She was a handsome woman, of some forty-six years of age, but looking younger when one did not notice certain lines about her eyes and mouth--lines of meanness as well as of pride. She was very richly dressed in black; there was silk, and lace, and perfume about her. She was tall, fair, pale, and inclined towards _embonpoint_. She looked Myles over from head to foot; then, turning to Wilson, said, ‘Is Mr. Sutcliffe in?’ ‘I’m very sorry, ’m; he isn’t. He has had to go to Bolton, and won’t be back till afternoon.’ ‘Oh!’ said she, pausing as if in thought; and then added, ‘Give me the papers Mr. Sutcliffe was speaking about the other day; they are sure to have been left ready. I will take them home with me, and look them over.’ Myles had turned again to his work, and was bending over a page of figures, wroth with himself that, instead of being able undisturbedly to add up the figures he had put down, he could not help listening to Mrs. Mallory’s voice. ‘Yes, ’m; I’ll find the papers. They’ll be in Mr. Sutcliffe’s room. But won’t you sit down ’m, while I look for them?’ ‘No; make haste, please,’ was all she said, a little impatiently; for Mr. Wilson’s manner was, to put it mildly, fussy; and Myles, feeling the influence of that tone, despite all his efforts, began to count half aloud: ‘Three and five, nine--eight, I mean; and seven fifteen, and----’ ‘Here they are, ’m. Allow me to make them into a parcel, ’m: it will be more convenient.’ ‘No; you can take them to the carriage, and I will look them over when I have time.’ ‘Myles, lad, suppose you were to take the papers to the carriage,’ said Wilson, wishing to appear superior. Myles looked up, surprised; he could read the simple, fussy character of the faithful old cashier to its very depths, and knew his motives exactly. He had no wish to disoblige him, and, with an amused half-smile, took the papers and walked to Mrs. Mallory’s carriage. The young lady, Miss Spenceley, was looking somewhat impatiently towards the office. ‘Oh!’ said she, when she saw Myles, ‘is Mrs. Mallory in there? Has she nearly finished her business, do you think?’ Myles had seen the girl many a time before; she was the beauty and the heiress, _par excellence_, of Thanshope; the only daughter, as her brother was the only son, of her parents. The young man, looking at her more attentively than ever before, could find no trace of likeness, or his scorn of her relative might have displayed itself in his voice. ‘I really don’t know,’ said he, in answer to her question. ‘She is talking to the cashier.’ ‘Oh, thanks!’ said she, turning abruptly away, and looking impatiently up the street. Myles returned to the office, and as he re-entered it Mrs. Mallory was saying to Wilson, ‘Because I expect my son--your master--will be at home again shortly, and of course he will wish to inquire into everything that is going on.’