was puzzling intelligence, but there was not time enough to consider it.

‘Where did you live last?’ continued Miss Aldclyffe.

‘I have never been a servant before.  I lived at home.’

’Never been out?  I thought too at sight of you that you were too girlish-looking to have done much.  But why did you advertise with such assurance?  It misleads people.’

’I am very sorry:  I put “inexperienced” at first, but my brother said it is absurd to trumpet your own weakness to the world, and would not let it remain.’

‘But your mother knew what was right, I suppose?’

‘I have no mother, madam.’

‘Your father, then?’

‘I have no father.’

‘Well,’ she said, more softly, ‘your sisters, aunts, or cousins.’

‘They didn’t think anything about it.’

‘You didn’t ask them, I suppose.’

‘No.’

‘You should have done so, then.  Why didn’t you?’

‘Because I haven’t any of them, either.’

Miss Aldclyffe showed her surprise.  ’You deserve forgiveness then at any rate, child,’ she said, in a sort of drily-kind tone.  ’However, I am afraid you do not suit me, as I am looking for an elderly person.  You see, I want an experienced maid who knows all the usual duties of the office.’  She was going to add, ’Though I like your appearance,’ but the words seemed offensive to apply to the ladylike girl before her, and she modified them to, ’though I like you much.’

‘I am sorry I misled you, madam,’ said Cytherea.

Miss Aldclyffe stood in a reverie, without replying.

‘Good afternoon,’ continued Cytherea.

‘Good-bye, Miss Graye—­I hope you will succeed.’

Cytherea turned away towards the door.  The movement chanced to be one of her masterpieces.  It was precise:  it had as much beauty as was compatible with precision, and as little coquettishness as was compatible with beauty.

And she had in turning looked over her shoulder at the other lady with a faint accent of reproach in her face.  Those who remember Greuze’s ‘Head of a Girl,’ have an idea of Cytherea’s look askance at the turning.  It is not for a man to tell fishers of men how to set out their fascinations so as to bring about the highest possible average of takes within the year:  but the action that tugs the hardest of all at an emotional beholder is this sweet method of turning which steals the bosom away and leaves the eyes behind.

Now Miss Aldclyffe herself was no tyro at wheeling.  When Cytherea had closed the door upon her, she remained for some time in her motionless attitude, listening to the gradually dying sound of the maiden’s retreating footsteps.  She murmured to herself, ’It is almost worth while to be bored with instructing her in order to have a creature who could glide round my luxurious indolent body in that manner, and look at me in that way—­I warrant how light her fingers are upon one’s head and neck. . . .  What a silly modest young thing she is, to go away so suddenly as that!’ She rang the bell.