and that,
under the circumstances, the balance of character to be found in sober
domestic occupation will, for some time, be what she most needs to aim
at. You see, I am _not_ an idealist, and I think commonplace domestic
happiness of more account than aspirations which might not improbably
endanger it. Forgive me for these remarks, which you will say have a
slight odour of the kitchen, or, at best, of the store-room. Never
mind; both are places without which the study could not exist.'

Egremont bit his lips over this; for the first time he was dissatisfied
with Mrs. Ormonde. He wondered on what terms she had received Thyrza.
He had imagined the girl as treated with every indulgence at The
Chestnuts, but the tone of this letter made him fear lest Mrs. Ormonde
had deemed it a duty to refrain from too much kindness. It was very
unlike her; what had she observed that made her so disagreeably prudent
all at once?

It added to his mental malaise. What change was befalling his life? Was
he about to find himself actually sundered from the friends he had made
in the sphere which his birth gave him no claim to enter? It all meant
that he was reverting to the condition wherein he was born. His attempt
to become a member of Society (with a capital) was proving itself a
failure. Very well, he would find his friends in the working world.
When he needed society of an evening, he would find it with Gilbert
Grail and his wife. He would pursue his work more earnestly than ever;
he would get his club founded, as soon as the library was ready for a
rallying-place; he would seek diligently for the working men of hopeful
character, and by force of sincerity win their confidence. Let the
wealthy and refined people go their way.

And at this point he veritably experienced a great relief. For two days
he went about almost joyously. His task was renewed before him, and his
energy at the same time had taken new life. Doubt, he said to himself,
was once more vanquished--perchance finally.

Then came another letter from Mrs. Ormonde, asking him to come and
drink the air of these delicious spring days by the shore. He replied
that it was impossible to leave London. That very day he had despatched
seven packing-cases full of volumes to the library, and he was going to
begin the work of setting the books on the shelves.

That was a Monday; a week remained before Thyrza's marriage-day. Thyrza
had not been to the new house since she went with Gil