9. THE ELEVENTH OF SEPTEMBER'There. It will be on a Friday!'
She sat upon a little footstool gazing intently into the fire.
It was the afternoon of the day following that of the steward's
successful solicitation of her hand.
'I wonder if it would be proper in me to run across the park and
tell him it is a Friday?' she said to herself, rising to her feet,
looking at her hat lying near, and then out of the window towards
the Old House. Proper or not, she felt that she must at all hazards
remove the disagreeable, though, as she herself owned, unfounded
impression the coincidence had occasioned. She left the house
directly, and went to search for him.
Manston was in the timber-yard, looking at the sawyers as they
worked. Cytherea came up to him hesitatingly. Till within a
distance
