, nor had she the
advantages of dress and leisure by which to make herself attractive. She
had hoped little, but in an honest, humble-minded, quiet way she had
preferred this man to any other. Now, although she was as different from
her mother as nature could make her, precepts with which her mind had
been plied from infancy had formed her thought. She was incapable of
self-deception, she knew that he had been her ideal man; but she was
also incapable of seeing him in the same light now as heretofore.

Miss Bennett held the reins tight and gave her horse smart strokes of
the whip. The spiritless animal took such driving passively, as it
jogged down the quiet road by the enclosure of the New College.

Unconscious that her words were inconsistent with what she had so lately
said, Mrs. Bennett complained again. "My nerves have received quite a
shock; I am all in a tremble." It was true; she was even wiping away
genuine tears. "Oh, my dear, it's a terribly low occupation. Oh, my
dear, the things I have heard they do--the atrocities they commit!"

"I daresay what you heard was true," retorted Miss Bennett, "but it does
not follow that they are all alike." Without perceiving clearly the
extent of the fallacy, she felt called upon to oppose the
generalisations of a superficial mind.

So they passed out of sight of Trenholme's house. Inside he sat at his
desk, plunged again in the work of writing business letters. We seldom
realise in what way we give out the force that is within us, or in what
proportion it flows into this act or that. Trenholme was under the
impression that what he had done that afternoon had been done without
effort? The effort, as he realised it, had come days and weeks before.
Yet, as he worked through the hours that were left of that day's light,
he felt a weariness of body and mind that was almost equivalent to a
desire for death.

CHAPTER XVII.

Sophia Rexford stood and watched the last of the afternoon's company as,
some driving and some on foot, they passed in different directions along
the level road. It was a very peaceful scene. The neighbourhood lay
sunning itself in the last warmth of the summer, and the neighbours, to
all appearance, were moving homeward in utmost tranquillity. Sophia was
not at peace; she was holding stern rule over her mind, saying, "Be at
peace; who hath disturbed thee?" This rule lasted not many minutes; then
suddenly mutiny. "Good Heavens!" she cried within he