The Palace Beautiful by L.T. Meade

Miss Egerton took Arthur Noel -- for it was he -- straight back into her little sitting-room, and sitting down on her worn little horse-hair sofa, and raising her eyes anxiously to the young man's face, she told him the story of the attic upstairs, of the furniture she had purchased, of the girls she had meant to serve. She showed him, with hands that trembled, the envelope with its queer inscription, and she unfolded for his benefit the empty sheet of blank paper. She told her story at once without any reservation, even relating with a little hasty blush how she felt obliged to pay for the furniture herself.

Perhaps Arthur Noel was the only person in the world to whom she would have made this confession; for she was one of those who made it a practice never to let her right hand know what her left did, but she had known Arthur from his boyhood, and he was one of those men who inspire trust and sympathy at a glance.