But she was not going to Knype to meet Sophia in her everyday mantle; and she had no intention of donning her best mantle for such an excursion.  To make her first appearance before Sophia in the best mantle she had—­this would have been a sad mistake of tactics!  Not only would it have led to an anti-climax on Sunday, but it would have given to Constance the air of being in awe of Sophia.  Now Constance was in truth a little afraid of Sophia; in thirty years Sophia might have grown into anything, whereas Constance had remained just Constance.  Paris was a great place; and it was immensely far off.  And the mere sound of that limited company business was intimidating.  Imagine Sophia having by her own efforts created something which a real limited company wanted to buy and had bought!  Yes, Constance was afraid, but she did not mean to show her fear in her mantle.  After all, she was the elder.  And she had her dignity too—­and a lot of it—­tucked away in her secret heart, hidden within the mildness of that soft exterior.  So she had decided on the second-best mantle, which, being seldom used, had its sleeves stuffed with paper to the end that they might keep their shape and their ‘fall.’  The little balls of paper were strewed over the bed.

“There’s a train at a quarter to three, gets to Knype at ten minutes past.” said Amy. officiously.  “But supposing it was only three minutes late and the London train was prompt, then you might miss her.  Happen you’d better take the two fifteen to be on the safe side.”

“Let me look,” said Constance, firmly.  “Please put all this paper in the wardrobe.”

She would have preferred not to follow Amy’s suggestion, but it was so incontestably wise that she was obliged to accept it.

“Unless ye go by tram,” said Amy.  “That won’t mean starting quite so soon.”

But Constance would not go by tram.  If she took the tram she would be bound to meet people who had read the Signal, and who would say, with their stupid vacuity:  “Going to meet your sister at Knype?” And then tiresome conversations would follow.  Whereas, in the train, she would choose a compartment, and would be far less likely to encounter chatterers.

There was now not a minute to lose.  And the excitement which had been growing in that house for days past, under a pretence of calm, leapt out swiftly into the light of the sun, and was unashamed.  Amy had to help her mistress make herself as comely as she could be made without her best dress, mantle, and bonnet.  Amy was frankly consulted as to effects.  The barrier of class was lowered for a space.  Many years had elapsed since Constance had been conscious of a keen desire to look smart.  She was reminded of the days when, in full fig for chapel, she would dash downstairs on a Sunday morning, and, assuming a pose for inspection at the threshold of the parlour, would demand of Samuel:  “Shall I do?” Yes, she used to dash downstairs, like a child, and