The two Cythereas continued at the Westminster Hotel, Miss Aldclyffe
informing her companion that business would detain them in London
another week. The days passed as slowly and quietly as days can pass in
a city at that time of the year, the shuttered windows about the squares
and terraces confronting their eyes like the white and sightless orbs of
blind men. On Thursday Mr. Nyttleton called, bringing the whole number
of replies to the advertisement. Cytherea was present at the interview,
by Miss Aldclyffe’s request--either from whim or design.
Ten additional letters were the result of the second week’s insertion,
making fifty-five in all. Miss Aldclyffe looked them over as before. One
was signed--
AENEAS MANSTON, 133, TURNGATE STREET,
LIVERPOOL.
‘Now, then, Mr. Nyttleton, will you make a selection, and I will add one
or two,’ Miss Aldclyffe said.
Mr. Nyttleton scanned the whole heap of letters, testimonials, and
references, sorting them into two heaps. Manston’s missive, after a mere
glance, was thrown amongst the summarily rejected ones.
Miss Aldclyffe read, or pretended to read after the lawyer. When he had
finished, five lay in the group he had selected. ‘Would you like to add
to the number?’ he said, turning to the lady.
‘No,’ she said carelessly. ‘Well, two or three additional ones rather
took my fancy,’ she added, searching for some in the larger collection.
She drew out three. One was Manston’s.
‘These eight, then, shall be communicated with,’ said the lawyer, taking
up the eight letters and placing them by themselves.
They stood up. ‘If I myself, Miss Aldclyffe, were only concerned
personally,’ he said, in an off-hand way, and holding up a letter
singly, ‘I should choose this man unhesitatingly. He writes honestly,
is not afraid to name what he does not consider himself well acquainted
with--a rare thing to find in answers to advertisements; he is well
recommended, and possesses some qualities rarely found in combination.
Oddly enough, he is not really a steward. He was bred a farmer, studied
building affairs, served on an estate for some time, then went with an
architect, and is now well qualified as architect, estate agent, and
surveyor. That man is sure to have a fine head for a manor like yours.’
He tapped the letter as he spoke. ‘Yes, I should choose him without
hesitation--speaking personally.’
‘And I think,’ she said artificially, ‘I should choose this one as a
matter of mere personal whim, which, of course, can’t be given way to
when practical questions have to be considered.’
Cytherea, after looking out of the window, and then at the newspapers,
had become interested in the proceedings between the clever Miss
Aldclyffe and the keen old lawyer, which reminded her of a game
at cards. She looked inquiringly at the two letters--one in Miss
Aldclyffe’s hand, the other in Mr. Nyttleton’s.
‘What is the name of your man?’ said Miss Aldclyffe.
‘His name--’ said the lawyer, looking down the page; ‘what is his
name?--it is Edward Springrove.’
Miss Aldclyffe glanced towards Cytherea, who was getting red and pale by
turns. She looked imploringly at Miss Aldclyffe.
‘The name of my man,’ said Miss Aldclyffe, looking at her letter in
turn; ‘is, I think--yes--AEneas Manston.’