suspicious visitor appeared.

"We have seen nothing of Lord Blandamer lately," she would remark at
frequent intervals with as much indifference as the subject would allow.

"There is nothing to bring him here now that Mr Westray has gone. Why
should he come?"

Why, indeed, and what difference would it make to her if he never came
again? These were questions that Anastasia had discussed with herself,
at every hour of every day of those blank three weeks. She had ample
time for such foolish discussions, for such vain imaginings, for she was
left much to herself, having no mind-companions either of her own age or
of any other. She was one of those unfortunate persons whose education
and instincts' unfit them for their position. The diversions of youth
had been denied her, the pleasures of dress or company had never been
within her reach. For pastime she was turned back continually to her
own thoughts, and an active imagination and much desultory reading had
educated her in a school of romance, which found no counterpart in the
life of Cullerne. She was proud at heart (and it is curious that those
are often the proudest who in their neighbours' estimation have least
cause for pride), but not conceited in manner in spite of Mr Joliffe's
animadversion on the mincing of her words. Yet it was not her pride
that had kept her from making friends, but merely the incompatibility of
mental temperament, which builds the barrier not so much between
education and ignorance, as between refinement and materialism, between
romance and commonplace.

That barrier is so insurmountable that any attempt upon it must end in
failure that is often pathetic from its very hopelessness; even the
warmth of ardent affection has never yet succeeded in evolving a mental
companionship from such discordant material. By kindly dispensation of
nature the breadth of the gulf, indeed, is hidden from those who cannot
cross it. They know it is there, they have some inkling of the
difference of view, but they think that love may build a bridge across,
or that in time they may find some other access to the further side.
Sometimes they fancy that they are nearer to the goal, that they walk
step and step with those they love; but this, alas! is not to be,
because the mental sympathy, the touch of illumination that welds minds
together, is wanting.

It was so with Miss Joliffe the elder--she longed to be near her niece,
and was so very far away; she t