l image of him which had been dominant in her mind altered
a little. Nay, she grew a little hot over it. She asked, herself
scornfully whether she was not as ready as any bread-and-buttery miss of
her acquaintance to imagine every man she knew in love with her.

Very likely he had meant what he said quite differently, and she--oh!
humiliation--had flown into a passion with him for no reasonable cause.
Supposing he had meant, two days ago, that if they were to go on being
friends she must let him be her lover too, it would of course have
been unpardonable. How _could_ she let any one talk to her of love
yet?--especially Mr. Flaxman, who guessed, as she was quite sure,
what had happened to her? He must despise her to have imagined it. His
outburst had filled her with the oddest and most petulent resentment.
Were all men self-seeking? Did all men think women shallow and fickle?
Could a man and a woman never be honestly and simply friends? If he
_had_ made love to her, he could not possibly--and there was the sting
of it--feel toward her maiden dignity that romantic respect which
she herself cherished toward it. For it was incredible that any
delicate-minded girl should go through such a crisis as she had gone
through, and then fall calmly into another lover's arms a few weeks
later as though nothing had happened.

How we all attitudinize to ourselves! The whole of life often seems one
long dramatic performance, in which one-half of us is forever posing to
the other half.

But had he really made love to her?--had he meant what she had
assumed him to mean? The girl lost herself in a torrent of memory and
conjecture, and meanwhile Mr. Flaxman sat opposite, talking away, and
looking certainly as little love sick as any man can well look. As the
lamps flashed into the carriage her attention was often caught by his
profile and finely-balanced head, by the hand lying on his knee, or the
little gestures, full of life and freedom, with which he met some raid
of Lady Charlotte's on his opinions, or opened a corresponding one
on hers. There was certainly power in the man, a bright human sort of
power, which inevitably attracted her. And that he was good too she had
special grounds for knowing.

But what an aristocrat he was after all! What an over-prosperous,
exclusive set he belonged to! She lashed herself into anger as the other
two chatted and sparred, with all these names of wealthy cousins and
relations, with their parks and