The Luck of the Vails by E.F. Benson

It was the day following Lady Oxted's return to London from the Sunday in the country that she received the expected letter from Mrs. Aylwin, in answer to her own. The opening of it, it would be idle to deny, was made with an anxious and apprehensive hand. Already it was plain to her with how swift and strong a movement, as of flood water hastening toward sluice-gates, the first attraction between the two was speeding into intimacy; and had she known what had passed between them in the orchard, she would have guessed that its swiftness had outrun her eye. Already it would have been far better that, if the girl was to know the name her mother had refused to tell her, she should have known it on the night of her arrival. But these things were past prayer, and Lady Oxted drew the sheet of paper from its envelope and found, at any rate, that the communication was short.

"I leave it entirely to your judgment," wrote Mrs. Aylwin, "whether you tell Evie or not. You say that you have promised not to: in that case, supposing at some future time you consider it advisable, and you can accept this quibble, tell it her not in your name, but in mine. My reason for not telling it her you may easily have guessed: the knowledge, or so I thought it, that Harold was murdered, has poisoned my life, and now I question myself as to whether I have been certainly right about it. But remember this: if there arises between the two -- the thing is possible, as evidently you foresee -- a friendship which develops, as is natural between a man and a maid, it is certain that some time Evie will know. I leave it to you to decide whether it is better that she should know now or later. I thank you, dear Violet, for your care for her."