This was true. He had ‘tried it on with her,’ to use her own words, but she was impregnable. ‘It was no good with me,’ she said to Miss Everard; ‘I saw what he was after.’
‘My dear Mrs. Poulter, your supposition is preposterous—forgive me—you do not suppose that I am unable to recognise superiority in birth, in manners, and in intellect. It was better, on this particular occasion, to conciliate Mrs. Mudge. She is not worthy of serious opposition. Miss Toller will not sit near you.’
‘I am glad to hear this explanation. I had hoped that one might be forthcoming.’
‘I am truly thankful I am worthy of hope, _truly_ thankful.’
Mrs. Poulter dropped Palmer’s _Ecclesiastical History_, which she had begun to read every Sunday afternoon for three months. Mr. Goacher picked it up, and was about to take Mrs. Poulter’s hand, but Miss Taggart entered and the conversation closed just when it was becoming interesting.
In a day or two Mrs. Poulter informed Miss Toller that the ladies and Mr. Goacher had been pleased to express a wish that she should dine with them on Christmas Day. She consented with becoming humility, as even Mrs. Poulter confessed, but with many secret misgivings. She desired to strengthen herself with her lodgers on whom her living depended, but Helen was more than a servant. She was her friend, and she could not bear the thought of leaving her in the kitchen. Helen, too, was passionate and jealous. Miss Toller therefore ventured to ask Mrs. Poulter whether, as it was Christmas, Helen also might be invited. Mrs. Poulter signified to Miss Toller her extreme surprise at the suggestion.
‘The line, Miss Toller, must be drawn somewhere. Helen will have the gratuity usual at this season—she is a well-regulated person and will see the impropriety of intrusion into a sphere for which she is unfit.’
Miss Toller withdrew. She dared not venture to explain or apologise to Helen, although delay would make matters worse. She went into North Street and spent ten shillings which she could ill afford in buying a locket for her.
Christmas Eve was black and bitter. After the lodgers had gone to bed, Miss Toller and Helen sat by the kitchen fire.
‘Oh, Miss, I wish we were at Barton Sluice.’