Miss Balquidder's house was a handsome one, handsomely furnished, and a neat little to aid-servant showed Hilary at once into the dining-parlor, where the mistress sat before a business-like writing-table, covered with letters, papers, etc., all arranged with that careful order in disorder¹ which indicates, even in the smallest things, the possession of an accurate, methodical mind, than which there are few greater possessions, either to its owner or to the world at large.  
Miss Balquidder was not a personable woman; she had never been so even in youth; and age had told its tale upon those large, strong features—"thoroughly² Scotch³ features," they would have been called by those who think all Scotchwomen are necessarily big, raw-boned, and ugly; and have never seen that wonderfully noble beauty—not prettiness, but actual beauty in its highest physical as well as spiritual development—which is not seldom found across the Tweed.
 
But while there was nothing lovely, there was nothing unpleasant or uncomely in Miss Balquidder. Her large figure, in its plain black silk dress; her neat white cap, from under which peeped the little round curls of flaxen hair, neither gray nor snowy, but real "lint-white locks" still; and her good-humored, motherly look—motherly rather than old-maidish—gave an impression which may be best described by the word "comfortable."—She was a "comfortable" woman. She had that quality—too rarely, alas⁴! in all people, and rarest in women going solitary⁵ down the hill of life—of being able, out of the deep content of her own nature, to make other people the same.
 
Hilary was cheered in spite of herself: it always conveys hope to the young, when in sore trouble, if they see the old looking happy.
 
"Welcome, my dear! I was afraid you had forgotten your promise."
 
"Oh no," said Hilary, responding heartily⁷ to the hearty⁸ clasp of a hand large as a man's, but soft as a woman's.
 
"Why did you not come sooner?"
 
More than one possible excuse flashed thro' Hilary's mind, but she was too honest to give it. She gave none at all. Nor did she like to leave the impression that this was merely a visit, when she knew she had only come from secondary and personal motives¹⁰.
 
"May I tell you why I came to-day?—Because I want advice and help, and I think you can give it, from something I heard about you yesterday."
 
"Indeed! From whom?"
 
"In rather a roundabout way; from Mrs. Jones, who told our maid-servant."
 
"The same girl I met on the staircase at your bones? I beg your pardon, but I know where you live, Miss Leaf; your landlady¹¹ happens to be an acquaintance of mine."
 
"So she said: and she told our Elizabeth that you were a rich and benevolent¹² woman, who took a great interest in helping¹³ other women; not in money"—blushing scarlet¹⁴ at be idea—"I don't mean that, but in procuring¹⁵ them work. I want work—oh! so terribly. If you only knew—"
 
"Sit down, my dear;" for Hilary was rambling¹⁶ much, her voice breaking, and her eyes filling, in spite of all her self-command.
 
Miss Balquidder—who seemed accustomed to wait upon herself—went out of the room, and returned with cake and glasses; then she took the wine from the side-board, poured some oat for herself and Hilary, and began to talk.
 
"It is nearly my luncheon-time, and I am a great friend to regular eating and drinking. I never let any thing interfere¹⁷ with my own meals, or other folks' either, if I can help it. I would as soon expect that fire to keep itself up without coals, as my mind to go on working if I don't look after my body. You understand? You seem to have good health, Miss Leaf. I hope you are a prudent¹⁸ girl, and take care of it."
 
"I think I do;" and Hilary smiled. "At any rate my sister does for me, and also Elizabeth."
 
"Ah, I liked the look of that girl. If families did but know that the most useful patent of respectability they can carry about with them is their maid-servant! That is how I always judge my new acquaintances."
 
"There's reason in it, too," said Hilary, amused and drawn¹⁹ out of herself by the frank manner and the cordial voice—I use the adjective advisedly; none the less sweet because its good terse²⁰ English had a decided²¹ Scotch accent, with here and there a Scotch word. Also there was about Miss Balquidder a certain dry humor essentially²² Scotch—neither Irish "wit" nor English "fun," but Scotch humor; a little ponderous²³ perhaps, yet sparkling: like the sparkles from a large lump of coal, red-warm at the heart, and capable of warming a whole household. As many a time it had warmed the little household at Stowbury—for Robert Lyon had it in perfection. Like a waft²⁴ as from old times, it made Hilary at once feel at home with Miss Balquidder. Equally, Miss Balquidder might have seen something in this girl's patient, heroic, forlorn youth which reminded her of her own. Unreasoning as these sudden attractions appear, there is often a hidden something beneath which in reality makes them both natural and probable, as was the case here. In half an hour these two women were sitting talking like old friends; and Hilary had explained her present position, needs and desires. They ended in the one cry—familiar to how many thousands more of helpless young women!—"I want work!"
 
Miss Balquidder listened thoughtfully. Not that it was a new story—alas! she heard it every day; but there was something new in the telling of it; such extreme directness and simplicity²⁵, such utter want of either false pride or false shame, No asking of favors, and yet no shrinking from well-means kindness; the poor woman speaking freely to the rich one, recognizing the common womanhood of both, and never supposing for an instant that mere⁹ money or position could make any difference between them.
 
The story ended, both turned, as was the character of both, to the practical application of it—what it was exactly that Hilary needed, and what Miss Balquidder could supply.
 
The latter said, after a turn or two up and down the room, with her hands behind her—the only masculine trick she had—
 
"My dear, before going further, I ought to tell you one thing—I am not a lady."
 
Hilary looked at her in no little bewilderment.
 
"That is," explained Miss Balquidder, laughing, "not an educated gentlewoman like you. I made my money myself—in trade. I kept an outfitter's shop."
 
"You must have kept it uncommonly²⁶ well," was the involuntary reply, which, in its extreme honesty and naivete, was perhaps the best thing that Hilary could have said.
 
"Well, perhaps I did," and Miss Balquidder laughed her hearty laugh, betraying one of her few weaknesses—a consciousness of her own capabilities²⁷ as a woman of business, and a pleasure at her own deserved success.
 
"Therefore, you see. I can not help you as a governess. Perhaps I would not if I could, for, so far as I see, a good clearance²⁸ of one half the governesses into honest trades would be for their own benefit, and greatly to the benefit of the other half. But that's not my affair. I only meddle²⁹ with things I understand. Miss Leaf, would you be ashamed of keeping a shop?"
 
It is no reflection upon Hilary to confess that this point-blank question startled her.—Her bringing up had been strictly³⁰ among the professional class; and in the provinces sharper than even in London is drawn the line between the richest tradesman who "keeps a shop," and the poorest lawyer, doctor, or clergyman who ever starved in decent gentility. It had been often a struggle for Hilary Leaf's girlish pride to have to teach A B C to little boys and girls whose parents stood behind counters; but as she grew older she grew wiser, and intercourse³¹ with Robert Lyon had taught her much. She never forgot, one day, when Selina asked him something about his grandfather or great-grandfather, and he answered quickly, smiling, "Well, I suppose I had one, but I really never heard." Nevertheless it takes long to conquer entirely³² the class prejudices of years, nay³³, more, of generations. In spite of her will Hilary felt herself wince³⁴, and the color rush all over her face, at Miss Balquidder's question.
 
"Take time to answer, and speak out, my dear. Don't be afraid. You'll not offend me."
 
The kindly³⁵ cheerful tone made Hilary recover her balance immediately.
 
"I never thought of it before; the possibility of such a thing did not occur to me; but I hope I should not be ashamed of any honest work for which I was competent. Only—to serve in a shop—to want upon strangers—I am so horribly shy of strangers." And again the sensitive color rushed in a perfect tide over checks and forehead.
 
Miss Balquidder looked, half amused, compassionately³⁶ at her.
 
"No, my dear, you would not make a good shop-woman, at least there are many who are better fitted for it than you; and it is my maxim³⁸ that people should try to find out, and to do, only that which they are best fitted for. If they did we might not have so many cases of proud despair and ambitious failure in the world. It looks very grand and interesting sometimes to try and do what you can't de, and then tear your hair, and think the world has ill-used you—very grand, but very silly: when all the while, perhaps, there is something else you can do thoroughly well; and the world will be exceedingly obliged to you for doing it, and not doing the other thing.—As doubtless the world was to me, when, instead of b............