--if she had listened to
an offer of devotion, and rejected it--her heart would be more securely
at peace. So she thought. Secretly she deemed it a hard thing never to
have known that common triumph of her sex. And, moreover, it took away
from the merit of her position as a leader and encourager of women
living independently. There might be some who said, or thought, that
she made a virtue of necessity.

Everard Barfoot's advances surprised her not a little. Judging him as a
man wholly without principle, she supposed at first that this was
merely his way with all women, and resented it as impertinence. But
even then she did not dislike the show of homage; what her mind
regarded with disdain, her heart was all but willing to feed upon,
after its long hunger. Barfoot interested her, and not the less because
of his evil reputation. Here was one of the men for whom
women--doubtless more than one--had sacrificed themselves; she could
not but regard him with sexual curiosity. And her interest grew, her
curiosity was more haunting, as their acquaintance became a sort of
friendship; she found that her moral disapprobation wavered, or was
altogether forgotten. Perhaps it was to compensate for this that she
went the length of outraging Miss Barfoot's feelings on the death of
Bell a Royston.

Certainly she thought with much frequency of Barfoot, and looked
forward to his coming. Never had she wished so much to see him again as
after their encounter in Chelsea Gardens, and on that account she
forced herself to hold aloof when he came. It was not love, nor the
beginning of love; she judged it something less possible to avow. The
man's presence affected her with a perturbation which she had no
difficulty in concealing at the time, though afterwards it distressed
and shamed her. She took refuge in the undeniable fact that the quality
of his mind made an impression upon her, that his talk was sympathetic.
Miss Barfoot submitted to this influence; she confessed that her
cousin's talk had always had a charm for her.

Could it be that this man reciprocated, and more than reciprocated, her
complex feeling? To-day only accident had prevented him from making an
avowal of love--unless she strangely mistook him. All the evening she
had dwelt on this thought; it grew more and more astonishing. Was he
worse than she had imagined? Under cover of independent thought, of
serious moral theories, did he conceal mere profligacy and
heartlessness?