They walked along the snowy street again, in a different relation to each other.  Marcella had been touched and charmed, and Wharton teased her no more.  As they reached the door of the almshouse where the old Pattons lived, she said to him:  “I think I had rather go in here by myself, please.  I have some things to give them—­old Patton has been very ill this last week—­but I know what you think of doles—­and I know too what you think, what you must think, of my father’s cottages.  It makes me feel a hypocrite; yet I must do these things; we are different, you and I—­I am sure you will miss your train!”

But there was no antagonism, only painful feeling in her softened look.

Wharton put out his hand.

“Yes, it is time for me to go.  You say I make you feel a hypocrite!  I wonder whether you have any idea what you make me feel?  Do you imagine I should dare to say the things I have said except to one of the elite?  Would it be worth my while, as a social reformer?  Are you not vowed to great destinies?  When one comes across one of the tools of the future, must one not try to sharpen it, out of one’s poor resources, in spite of manners?”

Marcella, stirred—­abashed—­fascinated—­let him press her hand.  Then he walked rapidly away towards the station, a faint smile twitching at his lip.

“An inexperienced girl,” he said to himself, composedly.

CHAPTER V.

Before she went home, Marcella turned into the little rectory garden to see if she could find Mary Harden for a minute or two.  The intimacy between them was such that she generally found entrance to the house by going round to a garden door and knocking or calling.  The house was very small, and Mary’s little sitting-room was close to this door.

Her knock brought Mary instantly.

“Oh! come in.  You won’t mind.  We were just at dinner.  Charles is going away directly.  Do stay and talk to me a bit.”

Marcella hesitated, but at last went in.  The meals at the rectory distressed her—­the brother and sister showed the marks of them.  To-day she found their usual fare carefully and prettily arranged on a spotless table; some bread, cheese, and boiled rice—­nothing else.  Nor did they allow themselves any fire for meals.  Marcella, sitting beside them in her fur, did not feel the cold, but Mary was clearly shivering under her shawl.  They eat meat twice a week, and in the afternoon Mary lit the sitting-room fire.  In the morning she contented herself with the kitchen, where, as she cooked for many sick folk, and had only a girl of fourteen whom she was training to help her with the housework, she had generally much to do.