“Indeed, papa,” she replied, “I have had—­as we all have had—­but a very slight opportunity to form any opinion of him.  As for me, I can judge only by the impressions which his conversation and person have left upon me.”

“Well, anything favorable or otherwise?”

“Anything at all but favorable, papa—­I experienced something like pain during breakfast, and felt a strong sense of relief the moment he left the room.”

“Poor child, impressions are nothing.  I have met men of whom first impressions were uniformly unfavorable, who, notwithstanding their rough outsides, were persons of sterling worth and character.”

“Yes, papa, and men of great plausibility and ease of manner, who, on the contrary, were deep, hypocritical and selfish when discovered and their hearts laid open.  As regards Mr. Woodward, however, heaven forbid that I should place the impressions of an ignorant girl like myself against the knowledge and experience of a man who has had such opportunities of knowing the world as you.  All I can say is, that whilst he seemed to breathe a very generous spirit, my impressions were completely at variance with every sentiment he uttered.  Perhaps, however, I do him injustice—­and I should regret that very much.  I will then, in deference to your opinion, papa, endeavor to control those impressions and think as well of him as I can.”

“You are right, Alice, and I thank you.  We should never, if possible, suffer ourselves to be prematurely ungenerous in our estimate of strangers, especially when we know that this world is filled with the most absurd and ridiculous prejudices.  How do you know, my dear child, that yours is not one of them?”

“Alice, love,” said her mother, “I think, upon reflection, your father is right, as he always is; let us not be less generous than this young man, and you know it would be ungenerous to prejudge him; and this comes the more strange from you, my love, inasmuch as I never yet heard you express a prejudice almost against any person.”

“Because I don’t remember, mamma, that I ever felt such an impression—­prejudice—­call it what you will—­against any individual as I do against this man.  I absolutely fear him without knowing why.”

“Precisely so, my dear Alice,” replied her father, “precisely so; and, as you say, with-out knowing why.  In that one phrase, my child, you have defined prejudice to the letter.  Fie, Alice; have more sense, my dear; have more sense.  Dismiss this foolish prejudice against a young man, who, from what he said at breakfast, is entitled to better feelings at your hands.”

“As I said, papa, I shall certainly strive to do so.”