“I must tell you something else, mother,” she said. “I do not quite belong to myself now, but to another; and if the man I have promised to marry were to come for me to-morrow, or to send for me to go to him, I could no longer remain with you. As it happens, we are not going to be married soon--not for a year at least, perhaps not for two. Before that time comes I wish to know what it is to live by my own work.... He is a worker, working with his mind in London: I think it would be a good preparation for my future, that it would make me a better companion for him, if I were also to work now and be independent.... If you can only give me a little money--enough to pay my expenses for a short time--a few weeks in London, until I begin to make enough to keep myself!” “And who is this person you speak of, Constance, of whose existence I now hear for the first time?” “I have been for some months in correspondence with him, but our engagement is only recent, and that is why you have not heard of it before. He is a clerk in the Foreign Office, and from that you will know that he is a gentleman. He also employs his leisure time in literary work. I can show you his photograph if you would like to see it, mother.” “And have you, Constance, engaged yourself to a person you have not even seen?” “No, mother, I have of course seen him.” “Where?” “Here, in Eyethorne. Last August, when I was walking in the woods with Fan, we met him, and he recognised Fan, whom he had met in London at Miss Starbrow's house, and spoke to her. We had a long conversation on that day, and I met him again and talked with him the next day, and after that we kept up the acquaintance by letter.” “And you and Fan together met this man and never mentioned it to me! Let me ask you one question more, Constance. Is this person you are engaged to a Christian or an infidel?” “Mother, it is not fair to put the question in that way. You call me an infidel, but I am not an infidel--I do not call myself one.” “Do not let us go into hair-splitting distinctions, Constance. I ask you again this simple question--Is he a Christian?” “Not in the way that you understand it. He is not a Christian.” The other turned her face away, a little involuntary moan of pain escaping her lips; and for the space of two or three minutes there was silence between them, the daughter repenting that she had vainly given her confidence, and the mother revolving all she had heard in her mind, her grief changing gradually into the old wrath and bitterness. And at length she spoke.