er, nor is the practice of
these limited to savage peoples in distant lands or far-away isles of
the sea. They form the basis actually, though in differing of outward
aspect, of all existing civilisations, just as they formed the basis of
all past civilisations--a basis, moreover, perpetually recemented and
relaid. And, as she considered--being courageous and fair-minded--it
was inevitable that this should be so, unthinkable that it should be
otherwise, since it made, at least indirectly, for the prosperity of
the majority and development of the race.--Considering which--the
apparently cruel paradox and irony of it--Honoria swung down past the
scattered hawthorns, thick with ruddy fruit, across the fragrant herbs
and short, sweet turf, through the straggling fern-brakes, which
impeded her progress, plucking at her skirts, careless of the rich
colour and ample beauty outspread before her.

But soon, as a bird after describing far-ranging circles drops at last
upon the from at-first-determined spot, so her thought settled down,
with relief yet in a way unwillingly--and that not out of any lingering
repulsion, but rather from a certain proud modesty and self-respect--upon
Richard Calmady himself. Not only did he apprehend all this, far more
clearly, more intimately, than she could.--Had he not spoken of the
advantages of a certain blackness?--Honoria's vision became somewhat
indistinct.--But he set out to deal with it in a practical manner. And
in this connection she began to understand how it had come about that
through years of ingratitude and neglect, and of loose-living, on his
part, his mother could still remain patient, could endure, and
supremely love. For behind the obvious, the almost coarse, tragedy and
consequent appeal of the man's deformity, there was the further appeal
of something very admirable in the man himself, for the emergence and
due blossoming of which it would be very possible, very worth while,
for whoso once recognised its existence to wait. John Knott had been
right in his estimate of Richard. Ludovic Quayle had been right. Lady
Calmady had been right.--Honoria had begun to believe that, even before
Richard had come forth from his self-imposed seclusion, in the spring.
The belief had increased during her subsequent intercourse with him,
had been reinforced during her few days' visit at Whitsuntide. Yet,
until now, she had never freely and openly admitted it. She wondered
why? And then hastily she