66 The Real Charlotte, 



that brought every other washerwoman to her door, and 

 made each offer up thanks to her most favoured saint that 

 she was not employed by Miss Mullen. 



The long phaeton was at last turned, with draggings at 

 the horse's mouth and grindings of the fore-carriage; the 

 children took their last stare, and one or two ladies whose 

 payments were in arrear emerged from their back gardens 

 and returned to their washing-tubs. If they flattered them- 

 selves that they had been forgotten, they were mistaken ; 

 Charlotte had given a glance of grim amusement at the 

 deserted washing-tubs, and as her old phaeton rumbled 

 slowly out of Ferry Row, she was computing the number of 

 customers, and the consequent approximate income of each 

 defaulter. 



To the deep and plainly expressed chagrin of the black 

 horse, he was not allowed to turn in at the gate of Tally Ho, 

 but was urged along the road which led to Rosemount. 

 There aeain he made a protest, but, yielding to the weighty 

 arguments of Charlotte's whip, he fell into his usual melan- 

 choly jog, and took the turn to Gurthnamuckla with dull 

 resignation. Once steered into that lonely road, Charlotte 

 let him go at his own pace, and sat passive, her mouth 

 tightly closed, and her eyes blinking quickly as she looked 

 straight ahead of her with a slight furrow of concentration 

 on her low forehead. She had the unusual gift of thinking 

 out in advance her line of conversation in an interview, and, 

 which is even less usual, she had the power of keeping to it. 

 By sheer strength of will she could force her plan of action 

 upon other people, as a conjurer forces a card, till they came 

 to believe it was of their own choosing ; she had done it so 

 often that she was now confident of her skill, and she quite 

 understood the inevitable advantage that a fixed scheme of 

 any sort has over indefinite opposition. When the clump of 

 trees round Gurthnamuckla rose into view, Charlotte had 

 determined her order of battle, and was free to give her 

 attention to outward circumstances. It was a long time 

 since she had been out to Miss Duffy's farm, and as the 

 stony country began to open its arms to the rich, sweet 

 pastures, an often repressed desire asserted itself, and 

 Charlotte heaved a sigh that was as romantic in its way as if 

 she had been §weet and twenty, instead of tough and forty. 



