One had been handed a bouquet in the
dock; another had been overwhelmed by proposals of marriage. Rachel
herself had received letters of which the first line was enough. But
there had been no letter from Mr. Steel. Ah! but he had attended her
trial; she remembered him now, his continual presence had impressed
itself very subtly upon her mind, without the definite memory of a
single glance; and after the trial he sent her his card, he dogged her
in the train! What was she to think? There was the voice in which he had
offered her his aid; there was the look in his eyes; there was the
delicate indirectness of that offer.
A year or two ago, with all her independence, Rachel would not have been
so ready to repel one whose advances, however unwarrantable in
themselves, were yet marked by so many evidences of sympathy and
consideration. She had not always been suspicious and repellent; and she
sighed to think how sadly she must have changed, even before the
nightmare of the last few weeks.
But a more poignant reminder of her married life was now in store for
Rachel Minchin. She had come to Chelsea because it was the only portion
of the town in which she had the semblance of a friend; but there did
live in Tite Street a young couple with whom the Minchins had at one
time been on friendly terms.
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