There was a great deal of curiosity about her, but no one ventured to question her since Mrs. Reffold’s defeat.  Mrs. Reffold herself rather avoided her, having always a vague suspicion that Bernardine tried to make fun of her.  But whether out of perversity or not, Bernardine never would be avoided by her, never let her pass by without a:  few words of conversation, and always went to her for information, much to the amusement of Mrs. Reffold’s faithful attendants.  There was always a twinkle in Bernardine’s eye when she spoke with Mrs. Reffold.  She never fastened herself on to any one; no one could say she intruded.  As time went, on there was a vague sort of feeling that she did not intrude enough.  She was ready to speak if any one cared to speak with her, but she never began a conversation except with Mrs. Reffold.  When people did talk to her, they found her genial.  Then the sad face would smile kindly, and the sad eyes speak kind sympathy.  Or some bit of fun would flash forth, and a peal of young laughter ring out.  It seemed strange that such fun could come from her.

Those who noticed her, said she appeared always to be thinking.

She was thinking and learning.

Some few remarks roughly made by the Disagreeable Man had impressed her deeply.

“You have come to a new world,” he said, “the world of suffering.  You are in a fury because your career has been checked, and because you have been put on the shelf; you, of all people.  Now you will learn how many quite as able as yourself, and abler, have been put on the shelf too, and have to stay there.  You are only a pupil in suffering.  What about the professors?  If your wonderful wisdom has left you with any sense at all, look about you and learn.”

So she was looking, and thinking, and learning.  And as the days went by, perhaps a softer light came into her eyes.

All her life long, her standard of judging people had been an intellectual standard, or an artistic standard:  what people had done with outward and visible signs; how far they had contributed to thought; how far they had influenced any great movement, or originated it; how much of a benefit they had been to their century or their country; how much social or political activity, how much educational energy they had devoted to the pressing need of the times.

She was undoubtedly a clever, cultured young woman; the great work of her life had been self-culture.  To know and understand, she had spared neither herself nor any one else.  To know, and to use her acquired knowledge intellectually as teacher and, perhaps, too, as writer, had been the great aim of her life.  Everything that furthered this aim won her instant attention.  It never struck her that she was selfish.  One does not think of that until the great check comes.  One goes on, and would go on.  But a barrier rises up.  Then, finding one can advance no further, one turns round; and what does one see?