milliners' bills; you have never been denied
anything you wanted, and this is the return
you make me. You won't take a home of
your own when it is offered you—a most
unexceptionable offer in every respect, with
settlements such as you may wait a long
time before you get again. Pray, do you
think I am going to keep you here, and
indulge your confounded romantic
rubbish, until some pennilesss blackguard
takes your fancy?"

"Not if I can help it," said Maud, in a
voice tremulous with indignation. "I am
conscious enough, Sir Andrew, of the
obligations under which it has been my
fate to be placed towards you, without
being so delicately reminded of them—
conscious enough to be most anxious to
relieve you of the burden of my presence
in your house as soon as possible. It cannot
be too soon. But I will not relieve
you, and myself too, of this burden by
marrying an old man because he is rich,
and holds out the inducement of leaving
me a rich widow some day. I suppose
that is what a large settlement means.
When I marry, whether it be a 'penniless
blackguard' or not, I shall not look forward
to widowhood as the consummation of
earthly felicity. And therefore, once for
all, I do not choose to marry Mr.
Durborough. I will not sell myself—no, not
even to be independent of you. But for all
that, Sir Andrew," here the girl strove in
vain to speak calmly, but angry sobs
almost choked her, "depend on it, I shall not
continue to trouble you here much longer.
After what you have said—and I am glad
you have spoken plainly at last—the sooner
I leave your roof the better."

She turned quickly to the door, and had
left the study before her astonished adversary
could find any fitting rejoinder. She
ran up-stairs and locked herself into her
room. Then she flung herself upon the
bed, and the storm, like a great wave,
broke over her; the long-pent tears—tears
of passion, and humiliation, and anguish—
burst forth, until the bed shook under her as
she lay and sobbed there with uncontrolled
violence.

It had come, then, at last. The crisis
which she had long felt was imminent,
which latterly, in her restless longing to be
free, she had at times almost impatiently
hoped for, had come. Words had been
spoken which could never be forgotten, and
the only thing left for her was to go. No
matter how, no matter when, the main
point now for her was, as soon as might
be, to get out of this man's house, who had
reproached her in the coarsest terms with
her dependence upon him, and to shake the
dust from off her feet in going.

Then, after awhile, the tempest of outraged
feelings subsided, leaving the sky,
indeed, black and starless, but succeeded
by that dead, cold calm in which alone
permanent resolves are made. She would
write to London by that day's post; she
would advertise for a situation of some
sort; but what? What was she fit for?
Had she the patience and temper to be a
nursery governess? Had she the
education fitting her to be a schoolroom teacher?
In these days of sewing-machines, could
she support herself by her needle? She
asked herself  these and similar questions,
turning over in her mind twenty different
schemes, and seeing the difficulties that
beset each of them as she sat there, leaning
her two elbows on the table, her hot
cheek resting on her hands, her keen bright
eye fixed upon the wall opposite.

Small accidents determine almost all the
serious events of life. The Times was a
paper Maud never read; but the supplement
of the Times several days ago had
been brought up to Maud's room with some
large photographs which she was going to
mount; and there it still lay on the table.
She had sat nearly an hour, immovable,
opposite this paper, when her eye fell on
one of the columns of advertisements.
"Wanted," in conspicuous letters, ran all
down this column. She drew it towards
her, and began wearily spelling down the
list of housekeepers, cooks, butlers,
gardeners, whose remarkable merits, in their
various ways, had hitherto been overlooked
by an undiscriminating public. Then came
an advertisement of another sort: a single
gentleman who wanted a housekeeper; his
requirements seemed to be small, only he
wished for "a personal interview," and,
upon the whole, Maud thought she would
not answer this advertisement. She passed
on to the next and the next; whatever the
advertiser sought, whether governess,
companion, or housekeeper, the necessary
qualifications were such as Maud felt she had
not. At last she came to the following:

"Wanted immediately, by a lady resident
in the country, a young woman as second
lady's maid, who is a good reader and
writes a clear hand. Must make herself
generally useful. High testimonials will
be required. Address A. C., Post Office,
Salisbury."

She read this twice over. Why should