e
considered it waste of time to be always weighing herself and her
feelings in a nicely-adjusted balance. 'Know thyself,' said an old
thinker; but Audrey Ross would have altered the saying: 'Look out of
yourself; self-forgetfulness is better than any amount of
self-knowledge.'

Nevertheless, Audrey was a little thoughtful after this conversation
with Michael, and during the next few weeks she was conscious of feeling
vaguely dissatisfied with herself. Now and then she wondered if she were
different from other girls, and if her absence of moods, and her
constant serenity and gaiety, were not signs of a phlegmatic
temperament.

She was perfectly content with her own position. She had never imagined
before how pleasant it would be to be engaged, and to have one human
being entirely devoted to her. She was very much attached to her
_fiance_. He never disappointed her; on the contrary, she discovered
every day some new and admirable trait that excited her admiration, and
as a lover he was simply perfect. He never made her uneasy by demanding
more than she felt inclined to give; at the same time, it deepened her
sense of security and restfulness to feel how completely he understood
her.

But now and then she would ask herself if her love for Cyril were all
that it ought to be. She began to compare herself with others--with
Geraldine, for example. She remembered the months of Geraldine's
engagement, and how entirely she and Percival had been absorbed in each
other. Geraldine had never seemed to have eyes or ears for anyone but
her lover, and in his absence she had hardly seemed like herself at all.

She had been obliged to pay a few weeks' visit to some friends in
Scotland, and Audrey had accompanied her, and she remembered how, when
their visit was half over, she had jestingly observed that she would
never be engaged to anyone if she were compelled to lose her own
identity. 'For you know you are not the same person, Gage,' she had
said; 'instead of taking pleasure in our friends' society, you shut
yourself up and write endless letters to Percival; and when we drive out
or go in the boat, you never seem to see the beautiful scenery, and the
mountains and the loch might be in the clouds; and when anyone asks you
a question, you seem to answer it from a distance, and everyone knows
that your thoughts are at Rutherford.' And though Geraldine had chosen
to be offended at this plain speaking, she had not been able to defend