you," said Gwendolen, really
compunctious. "How can you help what I am? Besides, I am very charming.
Come, now." Here Gwendolen with her handkerchief gently rubbed away her
mother's tears. "Really--I am contented with myself. I like myself
better than I should have liked my aunt and you. How dreadfully dull
you must have been!"

Such tender cajolery served to quiet the mother, as it had often done
before after like collisions. Not that the collisions had often been
repeated at the same point; for in the memory of both they left an
association of dread with the particular topics which had occasioned
them: Gwendolen dreaded the unpleasant sense of compunction toward her
mother, which was the nearest approach to self-condemnation and
self-distrust that she had known; and Mrs. Davilow's timid maternal
conscience dreaded whatever had brought on the slightest hint of
reproach. Hence, after this little scene, the two concurred in
excluding Mr. Grandcourt from their conversation.

When Mr. Gascoigne once or twice referred to him, Mrs. Davilow feared
least Gwendolen should betray some of her alarming keen-sightedness
about what was probably in her uncle's mind; but the fear was not
justified. Gwendolen knew certain differences in the characters with
which she was concerned as birds know climate and weather; and for the
very reason that she was determined to evade her uncle's control, she
was determined not to clash with him. The good understanding between
them was much fostered by their enjoyment of archery together: Mr.
Gascoigne, as one of the best bowmen in Wessex, was gratified to find
the elements of like skill in his niece; and Gwendolen was the more
careful not to lose the shelter of his fatherly indulgence, because
since the trouble with Rex both Mrs. Gascoigne and Anna had been unable
to hide what she felt to be a very unreasonable alienation from her.
Toward Anna she took some pains to behave with a regretful
affectionateness; but neither of them dared to mention Rex's name, and
Anna, to whom the thought of him was part of the air she breathed, was
ill at ease with the lively cousin who had ruined his happiness. She
tried dutifully to repress any sign of her changed feeling; but who in
pain can imitate the glance and hand-touch of pleasure.

This unfair resentment had rather a hardening effect on Gwendolen, and
threw her into a more defiant temper. Her uncle too might be offended
if she refused the next person who