Childish as the idea was, Agnes tried the experiment. 'If I let you
mention me,' she said, 'we must at least decide what you are to say.'
She wrote the words in the briefest and plainest form:--'I venture to state
that my wife has been known from her childhood to Miss Agnes Lockwood,
who feels some little interest in my welfare on that account.'
Reduced to this one sentence, there was surely nothing in the reference
to her name which implied that Agnes had permitted it, or that she
was even aware of it. After a last struggle with herself, she handed
the written paper to Emily. 'Your husband must copy it exactly,
without altering anything,' she stipulated. 'On that condition,
I grant your request.' Emily was not only thankful--she was
really touched. Agnes hurried the little woman out of the room.
'Don't give me time to repent and take it back again,' she said.
Emily vanished.

'Is the tie that once bound us completely broken? Am I as entirely
parted from the good and evil fortune of his life as if we had never
met and never loved?' Agnes looked at the clock on the mantel-piece.
Not ten minutes since, those serious questions had been on her lips.
It almost shocked her to think of the common-place manner in
which they had already met with their reply. The mail of that
night would appeal once more to Montbarry's remembrance of her--
in the choice of a servant.

Two days later, the post brought a few grateful lines from Emily.
Her husband had got the place. Ferrari was engaged, for six
months certain, as Lord Montbarry's courier.