ss it was that she vaguely regarded it as
presumptuous, or, in the alternative, if he meant to be facetious, as
ill-bred, on the part of Arthur Dayson. She chose a sheet of paper, and
wrote the letter in longhand, as quickly as she could, but with arduous
care in the formation of every character; she wrote with the whole of
her faculties fully applied. Even in the smallest task she could not
economize herself; she had to give all or nothing. When she came to the
figures--4000--she intensified her ardour, lavishing enormous
unnecessary force: it was like a steamhammer cracking a nut. Her
conscience had instantly and finally decided against her. But she
ignored her conscience. She knew and owned that she was wrong to abet
Mr. Cannon's deception. And she abetted it. She would have abetted it if
she had believed that the act would involve her in everlasting
damnation,--not solely out of loyalty to Mr. Cannon; only a little out
of loyalty; chiefly out of mere unreasoning pride and obstinate
adherence to a decision.

The letter finished, she took it into the inner room, where the three
men sat in mysterious conclave. Mr. Cannon read it over, and then Arthur
Dayson borrowed the old clerk's vile pen and with the ceremonious delays
due to his sense of his own importance, flourishingly added the
signature.

When she came forth she heard a knock at the outer door.

"Come in," she commanded defiantly, for she was still unconsciously in
the defiant mood in which she had offered the lying letter to Mr.
Cannon.

II

A well-dressed, kind-featured, and almost beautiful young woman, of
about the same age as Hilda, opened the door, with a charming gesture of
diffidence.

For a second the two gazed at each other astounded.

"Well, Hilda, of all the--"

"Janet!"

It was an old schoolfellow, Janet Orgreave, daughter of Osmond Orgreave,
a successful architect at Bursley. Janet had passed part of her
schooldays at Chetwynd's; and with her brother Charlie she had also
attended Sarah Gailey's private dancing-class (famous throughout
Turnhill, Bursley, and Hanbridge) at the same time as Hilda. She was
known, she was almost notorious, as a universal favourite. By instinct,
without taking thought, she pleased everybody, great and small. Nature
had spoiled her, endowing her with some beauty, and undeniable elegance,
and abundant sincere kindliness. She had only to smile, and she made a
friend; it cost her nothing. She smiled now, and