d man's mind, the thought came to Creed that he did not quite
understand her. He had in his time had occasion to class many young
persons, and the feeling that he did not quite know her class of person
was like the sensation a bat might have, surprised by daylight.

Suddenly, without saying good-bye to him, she walked away.

'Well,' he thought, looking after her, 'your manners ain't improved by
where you're living, nor your appearance neither, for all your new
clothes.' And for some time he stood thinking of the stare in her eyes
and that abrupt departure.

Through the crystal clearness of the fundamental flux the mind could see
at that same moment Bianca leaving her front gate.

Her sensuous exaltation, her tremulous longing after harmony, had passed
away; in her heart, strangely mingled, were these two thoughts: 'If only
she were a lady!' and, 'I am glad she is not a lady!'

Of all the dark and tortuous places of this life, the human heart is the
most dark and tortuous; and of all human hearts none are less clear, more
intricate than the hearts of all that class of people among whom Bianca
had her being. Pride was a simple quality when joined with a simple view
of life, based on the plain philosophy of property; pride was no simple
quality when the hundred paralysing doubts and aspirations of a social
conscience also hedged it round. In thus going forth with the full
intention of restoring the little model to her position in the household,
her pride fought against her pride, and her woman's sense of ownership in
the man whom she had married wrestled with the acquired sentiments of
freedom, liberality, equality, good taste. With her spirit thus
confused, and her mind so at variance with itself, she was really acting
on the simple instinct of compassion.

She had run upstairs from Mr. Stone's room, and now walked fast, lest
that instinct, the most physical, perhaps, of all--awakened by sights and
sounds, and requiring constant nourishment--should lose its force.

Rapidly, then, she made her way to the grey street in Bayswater where
Cecilia had told her that the girl now lived.

The tall, gaunt landlady admitted her.

"Have you a Miss Barton lodging here?" Bianca asked.

"Yes," said the landlady, "but I think she's out."

She looked into the little model's room.

"Yes," she said; "she's out; but if you'd like to leave a note you could
write in here. If you're looking for a model, she wants work, I
beli