not understand her daughter's impartiality.

Of course--it had occurred to her once or twice--that, being human, she
_might_ have been mistaken. She could have got over the dreariness and
discomfort of Caspar's home, if Caspar had but loved her. Suppose--it
was just a remote possibility--Caspar had loved her all the time!

"The child has infected me with her romantic ideas," said Lady Alice, at
last, with a faint, sad smile. "Let me see--what does she say about her
friends? The Kenyons--Ethel Kenyon--Mr. Trent--the clergyman of the
parish--Mr. Kenyon--Mr. Kenyon I wonder who the Mr. Kenyon is of whom
she speaks so highly. Surely not a clergyman too? Poor Caspar disliked
clergymen so much. I wonder if Mrs. Romaine is still living in the
neighborhood. But no, I remember: she went out to Calcutta and then to
some German baths with her husband. What became of her, I wonder! If she
were friendly with Caspar still, Lesley would be sure to mention her to
me!"

And she read the letter through once more. But Lesley had not said a
word about Mrs. Romaine: her heart had been too hot and angry with the
remembrance of what Mrs. Romaine's brother had done, to lead her to say
one word about the family.

Lady Alice lingered curiously over Lesley's remarks on "The Unexplored."
She had not read the book herself. She had seen it and heard of it very
often--so often that she thought she knew all that it contained. But for
Lesley's sake she resolved to read it now. Perhaps it held strange,
dangerous doctrines, against which her daughter ought to be cautioned.
Of course the house did not contain a copy. But early in the day Lady
Alice went to the nearest bookseller's and bought a copy. The obliging
book-seller, who did not know her, remarked that "Brooke's 'Unexplored'"
was always popular, and asked her whether she would like an unbound
copy, or one bound in neat great cloth. Lady Alice took the latter: she
had a distaste for paper-covered books.

She read "The Unexplored" in her own room that morning, but of course
she was not struck by it exactly as Lesley had been. The facts which had
horrified Lesley were no novelties to her. She was, in truth, slightly
angry that her innocent Lesley should have so much of the great city's
misery and shame laid bare to her. She acknowledged the truth of the
portraiture, the beauty of the descriptions, the eloquence of the
author's appeals to the higher classes; but she acknowledged it with
resentmen