nsider 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
ret