And Miss Trent—what was she?

The clock chimed again, the quarter-hour this time.

Eleanor stood up. Miss Trent had not returned. And now Eleanor did not wish her to return, did not wish Miss Trent to come through her door and find a stranger seated there. But not, perhaps, a stranger—for Miss Trent must, surely, be aware of Eleanor’s existence. It was vulgar, suddenly, the idea of their meeting, and Eleanor crossed the room and flung open the door and returned the cheap little key to its hiding place and she left. Her haste turned to humiliation and her humiliation grew as she fled down the wide staircase and through the front door and down the steps. To be found out now, to be seen fleeing, was hateful to her. She reached the street without meeting anyone and set off in a direction, any direction.

And there, not twenty yards ahead of her, was Miss Trent.

But not the same Miss Trent whom Eleanor had observed setting out from her house that morning. There was none of the urgency that had swept Miss Trent along the street and across the Domain and onto a tram a few hours earlier. Now she walked with a flagging step that spoke of exhaustion or illness or some great disturbance of the mind. Her face was a curious pale grey and her gaze was gripped by the ground before her as though she didn’t trust it not to crack apart or trust her feet to carry her safely. Something made Miss Trent look up with an instinctive sense that she was being watched. Or perhaps Eleanor had made some sudden movement, made some involuntary sound. Whatever it was, Miss Trent raised her head, raised terrible eyes to the face that observed her.

And she stumbled. Her legs gave way beneath her and her body crumpled and she lurched forward. She threw out both hands and let out a cry as she fell.

Eleanor watched as though from a great distance, at first frozen in horror at the sight of the one person she least wished to see coming at her and then by the extraordinary sight of Miss Trent falling.

She ran forward, was at Miss Trent’s side in an instant, though she was aware of no conscious decision to help, simply found herself running to the young woman’s aid. Eleanor kneeled down and took her elbow, got the stricken woman to her feet, retrieved her reticule from the gutter, and ascertained with anxious questions if she could stand? (She could, yes, but unsteadily.) And did she require assistance to get home? (She did, most certainly.) And so assistance was rendered and they made their way at a cautious pace towards the very house that Eleanor had a moment earlier fled.