aintance with Major Grantly had begun and had grown,
and as she had learned to feel unconsciously that his company was
pleasanter to her than that of any other person she knew, she had
still told herself that anything like love must be out of the
question. But then words had been spoken, and there had been glances
in his eye, and a tone in his voice, and a touch upon his fingers,
of which she could not altogether refuse to accept the meaning. And
others had spoken to her of it, the two Miss Prettymans and her
friend Lily. Yet she would not admit to herself that it could be so,
and she would not allow herself to confess to herself that she loved
him. Then had come the last killing misery to which her father had
been subjected. He had been accused of stealing money, and had been
committed to be tried for the theft. From that moment, at any rate,
any hope, if there had been a hope, must be crushed. But she swore
to herself bravely that there had been no such hope. And she assured
herself also that nothing had passed which had entitled her to
expect anything beyond ordinary friendship from the man of whom she
certainly had thought much. Even if those touches and those tones
and those glances had meant anything, all such meaning must be
annihilated by this disgrace which had come upon her. She might know
that her father was innocent; she might be sure, at any rate, that he
had been innocent in intention; but the world thought differently,
and she, her brother and sister, and her mother and her poor father,
must bend to the world's opinion. If those dangerous joys had meant
anything, they must be taken as meaning nothing more.

Thus she had argued with herself, and, fortified by such
self-teachings, she had come down to Allington. Since she had been
with her friends there had come upon her from day to day a clear
conviction that her arguments had been undoubtedly true,--a clear
conviction which had been very cold to her heart in spite of all her
courage. She had expected nothing, hoped for nothing, and yet when
nothing came she was sad. She thought of one special half-hour in
which he had said almost all that he might have said,--more than he
ought to have said;--of a moment during which her hand had remained
in his; of a certain pressure with which he had put her shawl upon
her shoulders. If he had only written to her one word to tell her
that he believed her father was innocent! But no; she had no right to
expect anything