a little all the time.  And how far she had been from guessing it when she had talked to Lady Agatha, how pleased she had been the morning of the rose gathering when he had seemed interested only in Agatha’s self!  She always liked to recall, however, the way in which he had asked the few questions about her own affairs.  Her simplicity never wearied of the fascination of the way in which he had looked at her, standing on the pathway, with that delightful non-committal fixing of her with the monocle when she had said: 

“People are kind.  You see, I have nothing to give, and I always seem to be receiving.”

And he had gazed at her quite unmovedly and answered only: 

“What luck!”

But since then he had mentioned this moment as one of those in which he had felt that he might want to marry her, because she was so unconscious of the fact that she gave much more to everybody than she received, that she had so much to give and was totally unaware of the value of her gifts.

“His thoughts of me are so beautiful very often,” was her favourite reflection, “though he always has that composed way of saying things.  What he says seems more valuable, because he is like that.”

In truth, his composed way of saying things it was which seemed to her incomparable.  Even when, without understanding its own longing for a thing it lacked, her heart had felt itself a little unsustained she had never ceased to feel the fascination of his entire freedom from any shadow of interest in the mental attitude of others towards himself.  When he stood and gazed at people through the glass neatly screwed into his eye, one felt that it was he whose opinion was of importance, not the other person’s.  Through sheer chill imperviousness he seemed entirely detached from the powers of criticism.  What people said or thought of his fixed opinion on a subject was not of the least consequence, in fact did not exist; the entities of the persons who cavilled at such opinions themselves ceased to exist, so far as he was concerned.  His was the immovable temperament.  He did not snub people:  he cut the cord of mental communication with them and dropped them into space.  Emily thought this firmness and reserved dignity, and quailed before the thought of erring in such a manner as would cause him to so send her soul adrift.  Her greatest terror during the past months had been the fear of making him ridiculous, of putting him in some position which might annoy him by objectionable publicity.

But now she had no further fears, and could wait in safety and dwell in peace upon her memories and her hopes.  She even began to gain a kind of courage in her thoughts of him.

The atmosphere of the Berkeley Square mansion was good for her.  She had never felt so much its mistress before the staff of servants of whose existence she was the centre, who so plainly served her with careful pleasure, who considered her least wish or inclination as a royal command, increased her realisation of her security and power.  The Warrens, who understood the dignity and meaning of mere worldly facts her nature did not grasp, added subtly to her support.  Gradually she learned to reveal herself in simple talk to Mrs. Warren, who found her, when so revealed, a case more extraordinary than she had been when enshrouded in dubious mystery.