iosity to be excited.'

When Godwin had taken a resolve, there was no domestic influence strong
enough to prevent his acting upon it. Mrs. Peak's ignorance of the
world, her mild passivity, and the faith she had in her son's
intellectual resources, made her useless as a counsellor, and from no
one else--now that Mr. Gunnery was dead--would the young man have
dreamt of seeking guidance. Whatever Lady Whitelaw's reply, he had made
up his mind to go to London. Should his subsidy be refused, then he
would live on what his mother could allow him until--probably with the
aid of Christian Moxey--he might obtain a salaried position. The letter
was despatched, and with feverish impatience he awaited a reply.

Nine days passed, and he heard nothing. Half that delay sufficed to
bring out all the self-tormenting capacities of a nature such as his.
To his mother's conjectural explanations he could lend no ear.
Doubtless Lady Whitelaw (against whom, for subtle reasons, he was
already prejudiced) had taken offence; either she would not reply at
all, or presently there would come a few lines of polite displeasure,
intimating her disinclination to aid his project. He silently raged
against 'the woman'. Her neglect was insolence. Had she not delicacy
enough to divine the anxiety natural to one in his dependent position?
Did she take him for an every-day writer of mendicant appeals? His
pride fed upon the outrage and became fierce.

Then arrived a small glossy envelope, containing a tiny sheet of very
thick note-paper, whereon it was written that Lady Whitelaw regretted
her tardiness in replying to him (caused by her absence from home), and
hoped he would be able to call upon her, at ten o'clock next morning,
at the house of her sisters, the Misses Lumb, where she was stopping
for a day--she remained his sincerely.

Having duly contorted this note into all manner of painful meanings,
Godwin occupied an hour in making himself presentable (scornful that he
should deem such trouble necessary), and with furiously beating heart
set out to walk through Twybridge. Arrived at the house, he was led by
a servant into the front room on the ground floor, where Lady Whitelaw,
alone, sat reading a newspaper. Her features were of a very common
order, and nothing distinguished her from middle-aged women of average
refinement; she had chubby hands, rather broad shoulders, and no
visible waist. The scrutiny she bestowed upon her visitor was close. To
G