rself, "how
indiscreet I have been, making friends with these men. Shall I never
learn wisdom--I who have sought to direct others?" The recollections
that came caused her, in the sting of mortified pride, to strike her
hand with painful force against a chair near her. The bruise recalled
her to calm. The chair she had struck was that large one in which Robert
Trenholme had reclined. It aided her to ponder upon the man who had so
lately been seen on its cushions, and, in truth, her pondering
bewildered her. Why had he not said as much to her years before, and why
had he now said what he did, as he did? She thought she had known this
man, had fathomed him as to faults and virtues, though at some times she
rated their combination more reverently than at others. Truth to tell,
she had known him well; her judgment, impelled by the suggestion of his
possible love, had scanned him patiently. Yet now she owned herself at
fault, unable to construe the manner of this action or assign a
particular motive with which it was in harmony. It is by manner that the
individual is revealed (for many men may do the same deed), and a friend
who perforce must know a friend only by faith and the guessing of the
unseen by the seen, fastens instinctively upon signs too slight to be
written in the minutest history. At this moment, as Sophia stood among
the vacant seats, the scene of the conversation which had just taken
place, she felt that her insight into Robert Trenholme failed her. She
recalled a certain peace and contentment that, in spite of fatigue, was
written on his face. She set it by what he had said, and gained from it
an unreasoning belief that he was a nobler man than she had lately
supposed him to be; in the same breath her heart blamed him bitterly for
not having told her this before, and for telling it now as if, forsooth,
it was a matter of no importance. "How dare he?" Again herself within
herself was rampant, talking wildly. "How dare he?" asked Anger. Then
Scorn, demanded peace again, for, "It is not of importance to me," said
Scorn.

Blue and Red and Winifred and the little boys came out to carry in the
chairs and rugs. A cool breeze came with the reddening of the sunlight,
and stirred the maple tree into its evening whispering.

As Sophia worked with the children the turmoil of her thought went on.
Something constantly stung her pride like the lash of a whip; she turned
and shifted her mind to avoid it, and could not.

S