me way, with those inflections which she knew so well, dearer
music than any she had learnt or could learn. In the beginning she had
known a few fears; time then was so long--so long before her; but what
had she to do with fear now? Was he not Walter Egremont, the man of all
men--the good, wise, steadfast? She had heard much praise of him in the
old days, but never praise enough. No one knew him well enough; no one
the half as well as she did. Should she not know him who dwelt in her
heart?

His life had always been strange to her, but by ceaseless imagining she
had pictured it to herself so completely that she believed she could
follow him day by day. Gilbert Grail had told her that he dwelt in a
room full of books, near the British Museum, which also was full of
books. Most of his time was spent in study; she understood what that
meant. He did not give lectures now; that had come miserably to an end.
He had a few friends, one or two men like himself, who thought and
talked of high and wonderful things, and one or two ladies, of
course--Mrs. Ormonde, and, perhaps, Miss Newthorpe. But probably Miss
Newthorpe was married now. And, indeed, he did not care much to talk
with ladies. He would go occasionally out of London, as he used to;
perhaps would go abroad. If he crossed the sea, he must think much of
her, for the sea always brings thoughts of those one loves. And so he
lived, only wishing for the time to go by.

Lydia's visit was on Sunday. She was to come immediately after dinner;
and, perhaps, though it remained uncertain--for she had not ventured to
speak of it in her letter--they would have tea with the Emersons.

Concerning Thyrza's sister Mrs. Emerson had much curiosity, but she was
not ill-bred. She made no attempt to get a glimpse of Lydia as the
latter went upstairs to Thyrza's room. Thyrza stood just within her
open door. She had put a flower in her hair for the welcoming.

'So this is where you have lived all this time,' Lydia said, looking
about the room. 'How pretty it is, Thyrza! But of course it's a lady's
room.'

The other stood with her hands together before her, and, a little
timidly, said:

'Do I look like a lady? Suppose you didn't know me, Lyddy, should you
think I was a lady?'

'Of course I should,' her sister answered, though in a way which showed
that she did not care to dwell on the subject.

Still, Thyrza laughed with pleasure.

'And do you think I love my sister a bit the less?'