One morning during this interval, when Paul was absent and all the doings of the household at Markham were mysteriously hidden from the world, a visitor came up the avenue who was not of the usual kind. She seemed for some time very doubtful whether to go to the great door, or to seek an entrance in a more humble way. She was a tall and slim young woman, dressed in a black alpacca gown, with a black hat and feather, and a shawl over her arm, a nondescript sort of person, not altogether a lady, yet whom Charles, the footman, contemplated more or less respectfully, not feeling equal to the impertinence of bidding her go round to the servants’ door; for how could any one tell, he said? there were governesses and that sort that stood a deal more on their dignity than the ladies themselves. Mrs. Fry, who happened to see her from a window in the wing where she was superintending the great autumn cleaning in the nursery, concluded that it was some one come about the lady’s-maid’s place, for Alice’s maid was going to be married. “But if you get it,” said Mrs. Fry mentally, “I can tell you it’s not long you’ll go trolloping about with that long feather, nor wear a bit of a hat stuck on the top of your head.” While, however, Mrs. Fry was forming this rapid estimate of her, Charles looked at the young person with hesitating respect, and behaved with polite condescension, coming forward as she approached. When she asked if she could see Lady Markham, Charles shook his head. “My lady don’t see nobody,” he replied with an ease of language which was the first symptom he showed of feeling himself on an equality with the visitor. It was the tone of her voice which had produced this effect. Charles knew that this was not how a lady spoke. “But she’ll see me, if she knows who I am,” said the girl. “I know she’ll see me if you’ll be so kind as to take up my name. Say Miss Janet Spears--as she saw in Oxford--” “If you’ve come about the lady’s-maid’s place,” said Charles, “there’s our housekeeper, Mrs. Fry, she’ll see you.” “I haven’t come about no lady’s-maid’s place. You had better take up my name, or it will be the worse for you after,” cried the girl angrily. She gave him such a look that Charles shook in his shoes. He begged her pardon humbly, and went off to seek Brown, leaving her standing at the door. Then Brown came and inspected her from the further side of the hall. “I don’t know why you should bother me, or me go and bother my lady,” said Brown, not satisfied with the inspection; “take her to Missis Fry.” “But she won’t go. It’s my lady she wants, and just you look at her, what she wants she’ll have, that’s sure; she says it’ll be the worse for us after.”