"Yes."

The lawyer studied his finger-nails intensely.

"Well," he said, feeling with a finger-tip an imaginary roughness of
one nail-edge. "Well, in that case--In that case--Supposing you have
made an irrevocable decision--"

He looked up at her sharply. She nodded slowly, like a porcelain
mandarin.

"In that case," he said, "we must proceed with the valuation and the
preparation for the sale."

"Yes," she said faintly.

"You realize," he said, "that everything in Manchester House, except
your private personal property, and that of Miss Pinnegar, belongs
to the claimants, your father's creditors, and may not be removed
from the house."

"Yes," she said.

"And it will be necessary to make an account of everything in the
house. So if you and Miss Pinnegar will put your possessions
strictly apart--But I shall see Miss Pinnegar during the course of
the day. Would you ask her to call about seven--I think she is free
then--"

Alvina sat trembling.

"I shall pack my things today," she said.

"Of course," said the lawyer, "any little things to which you may be
attached the claimants would no doubt wish you to regard as your
own. For anything of greater value--your piano, for example--I
should have to make a personal request--"

"Oh, I don't want anything--" said Alvina.

"No? Well! You will see. You will be here a few days?"

"No," said Alvina. "I'm going away today."

"Today! Is that also irrevocable?"

"Yes. I must go this afternoon."

"On account of your engagement? May I ask where your company is
performing this week? Far away?"

"Mansfield!"

"Oh! Well then, in case I particularly wished to see you, you could
come over?"

"If necessary," said Alvina. "But I don't want to come to Woodhouse
unless it _is_ necessary. Can't we write?"

"Yes--certainly! Certainly!--most things! Certainly! And now--"

He went into certain technical matters, and Alvina signed some
documents. At last she was free to go. She had been almost an hour
in the room.

"Well, good-morning, Miss Houghton. You will hear from me, and I
from you. I wish you a pleasant experience in your new occupation.
You are not leaving Woodhouse for ever."

"Good-bye!" she said. And she hurried to the road.

Try as she might, she felt as if she had had a blow which knocked
her down. She felt she had had a blow.

At the lawyer's gate she stood a minute. There, across a little
hollow, rose the cemetery hill. There were her graves: h