“Does Mrs. Porter never condescend to open the gate herself?” he asked Juanita. “Seldom for any one except my father. I think she makes a point of doing it for him, though I believe he would much rather she didn’t. You mustn’t sneer at her, Godfrey. She is a very unassuming person, and very grateful for her comfortable position here, though she has known better days, poor soul.” “That is always such a vague expression. What were the better days like?” “She is the widow of a captain—in the mercantile marine, I think it is called—a man who was almost a gentleman. She was left very poor, and my father, who knew her husband, gave her the lodge to take care of, and a tiny pension—not so much as I spend upon gloves and shoes, I’m afraid; and she has lived here contentedly and gratefully for the last ten years. It must be a sadly dull life, for she is an intellectual woman, too refined to associate with upper servants and village tradespeople; so she has no one to talk to—literally no one—except when the Vicar, or any of us call upon her. But that is not the worst, poor thing,” pursued Juanita, dropping her voice to a subdued and sorrowful tone; “she had a great trouble some years ago. You remember, don’t you, Godfrey?” “I blush to say that Mrs. Porter’s trouble has escaped my memory.” “Oh, you have been so much away; you would hardly hear anything about it, perhaps. She had an only daughter—her only child—a very handsome girl, whom she educated most carefully; and the girl went wrong, and disappeared. I never heard the circumstances. I was not supposed to know, but I know she vanished suddenly, and that there was a good deal of fuss with mother, and the servants, and the Vicar; and Mrs. Porter’s hair began to whiten from that time, and people who had not cared much for her before were so sorry that they grew quite fond of her.” “It is a common story enough,” said Godfrey, “what could a handsome girl do—except go wrong—in such a life as that. Did she open the gate while she was here?” “Only for my father, I believe. Mrs. Porter has always contrived to keep a girl in a pinafore, like that girl you saw just now. All the girls come from the same family, or have done for the last six or seven years. As soon as the girl grows out of her pinafores she goes off to some better service, and a younger sister drops into her place.” “And her pinafores, I suppose.” “Mrs. Porter’s girls always do well. She has a reputation for making a good servant out of the raw material.” “A clever woman, no doubt; very clever, to have secured a lodge-keeper’s berth without being obliged to open the gate; a woman who knows how to take care of herself.” “You ought not to disparage her, Godfrey. The poor thing has known so much trouble—think of what it was to lose the daughter she loved—and in such a way—worse than death.”