As for myself, I was either too stupid or too innocent to feel
any positive forewarning of the truth, so far. After luncheon,
while I was alone in the conservatory, my maid came to me from
Michael, asking if I had any commands for him in the afternoon. I
thought this rather odd; but it occurred to me that he might want
some hours to himself. I made the inquiry.

To my astonishment, the maid announced that Lady Claudia had
employed Michael to go on an errand for her. The nature of the
errand was to take a letter to her bookseller, and to bring back
the books which she had ordered. With three idle footmen in the
house, whose business it was to perform such service as this, why
had she taken the groom away from his work? The question obtained
such complete possession of my mind that I actually summoned
courage enough to go to my aunt. I said I had thought of driving
out in my pony-carriage that afternoon, and I asked if she
objected to sending one of the three indoor servants for her
books in Michael's place.

She received me with a strange hard stare, and answered with
obstinate self-possession: "I wish Michael to go!" No explanation
followed. With reason or without it, agreeable to me or not
agreeable to me, she wished Michael to go.

I begged her pardon for interfering, and replied that I would
give up the idea of driving on that day. She made no further
remark. I left the room, determining to watch her. There is no
defense for my conduct; it was mean and unbecoming, no doubt. I
was drawn on, by some force in me which I could not even attempt
to resist. Indeed, indeed I am not a mean person by nature!