ed to self-respect, even to a quiet sense of personal dignity, not
the worldly dignity of the _grande dame_ aware of her aristocratic birth
and position in the eyes of the world, but the unworldly dignity of the
woman who is keeping her womanhood from all degradation, or possibility
of degradation. Very often in those days she had recalled her
conversation with Caroline Briggs in the Persian room of the big house
in the Champs-Elysees. Caroline had spoken of the women who try to defy
the natural law, and had said that they were unhappy women, laughed at
by youth, even secretly jeered at. For years she, Adela Sellingworth,
had been one of those women. And often she had been very unhappy. That
misery at least was gone from her. Her nerves had quieted down. She who
had been horribly restless had learnt to be still. Sometimes she was
almost at peace. Often and often she had said to herself that Caroline
was right, that the price paid by those who flung away their dignity of
soul, as she had done in the past, was terrible, too terrible almost for
endurance. At last she could respect herself as she was now; at last she
could tacitly claim and hope to receive the respect of others. She no
longer decked out her bones in jewels. Caroline did not know the reason
of the great and startling change in her and in her way of life, and
probably supposed both to be due to that momentous conversation. Anyhow,
since then, whenever she and Lady Sellingworth had met, she had been
extraordinarily kind, indeed, almost tender; and Lady Sellingworth knew
that Caroline had taken her part against certain of the "old guard" who
had shown almost acute animosity. Caroline Briggs now was perhaps Lady
Sellingworth's best friend. For at last they were on equal terms; and
that fact had strengthened their friendship. But Caroline was quite
safe, and Lady Sellingworth from time to time had realized that for her
life might possibly still hold peculiar dangers. There had been moments
in those ten years of temptation, of struggle, of a rending of the heart
and flesh, which nobody knew of but herself. But as the time went on,
and habit more and more asserted its sway, they had been less and less
frequent. Calm, resignation had grown within her. There was none of the
peace that passeth understanding, but sometimes there was peace. But
even when there was, she was never quite certain that she had absolutely
conquered herself.

Men and women may not know themselv