The three chatterers, startled, looked at Mr. Povey, who left the shop abruptly.
Constance could do nothing but obey the call.
She met him at the door of the cutting-out room in the passage leading to the parlour.
"Where is mother?
In the parlour?" Constance inquired innocently.
There was a dark flush on Mr. Povey's face.
"If you wish to know," said he in a hard voice, "she hasn't asked for you and she doesn't want you."
He turned his back on her, and retreated into his lair.
"Then what--?" she began, puzzled.
He fronted her.
"Haven't you been gabbling long enough with that jackanapes?" he spit at her.
There were tears in his eyes. Constance, though without experience in these matters, comprehended.
She comprehended perfectly and immediately.
She ought to have put Mr. Povey into his place.
She ought to have protested with firm, dignified finality against such a ridiculous and monstrous outrage as that which Mr. Povey had committed.
Mr. Povey ought to have been ruined for ever in her esteem and in her heart.
But she hesitated.
"And only last Sunday--afternoon," Mr. Povey blubbered.
(Not that anything overt had occurred, or been articulately said, between them last Sunday afternoon. But they had been alone together, and had each witnessed strange and disturbing matters in the eyes of the other.)
Tears now fell suddenly from Constance's eyes.
"You ought to be ashamed--" she stammered.
Still, the tears were in her eyes, and in his too.
What he or she merely said, therefore, was of secondary importance.
Mrs. Baines, coming from the kitchen, and hearing Constance's voice, burst upon the scene, which silenced her.
Parents are sometimes silenced.
She found Sophia and Mr. Scales in the shop.
III
That afternoon Sophia, too busy with her own affairs to notice anything abnormal in the relations between her mother and Constance, and quite ignorant that there had been an unsuccessful plot against her, went forth to call upon Miss Chetwynd, with whom she had remained very friendly: she considered that she and Miss Chetwynd formed an aristocracy of intellect, and the family indeed tacitly admitted this.
She practised no secrecy in her departure from the shop; she merely dressed, in her second-best hoop, and went, having been ready at any moment to tell her mother, if her mother caught her and inquired, that she was going to see Miss Chetwynd.
And she did go to see Miss Chetwynd, arriving at the house-school, which lay amid trees on the road to Turnhill, just beyond the turnpike, at precisely a quarter-past four.
As Miss Chetwynd's pupils left at four o'clock, and as Miss Chetwynd invariably took a walk immediately afterwards, Sophia was able to contain her surprise upon being informed that Miss Chetwynd was not in.
She had not intended that Miss Chetwynd should be in.
She turned off to the right, up the side road which, starting from the turnpike, led in the direction of Moorthorne and Red Cow, two mining villages.
Her heart beat with fear as she began to follow that road, for she was upon a terrific adventure.
What most frightened her, perhaps, was her own astounding audacity.
She was alarmed by something within herself which seemed to be no part of herself and which produced in her curious, disconcerting, fleeting impressions of unreality.
In the morning she had heard the voice of Mr. Scales from the showroom--that voice whose even distant murmur caused creepings of the skin in her back.
And she had actually stood on the counter in front of the window in order to see down perpendicularly into the Square; by so doing she had had a glimpse of the top of his luggage on a barrow, and of the crown of his hat occasionally when he went outside to tempt Mr. Povey.
She might have gone down into the shop--there was no slightest reason why she should not; three months had elapsed since the name of Mr. Scales had been mentioned, and her mother had evidently forgotten the trifling incident of New Year's Day--but she was incapable of descending the stairs!
She went to the head of the stairs and peeped through the balustrade--and she could not get further.
For nearly a hundred days those extraordinary lamps had been brightly burning in her head; and now the light-giver had come again, and her feet would not move to the meeting; now the moment had arrived for which alone she had lived, and she could not seize it as it passed!
"Why don't I go downstairs?" she asked herself.
"Am I afraid to meet him?"
The customer sent up by Constance had occupied the surface of her life for ten minutes, trying on hats; and during this time she was praying wildly that Mr. Scales might not go, and asserting that it was impossible he should go without at least asking for her.
Had she not counted the days to this day?
When the customer left Sophia followed her downstairs, and saw Mr. Scales chatting with Constance.
All her self-possession instantly returned to her, and she joined them with a rather mocking smile.
After Mr. Povey's strange summons had withdrawn Constance from the corner, Mr. Scales's tone had changed; it had thrilled her.
"You are YOU," it had said, "there is you--and there is the rest of the universe!"
Then he had not forgotten; she had lived in his heart; she had not for three months been the victim of her own fancies! ...