ise man, he is the real Humfrey Charlecote! His is the very nature I
always thought some one must still have--the exact judgment I longed to
meet with. Not stern like Robin's, not sharp like Mervyn's, nor
high-flying like dear Miss Charlecote's, nor soft like Bevil's, nor light
like Lucy's, nor clear and clever like Miss Fennimore's--no, but
considerate and solid, tender and true--such as one can lean upon! I
know why he has the steadfast eyes that I liked so much the first
evening. And there is so much more in him than I can measure or
understand. Yes, though I have known him but ten days, I have seen much
more of him than of most men in a year. And he has been so much tried,
and has had such a life, that he may well be called a real hero in a
quiet way. Yes, I well may like him! And I am sure he likes me!' said
another whisper of the heart, which, veiled as was the lady in the
mirror, made Phoebe put both hands over her face, in a shamefaced
ecstatic consciousness. 'Nay--I was the first lady he had seen, the only
person to speak to. No, no; I know it was not that--I feel it was not!
Why, otherwise, did he seem so sorry I was not poor? Oh! how nice it
would be if I were! We could work for each other in his glorious new
land of hope! I, who love work, was made for work! I don't care for
this mere young lady life! And must my trumpery thousand a year stand in
the way? As to birth, I suppose he is as well or better born than
I--and, oh! so far superior in tone and breeding to what ours used to be!
He ought to know better than to think me a fine young lady, and himself
only an engineer's assistant! But he won't! Of course he will be
honourable about it--and--and perhaps never dare to say another word till
he has made his fortune--and when will that ever be? It will be right--'
'But' (and a very different but it was this time) 'what am I thinking
about? How can I be wishing such things when I have promised to devote
myself to Maria? If I could rough it gladly, she could not; and what a
shameful thing it is of me to have run into all this long day dream and
leave her out. No, I know my lot! I am to live on here, and take care
of Maria, and grow to be an old maid! I shall hear about him, when he
comes to be a great man, and know that the Humfrey Charlecote I dreamt
about is still alive! There, I won't have any more nonsense!'

And she opened her book; but finding that Humfrey Randolf's remarks would
co