with our second housemaid, Rosanna Spearman.

After leaving Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand, Rosanna, it
appeared, had returned to the house in a very unaccountable state of
mind. She had turned (if Penelope was to be believed) all the colours of
the rainbow. She had been merry without reason, and sad without reason.
In one breath she asked hundreds of questions about Mr. Franklin Blake,
and in another breath she had been angry with Penelope for presuming to
suppose that a strange gentleman could possess any interest for her. She
had been surprised, smiling, and scribbling Mr. Franklin's name inside
her workbox. She had been surprised again, crying and looking at her
deformed shoulder in the glass. Had she and Mr. Franklin known anything
of each other before to-day? Quite impossible! Had they heard anything
of each other? Impossible again! I could speak to Mr. Franklin's
astonishment as genuine, when he saw how the girl stared at him.
Penelope could speak to the girl's inquisitiveness as genuine, when she
asked questions about Mr. Franklin. The conference between us, conducted
in this way, was tiresome enough, until my daughter suddenly ended it
by bursting out with what I thought the most monstrous supposition I had
ever heard in my life.

"Father!" says Penelope, quite seriously, "there's only one explanation
of it. Rosanna has fallen in love with Mr. Franklin Blake at first
sight!"

You have heard of beautiful young ladies falling in love at first
sight, and have thought it natural enough. But a housemaid out of a
reformatory, with a plain face and a deformed shoulder, falling in love,
at first sight, with a gentleman who comes on a visit to her mistress's
house, match me that, in the way of an absurdity, out of any story-book