CHAPTER VIII.
TELLING HOW TWO PERSONS, OF VERY DIFFERENT MORAL CALIBRE, WERE COMPELLED TO WEAR THE FLOWER OF HUMILIATION IN THEIR RESPECTIVE BUTTONHOLES Cross-country connections by rail were not easy to make, with the consequence that Sir Charles Verity,--Hordle, gun-cases, bags and portmanteaux, in attendance--did not reach The Hard until close upon midnight.
Hearing the brougham at last drive up, Theresa Bilson felt rapturously fluttered.

Her course had been notably empty of situations and of adventure; drama, as in the case of so many ladies of her profession--the pages of fiction notwithstanding--conspicuously cold-shouldering and giving her the go-by.

Now, drama, and that of richest quality might perhaps--for she admitted the existence of awkward conjunctions--be said to batter at her door.

She thought of the Miss Minetts, her ever-willing audience.

She thought also--as so frequently during the last, in some respects, extremely unsatisfactory twenty-four hours--of Mr.Rochester and of Jane Eyre.