I might as well show myself. But, I
thought, if Thorold had some other lady so much in his mind,
(for I was sure his picture must be a portrait) he would not
care so very much about seeing me, as I had at first fancied
he would. However, I could not go away; so I might as well go
in; it would not do to wait longer. The evening had quite
fallen now. It was April, as I said, but a cold raw spring
day, and had been like that for several days. Houses were
chill; and in Miss Cardigan's grate a fine fire of Kennal
coals was blazing, making its red illumination all over the
room and the two figures who sat in front of it. She had had a
grate put in this winter. There was no other light, only that
soft red glow and gloom, under favour of which I went in and
stood almost beside them before they perceived me. I did not
speak to Miss Cardigan. I remember my words were, "How do you
do, Mr. Thorold?" — in a very quiet kind of a voice; for I did
not now expect him to be very glad. But I was surprised at the
change my words made.
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