chemistry, for which Nuttie cared little. There were
good solid books, and lively ones too, but they seemed passe to one who
had heard them discussed in town. Mary and Miss Headworth read and
talked them over, and perhaps their opinions were quite as wise, and
Miss Nugent's conversation was equal to that of any of Nuttie's London
friends, but it was only woman's talk after all--the brilliancy and
piquancy, the touch and go, she had enjoyed in Lady Kirkaldy's
drawing-room was lacking.

Mr. Spyers was too much immersed in parish matters to read anything
secular, and neither he nor Gerard Godfrey seemed ever to talk of
anything but parish matters. There was not the slightest interest in
anything beyond. Foreign politics, European celebrities,--things in
which Nuttie had learnt to take warm interest when with the Kirkaldys,
were nothing to them. Even Mary wondered at her endeavours to see the
day's paper, and she never obtained either information or sympathy
unless she came across Mark. It seemed to her that Gerard cared less
for the peace or war of an empire than for a tipsy cobbler taking the
pledge. The monotony and narrowness of the world where she had once
been so happy fretted and wearied her, though she was ashamed of
herself all the time, and far too proud to allow that she was tired of
it all. Aunt Ursel at her best had always been a little dry and grave,
an authority over the two nieces; and though softened, she was not
expansive, did not invite confidences, and home was not home without
the playfellow-mother.

And most especially was she daily tired of Gerard Godfrey! Had he
always talked of nothing but 'the colours,' chants, E. C. U., classes,
and teetotalism? Whatever she began it always came back to one or
other of these subjects, and when she impatiently declared that she was
perfectly sick of hearing of the Use of Sarum, he looked at her as
guilty of a profanity.

Perhaps it was true that he was narrower than he had been. He was a
good, honest, religiously-minded lad, but with no great depth or grasp
of intellect; Ursula Egremont had been his companion first and then his
romance, and the atmosphere of the community in which he lived had been
studious and intelligent. His expedition to Redcastle had convinced
him that the young lady lived in a different world, entirely beyond his
reach, and in the reaction of his hopelessness, he had thrown himself
into the excitement of the mission, and it had