heaven; and that very notion
comforted her in her naughtiness; for in that case, of course, his code
of morals was not meant for her; and while she took his warnings (as
many of them at least as she chose), she thought herself by no means
bound to follow his examples. She all but worshipped him as her guardian
angel: but she was not meant for an angel herself; so she could indulge
freely in those little escapades and frivolities for which she was born,
and then, whenever frightened, run for shelter under his wings. But to
hear the same, and even loftier words, from the lips of the curate, whom
she had made her toy, almost her butt, was to have them brought down
unexpectedly and painfully to her own level. If this was his ideal, why
ought it not to be hers? Was she not his equal, perhaps his superior?
And so her very pride humbled her, as she said to herself,--"Then I
ought to be useful. I can be;--will be!"

"Lucia," asked she, that very afternoon, "will you let me take the
children off your hands while Clara is busy in the morning?"

"Oh, you dear good creature? but it would be such a _gene_! They are
really stupid, I am afraid sometimes, or else I am. They make me so
miserably cross at times."

"I will take them. It would be a relief to you, would it not?"

"My clear!" said poor Lucia, with a doleful smile, which seemed to
Valencia's self-accusing heart to say, "Have you only now discovered
that fact?"

From that day Valencia courted Headley's company more and more. To fall
in love with him was of course absurd; and he had cured himself of his
passing fancy for her. There could be no harm, then, in her making the
most of conversation so different from what she heard in the world, and
which in her heart of hearts she liked so much better. For it was with
Valencia as with all women; in this common fault of frivolity, as in
most others, the men rather than they are to blame. Valencia had
cultivated in herself those qualities which she saw admired by the men
whom she met, and some one of whom, of course, she meant to marry; and
as their female ideal was a butterfly ideal, a butterfly she became. But
beneath all lay, deep and strong, the woman's love of nobleness and
wisdom, the woman's longing to learn and to be led, which has shown
itself in every age in so many a fantastic and even ugly shape, and
which is their real excuse for the flirting with, "geniuses," casting
themselves at the feet of directors; which had te