eyes looking to the door which opened not, had haunted Mary's waking
thoughts, had even mingled with the tangled web of her dreams. Oh, how
could any woman scorn such love? To be so loved, and by such a man,
seemed to Mary the perfection of earthly bliss. She had never been
educated up to those wider and loftier views of life, which teach a
woman that houses and lands, place and power, are the supreme good.

'I can't understand how you could treat that noble-minded man so badly,'
she exclaimed one day, when she and Lesbia were alone in the library,
and after she had sat for ever so long, staring out of the window,
meditating upon her sister's cruelty.

'Of whom are you speaking, pray?'

'As if you didn't know! Of Mr. Hammond.'

'And pray, how do you know that he is noble-minded, or that I treated
him badly?'

'Well, as to his being noble-minded, that jumps to the eyes, as French
books say. As for your treatment of him, I was looking on all the time,
and I know how unkind you were, and I heard him talking to you in the
fir-copse that day.'

'You Were listening' cried Lesbia indignantly.

'I was not listening! I was passing by. And if people choose to carry on
their love affairs out of doors they must expect to be overheard. I
heard him pleading to you, telling you how he would work for you, fight
the battle of life for you, asking you to be trustful and brave for his
sake. But you have a heart of stone. You and grandmother both have
hearts of stone. I think she must have taken out your heart when you
were little, and put a stone in its place.'

'Really,' said Lesbia, trying to carry things with a high hand, albeit
her very human heart was beating passionately all the time, 'I think you
ought to be very grateful to me--and grandmother--for refusing Mr.
Hammond.'

'Why grateful?'

'Because it leaves you a chance of getting him for yourself; and
everybody can see that you are over head and ears in love with him. That
jumps to the eyes, as you say.'

Mary turned crimson, trembled with rage, looked at her sister as if she
would kill her, for a moment or so, and finally burst into tears.

'That is not true, and it is shameful for you to say such a thing,' she
cried.

'Why, what a virago you are, Mary. Well, I'm very glad it is not true.
Mr. Hammond is--yes, I will be quite candid with you--he is the only man
I am ever likely to admire for his own sake. He is good, brave, clever,
all that you think him. But you