were not of a highly exceptional kind;
and she had at least shown some rationality in consulting the person
who knew the most and had flattered her the least. In asking Klesmer's
advice, however, she had rather been borne up by a belief in his latent
admiration than bent on knowing anything more unfavorable that might
have lain behind his slight objections to her singing; and the truth
she had asked for, with an expectation that it would be agreeable, had
come like a lacerating thong.

"Too old--should have begun seven years ago--you will not, at best,
achieve more than mediocrity--hard, incessant work, uncertain
praise--bread coming slowly, scantily, perhaps not at
all--mortifications, people no longer feigning not to see your
blunders--glaring insignificance"--all these phrases rankled in her;
and even more galling was the hint that she could only be accepted on
the stage as a beauty who hoped to get a husband. The "indignities"
that she might be visited with had no very definite form for her, but
the mere association of anything called "indignity" with herself,
roused a resentful alarm. And along with the vaguer images which were
raised by those biting words, came the precise conception of
disagreeables which her experience enabled her to imagine. How could
she take her mamma and the four sisters to London? if it were not
possible for her to earn money at once? And as for submitting to be a
_protege_, and asking her mamma to submit with her to the humiliation
of being supported by Miss Arrowpoint--that was as bad as being a
governess; nay, worse; for suppose the end of all her study to be as
worthless as Klesmer clearly expected it to be, the sense of favors
received and never repaid, would embitter the miseries of
disappointment. Klesmer doubtless had magnificent ideas about helping
artists; but how could he know the feelings of ladies in such matters?
It was all over: she had entertained a mistaken hope; and there was an
end of it.

"An end of it!" said Gwendolen, aloud, starting from her seat as she
heard the steps and voices of her mamma and sisters coming in from
church. She hurried to the piano and began gathering together her
pieces of music with assumed diligence, while the expression on her
pale face and in her burning eyes was what would have suited a woman
enduring a wrong which she might not resent, but would probably revenge.

"Well, my darling," said gentle Mrs. Davilow, entering, "I see by the
whee