Francine stopped her before she could open the door. “You mustn’t go away; I wish to speak to you.” “About what, miss?” The eyes of the two women met--one, near the end of her life, concealing under a rugged surface a nature sensitively affectionate and incorruptibly true: the other, young in years, without the virtues of youth, hard in manner and hard at heart. In silence on either side, they stood face to face; strangers brought together by the force of circumstances, working inexorably toward their hidden end. Emily introduced Mrs. Ellmother to Francine. “It may be worth your while,” she hinted, “to hear what this young lady has to say.” Mrs. Ellmother listened, with little appearance of interest in anything that a stranger might have to say: her eyes rested on the card which contained her written request to Emily. Francine, watching her closely, understood what was passing in her mind. It might be worth while to conciliate the old woman by a little act of attention. Turning to Emily, Francine pointed to the card lying on the table. “You have not attended yet to Mr. Ellmother’s request,” she said. Emily at once assured Mrs. Ellmother that the request was granted. “But is it wise,” she asked, “to go out to service again, at your age?” “I have been used to service all my life, Miss Emily--that’s one reason. And service may help me to get rid of my own thoughts--that’s another. If you can find me a situation somewhere, you will be doing me a good turn.” “Is it useless to suggest that you might come back, and live with me?” Emily ventured to say. Mrs. Ellmother’s head sank on her breast. “Thank you kindly, miss; it _is_ useless.” “Why is it useless?” Francine asked. Mrs. Ellmother was silent. “Miss de Sor is speaking to you,” Emily reminded her. “Am I to answer Miss de Sor?” Attentively observing what passed, and placing her own construction on looks and tones, it suddenly struck Francine that Emily herself might be in Mrs. Ellmother’s confidence, and that she might have reasons of her own for assuming ignorance when awkward questions were asked. For the moment at least, Francine decided on keeping her suspicions to herself. “I may perhaps offer you the employment you want,” she said to Mrs. Ellmother. “I am staying at Brighton, for the present, with the lady who was Miss Emily’s schoolmistress, and I am in need of a maid. Would you be willing to consider it, if I proposed to engage you?” “Yes, miss.” “In that case, you can hardly object to the customary inquiry. Why did you leave your last place?” Mrs. Ellmother appealed to Emily. “Did you tell this young lady how long I remained in my last place?” Melancholy remembrances had been revived in Emily by the turn which the talk had now taken. Francine’s cat-like patience, stealthily feeling its way to its end, jarred on her nerves. “Yes,” she said; “in justice to you, I have mentioned your long term of service.”