“Do you mean in general, or in this special matter?”

“Both.  You see, in her hands he is so different from what he was before she came home, that I don’t feel as if I was obeying him—­ only her; and I don’t think I am bound to do that.  Not in the great matter, I am clear.  Nobody can meddle with my real sincere pledge of myself to Frank, nobody!” she spoke as if there was iron in her lips.  “But as far as overt acts go, they have a right to forbid me, till I am of age at least, and we must bear it.”

“Yes, you are right there.”

“But there are thousands of other little cases of right and wrong, and altogether I have come to such a spirit of opposition that I find it easier to resist than to do anything with a good grace.”

“You cannot always tell when resistance is principle, and when temper or distaste.”

“There’s distaste enough always,” said poor Lenore.

“To gaieties?” he said, amazed as one habituated to his wife’s ravenous appetite for any sort of society or amusement.

“Of course,” she answered sadly.  “A great deal of trouble just for a little empty babble.  Often not one word worth remembering, and a general sense of having been full of bad feelings.”

“No enjoyment?” he asked in surprise.

“Only by the merest chance and exception,” she answered, surprised at his surprise; “what is there to enjoy?”

The peculiar-looking clergyman might have seemed more likely to ask such a question than the beautiful girl, but he looked at her anxiously and said, “Don’t nourish morbid dislike and contempt, my dear Lena, it is not a safeguard.  There are such things as perilous reactions.  Try to weigh justly, and be grateful for kindness, and to like what is likeable.”

At that moment, after what had been an interval of weary famine to all but these two, host and hostess appeared, the lady as usual, picturesque, though in the old black silk, with a Roman sash tied transversely, and holly in her hair; and gaily shaking hands—­ “That’s right, Lady Rosamond; so you are trusted here!  Your husband hasn’t sent you to represent him?”

“I’m afraid his confidence in me did not go so far,” said Rosamond.

“Ah!  I see—­Lady Tyrrell, how d’ye do—­you’ve brought Lena?  Well, Rector, are you prepared?”

“That depends on what you expect of me.”

“Have you the convinceable spot in your mind?”

“We must find it.  It is very uncommon, and indurates very soon, so we had better make the most of our opportunity,” said the American lady, who had entered as resplendent as before, though in so different a style that Rosamond wondered how such a wardrobe could be carried about the world; and the sporting friend muttered, “Stunning! she has been making kickshaws all day, and looks as if she came out of a bandbox!  If all women were like that, it might pay.”

It was true.  Mrs. Tallboys was one of those women of resource whose practical powers may well inspire the sense of superiority, and with the ease and confidence of her country.