than at any other time. My father," she added, after a
moment's pause, "is the only one who in her presence seems spell-proof."

Her words threw Marlow into a momentary fit of thought. "Why," he asked
himself, "was Sir Philip Hastings spell-proof when all others were
charmed?"

Men have a habit of depending much upon men's judgment, whether justly
or unjustly I will not stop to inquire. They rely less upon woman's
judgment in such matters; and yet women are amongst the keenest
discerners--when they are unbiassed by passion. But are they often so?
Perhaps it is from a conviction that men judge less frequently from
impulse, decide more generally from cause, that this presumption of
their accuracy exists. Woman--perhaps from seclusion, perhaps from
nature--is more a creature of instincts than man. They are given her for
defence where reason would act too slowly; and where they do act
strongly, they are almost invariably right. Man goes through the slower
process, and naturally relies more firmly on the result; for reason
demonstrates where instinct leads blindfold. Marlow judged Sir Philip
Hastings by himself, and fancied that he must have some cause for being
spell-proof against the fascinations of Mrs. Hazleton. This roused the
first doubt in his mind as to her being all that she seemed. He repelled
the doubt as injurious, but it returned from time to time in after days,
and at length gave him a clue to an intricate labyrinth.

The walk came to an end, too soon he thought. Emily pointed out the gate
as soon as it appeared in sight, shook hands with him and returned
homeward. He thought more of her after they had parted, than when she
was with him. There are times when the most thoughtful do not
think--when they enjoy. But now, every word, every look of her who had
just left him, came back to memory. Not that he would admit to himself
that there was the least touch of love in his feelings. Oh no! He had
known her too short a time for such a serious passion as love to have
any thing to do with his sensations. He only thought of
her--mused--pondered--recalled all she had said and done, because she
was so unlike any thing he had seen or heard of before--a something
new--a something to be studied.

She was but a girl--a mere child, he said; and yet there was something
more than childish grace in that light, but rounded form, where beauty
was more than budding, but not quite blossomed, like a moss-rose in its
loveliest sta