"Yes, isn't it strange?... You come this way from business?" she said.
"Yes; about eight o'clock is my time."
It was the end of August; the stars caught fire slowly in the murky London
sunset; and, vaguely conscious of a feeling of surprise at the pleasure
they took in each other's company, they wandered round a little bleak
square in which a few shrubs had just been planted. They took up the
conversation exactly at the point where it had been broken off.
"I'm sorry," Fred said, "that the paper isn't going to be put to better
use."
"You don't know my mistress, or you wouldn't say that."
"Perhaps you don't know that novels are very often stories about the loves
of men for other men's wives. Such books can serve no good purpose."
"I'm sure my mistress don't write about such things. How could she, poor
dear innocent lamb? It is easy to see you don't know her."
In the course of their argument it transpired that Miss Rice went to
neither church nor chapel.
Fred was much shocked.
"I hope," he said, "you do not follow your mistress's example."
Esther admitted she had for some time past neglected her religion. Fred
went so far as to suggest that she ought to leave her present situation
and enter a truly religious family.
"I owe her too much ever to think of leaving her.
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