‘I suppose so,’ she replied, carelessly. ‘Mayn’t I see your daughter now I am here? I should like to tell her how sorry, how very sorry---- I don’t even know her name.’ ‘Emily has gone out,’ he said. ‘She is giving some orders for me. She is very kind trying to save me trouble; though I might manage by means of John. John and I are so accustomed to each other. We’ll get on very well--when we’re alone.’ ‘But John is going away to begin his work,’ she said, assuming ignorance notwithstanding what Mr. Cattley had said. ‘Not at present. His m---- I mean, I think it is best to keep him at home for a little longer. Emily is going to look for something near London--but for my part I am glad to have him at home.’ ‘Your daughter seems to be making great changes in your arrangements---- ’ ‘I don’t know,’ said the old gentleman, somewhat testily, ‘who has so good a right. She is all I have. I have always given a great deal of heed to Emily. She knows most things--better than most people. I don’t know who I should trust to advise me if it wasn’t Emily; with her I know that I am safe.’ ‘Oh, surely you are the best judge,’ said Mrs. Egerton, with offence. She had no right to be offended. What he said was perfectly just, and she had no ground whatever on which to stand with any idea of ousting Emily. What right could she have to oust Emily? She felt a great interest in John, but not enough to interfere on his account. Nevertheless, she was more or less indignant. It was ingratitude; it was a kind of insubordination. It was not often she was told in the parish what this old man virtually told her, that she had no right to interfere: and there could be no doubt that she was annoyed. She talked a little, somewhat coldly, of ordinary topics, of the people who were ill in the village, and that it was rather a sickly season, and that Mr. Cattley had a great deal to do. And then she got up to go away, much dissatisfied, disappointed, and even a little humiliated, feeling that she had not shown the power which she was supposed to possess. But it was not fated that Mrs. Egerton was to withdraw thus uncontented. As she opened the door of the parlour to go out, there rose before her suddenly a tall shadow in the doorway. It was Emily herself. CHAPTER XIV. MR. SANDFORD’S DAUGHTER. ‘Oh!’ cried Mrs. Egerton. This was so entirely unexpected after she had given up all thought of it. She decided within herself in a moment that the curate was right when he said that the stranger looked like a lady. Yes, she looked like it; but--there was something in the dress of Mr. Sandford’s daughter, in her look, in the gravity of her manners, which gave a sudden enlightenment to the inquirer. She wore a peculiar bonnet closely encircling her face; a long cloak, a black heavy gown which was not newly got for mourning, but evidently her habitual dress. The experienced half-clerical lady of the parish perceived in a moment with whom she had to do.