About four o’clock sounded the visitor’s ring.  From her bedroom window Emmeline had seen Miss Derrick’s approach.  As the distance from the station was only five minutes’ walk, the stranger naturally came on foot.  A dark girl, and of tolerably good features; rather dressy; with a carriage corresponding to the tone of her letter—­an easy swing; head well up and shoulders squared.  ’Oh, how I hope she isn’t vulgar!’ said Emmeline to herself.  ’I don’t like the bat—­I don’t.  And that sunshade with the immense handle.’  From the top of the stairs she heard a clear, unaffected voice:  ’Mrs. Mumford at home?’ Yes, the aspirate was sounded—­thank goodness!

It surprised her, on entering the room, to find that Miss Derrick looked no less nervous than she was herself.  The girl’s cheeks were flushed, and she half choked over her ‘How do you do?’

’I hope you had no difficulty in finding the house.  I would have met you at the station if you had mentioned the train.  Oh, but—­how silly!—­I shouldn’t have known you.’

Miss Derrick laughed, and seemed of a sudden much more at ease.

‘Oh, I like you for that!’ she exclaimed mirthfully.  ’It’s just the kind of thing I say myself sometimes.  And I’m so glad to see that you are—­you mustn’t be offended—­I mean you’re not the kind of person to be afraid of.’

They laughed together.  Emmeline could not subdue her delight when she found that the girl really might be accepted as a lady.  There were faults of costume undeniably; money had been misspent in several directions; but no glaring vulgarity hurt the eye.  And her speech, though not strictly speaking refined, was free from the faults that betray low origin.  Then, she seemed good-natured though there was something about her mouth not altogether charming.

‘Do you know Sutton at all?’ Emmeline inquired.

’Never was here before.  But I like the look of it.  I like this house, too.  I suppose you know a lot of people here, Mrs. Mumford?’

’Well—­no.  There’s only one family we know at all well.  Our friends live in London.  Of course they often come out here.  I don’t know whether you are acquainted with any of them.  The Kirby Simpsons, of West Kensington; and Mrs. Hollings, of Highgate—­’

Miss Derrick cast down her eyes and seemed to reflect.  Then she spoke abruptly.

’I don’t know any people to speak of.  I ought to tell you that my mother has come down with me.  She’s waiting at the station till I go back; then she’ll come and see you.  You’re surprised?  Well, I had better tell you that I’m leaving home because I can’t get on with my people.  Mother and I have always quarrelled, but it has been worse than ever lately.  I must explain that she has married a second time, and Mr. Higgins—­I’m glad to say that isn’t my name—­has a daughter of his own by a first marriage; and we can’t bear each other—­Miss Higgins, I mean.  Some day, if I come to live here, I daresay I shall