er any
_tete-a-tete_ with Gwendolen during the days of her stay at the Abbey;
and he was capable of keeping a resolve in spite of much inclination to
the contrary.

But a man cannot resolve about a woman's actions, least of all about
those of a woman like Gwendolen, in whose nature there was a
combination of proud reserve with rashness, of perilously poised terror
with defiance, which might alternately flatter and disappoint control.
Few words could less represent her than "coquette." She had native love
of homage, and belief in her own power; but no cold artifice for the
sake of enslaving. And the poor thing's belief in her power, with her
other dreams before marriage, had often to be thrust aside now like the
toys of a sick child, which it looks at with dull eyes, and has no
heart to play with, however it may try.

The next day at lunch Sir Hugo said to her, "The thaw has gone on like
magic, and it's so pleasant out of doors just now--shall we go and see
the stables and the other odd bits about the place?"

"Yes, pray," said Gwendolen. "You will like to see the stables,
Henleigh?" she added, looking at her husband.

"Uncommonly," said Grandcourt, with an indifference which seemed to
give irony to the word, as he returned her look. It was the first time
Deronda had seen them speak to each other since their arrival, and he
thought their exchange of looks as cold or official as if it had been a
ceremony to keep up a charter. Still, the English fondness for reserve
will account for much negation; and Grandcourt's manners with an extra
veil of reserve over them might be expected to present the extreme type
of the national taste.

"Who else is inclined to make the tour of the house and premises?" said
Sir Hugo. "The ladies must muffle themselves; there is only just about
time to do it well before sunset. You will go, Dan, won't you?"

"Oh, yes," said Deronda, carelessly, knowing that Sir Hugo would think
any excuse disobliging.

"All meet in the library, then, when they are ready--say in half an
hour," said the baronet. Gwendolen made herself ready with wonderful
quickness, and in ten minutes came down into the library in her sables,
plume, and little thick boots. As soon as she entered the room she was
aware that some one else was there: it was precisely what she had hoped
for. Deronda was standing with his back toward her at the far end of
the room, and was looking over a newspaper. How could little thick
boots m