rica liked
her, and would have liked her still better had not the last week shown
her so much of the unreality and insincerity of society that she half
doubted whether any one she met in Greyshot could be quite true. Mrs.
Farrant's manner was charming, but charming manners had often turned out
to be exceedingly artificial, and Erica, who was in rather a hard mood,
would not let herself be won over, but held her judgment in suspension,
responding brightly enough to her companion's talk, but keeping the best
part of herself in reserve.

At length the evening ended, and the guests gradually dispersed. Mr.
Cuthbert walked across the road to his vicarage, still chuckling
to himself as he thought of the general discomfiture caused by his
question. The musical old gentleman returned to his home revolving a
startling new idea; after all, might not the Raeburns and such people
be very much like the rest of the world? Were they not probably as
susceptible to pain and pleasure, to comfort and discomfort, to
rudeness and civility? He regretted very much that he had not broken the
miserably uncomfortable silence at dinner.

Donovan Farrant and his wife were already far from Greyshot, driving
along the quiet country road to Oakdene Manor.

"A lovely girl," Mrs. Farrant was saying. "I should like to know her
better. Tonight I had the feeling somehow that she was purposely keeping
on the surface of things, one came every now and then to a sort of wall,
a kind of hard reserve."

"Who can wonder!" exclaimed Donovan. "I am afraid, Gladys, the old
proverb will have a very fair chance of being fulfilled. That child has
come out seeking wool, and as likely as not she'll go home shorn."

"Society can be very cruel!" signed Gladys. "I did so long to get to her
after dinner; but Lady Caroline kept me, I do believe, purposely."

"Lady Caroline and Mr. Cuthbert will little dream of the harm they have
done," said Donovan. "I think I understand as I never understood before
the burning indignation of that rebuke to the Pharisees 'Full well ye
reject the commandment of god that ye may keep your own traditions.'"

In the meantime there was dead silence in the Fane-Smiths' carriage,
an ominous silence. There was an unmistakable cloud on Mr. Fane-Smith's
face; he had been exceedingly annoyed at what had taken place, and with
native perversity, attributed it all to Erica. His wife was miserable.
She felt that her intended kindness had proved a com