LITMIR.BIZ

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on to various forms of missionary activity; she haunted vile localities, ministering alike to soul and body. At the same time she relished keenly the delights of the masquerading sphere, where her wealth and her beauty made her doubly welcome. From praying by the bedside of a costermonger's wife, she would speed away to shine among the brightest in phantasmagoric drawing-rooms; her mother could seldom accompany her, but there was always some one ready to chaperon Beatrice Redwing. Once in the world from which thought is banished, she seemed as thoughtless as any. Her spiritual convictions put no veto even upon dancing. Yet her mood at such times was not the entire self-abandonment of the girl who is born but to waltz. In spite of the sanction of custom, she could not wholly suppress her virginal instincts, and, however unconsciously, something in her nature held itself aloof. She led a life of indecision. Combining in herself such contradictory elements, she was unable to make close friendships. Her intimacy with Mrs. Rossall, which dated from her late childhood, was not the perfect accord which may subsist between women of very different characters, yet here she gave and received more sympathy than elsewhere. It was her frequent saying that she came to Mrs. Rossall's house when she wanted to rest. Here she could be herself, could pass without interval from pietistic argument to chatter about her neighbours, could indulge in impulses of confession as with no one else, could put off the strain of existence which was the result of her conflicting impulses. But it was only during a portion of the year that she could have Mrs. Rossall's society at other times, though no one suspected it, she suffered much from loneliness. With her mother she was in accord on the subjects of religion and music, but even natural affection, blending with these sympathies, could not bring about complete unity in her home there was the same lack that she experienced in the outer world. For all her versatility, she was not in appearance emotional; no one seemed less likely to be overcome by passion. Her enthusiasms fell short of the last note of sincerity. Perhaps it was on this account that she produced no strong impression, in spite of her beauty. Her personality suffered on acquaintance from defect of charm. Was it a half-consciousness of this that led her now and then into the curious affectation of childishness already remarked? Did she feel unable to rely for pleasing upon those genuine possessions which for sonic reason could never advantageously display themselves?....

      For more than an hour she slept. At her waking she found Minnie standing by her side.

      'Are your lessons over?' she asked, passing at once into full consciousness, without sign of having slept.

      The child replied that they were.

      'Where is Miss Hood?'

      'In the summer-house.'

      Beatrice rose, and they walked towards the summer-house together. It was in a corner of the garden, hidden among acacias and laurels, a circular hut in the ordinary style. Patty and the governess were seated within. Beatrice entered, and took a scat with them.

      'Is your memory as good as my own, Miss Hood?' she said pleasantly. 'Do you remember our meeting four years ago?'

      The other regarded her with quiet surprise, and said she had no recollection of the meeting.

      'Not at Mr. Baxendale's, my uncle's, one day that you lunched with us when I was staying there?'

      Miss Hood had wholly forgotten the circumstance. It served, however, for the commencement of a conversation, which went en till Mrs. Rossall, finding the hammock deserted, was guided by the sound of voices to where the two girls and the children sat.

      In the afternoon there was a setting forth into the country. Mr. Athel drove his sister and the children; Wilfrid and Beatrice accompanied them on horseback. The course to be pursued having been determined, the riders were not at pains to keep the carriage always within sight.

      'Why did Miss Hood decline to come?' Mr. Athel inquired, shortly after they had started.

      She gave no reason, Mrs. Rossall replied. 'It was her choice to stay at home.'

      'Of course you asked her in a proper way?'

      'Why, Philip, of course I did.'

      'Miss Hood never alters her mind,' remarked Patty.

      'Never,' exclaimed the other twin with decision.

      'An admirable characteristic,' commented their uncle, 'provided her decision is right to begin with.'

      Beatrice had just led off at a gallop; Wilfrid necessarily followed her. When the pace slackened they began to talk of Indifferent things. On the crest of a hill, whence the carriage could be seen far away on the white road, the girl reined in, and, turning to her companion, asked abruptly—

      'What is your opinion of Miss Hood?'

      'Why do you ask such a question?'

      'Because I should like to know. She interests me, and you must have had opportunities enough lately of studying her character?'

      'Why does she interest you?'

      'I can't say. I thought you might help me to discover the reason. You have often said that you liked women of strongly marked character.'

      'How do you conclude that she is one?'

      'I feel it; we were talking together before lunch. I don't think I like her; I don't think she has principles.'

      Wilfrid laughed.

      'Principles! The word is vague. You mean, no doubt, that she doesn't seem to have commonplace prejudices.'

      'That's just what I wanted you to say.'

      She let her horse move on. The young man followed, his eyes gazing absently before him, a smile fixed upon his lips.

      Beatrice looked over her shoulder.

      'Does she read the same kind of books that you do?'

      'Unfortunately I read no books at all.'

      She paused again to let him get to her side.

      'What a pity it can't continue!'

      'What?'

      'Your inability to read.'

      'That is the kindest remark I have heard for a long time!' exclaimed Wilfrid with a good-natured laugh.

      'Very likely it is, though you don't mean it. When you read, you only poison your mind. It is your reading that has made you what you are, without faith, without feeling. You dissect everything, you calculate motives cynically, you have learnt to despise everyone who believes what you refuse to, you make your own intellect the centre of the world. You are dangerous.'

      'What a character! To whom am I dangerous?'

      'To anyone whom it pleases you to tempt, in whom you find the beginnings of disbelief.'

      'In brief, I have no principles?'

      'Of course you have none.'

      'In other words, I am selfish?'

      'Intensely so.'

      It was hard to discover whether she were in earnest. Wilfrid examined her for a moment, and concluded that she must be. Her eyes were gleaming with no mock seriousness, and there was even a slight quiver about her lips. In all their exchanges of banter he had never known her look and speak quite as she did now. As he regarded her there came a flush to her cheek. She turned her head away and rode on.

      'And what moves you to visit me with this castigation at present, Miss Redwing?' he asked, still maintaining his jesting tone.

      'I don't know,' she answered carelessly. 'I felt all at once able to say what I thought.'

      'Then you do really think all this?'

      'Assuredly I do.'

      He kept silence a little.

      'And you can't see,' he began, rather more seriously, 'that you are deplorably lacking in the charity which surely should be among your principles?'

      'There are some things to which charity must not be extended.'

      'Let us say, then, discretion, insight.' He spoke yet more earnestly. 'You judge me, and, in truth, you know as little of me as anyone could. The attitude of your mind prevents you from understanding me in the least; it prevents you from understanding any human being. You are consumed with prejudice,

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