wed scorners
of her belief, and yet she was beginning to like their society. Every
letter she wrote to Bartles seemed to her despatched on a longer
journey than the one before; her paramount interests were fading,
fading; she could not exert herself to think of a thousand matters
which used to have the power to keep her active all day long. The
chapel-plans were hidden away; she durst not go to the place where they
would have met her eye.

She suffered in her pride. On landing at Naples, she had imagined that
her position among the Spences and their friends would not be greatly
different from that she had held at Bartles. They were not "religious"
people; all the more must they respect her, feeling rebuked in her
presence. The chapel project would enhance her importance. How far
otherwise had it proved! They pitied her, compassionated her lack of
knowledge, of opportunities. With the perception of this, there came
upon her another disillusion In classing the Spences with people who
were not "religious," she had understood them as lax in the observance
of duties which at all events they recognized as such. By degrees she
learnt that they were very far from holding the same views as herself
concerning religious obligation; they were anything but
conscience-smitten in the face of her example. Was it, then, possible
that persons who lived in a seemly manner could be sceptics, perhaps
"infidels"? What of Cecily Doran? She had not dared to ask Cecily face
to face how far her disbelief went; the girl seemed to have no creed
but that of worldly delight. How had she killed her conscience in so
short a time? Obviously, her views were those of Mrs. Lessingham;
probably those of Mr. Mallard. Were these people strange and dreadful
exceptions, or did they represent a whole world of which she had not
suspected the existence?

Yes, she was beginning to feel the allurement of Italy. Instead of
sitting turned away from her windows when musing, she often passed an
hour with her eyes on the picture they framed, content to be idle,
satisfied with form and colour, not thinking at all. Habits of personal
idleness crept upon her; she seldom cared to walk, but found pleasure
in the motion of a carriage, and lay back on the cushions, instead of
sitting quite upright as at first. She began to wish for music; the
sound of Eleanor's piano would tempt her to make an excuse for going
into the room, and then she would remain, listening. The abundant