‘I said I would study that,’ she began.  ’But it seems to me you explained it all as you went along.  What is there left to study?’

The grave penetrating eyes she met and had to meet once, gave all the needed force to his answer.—­’Your part, Miss Hazel.’  He stood looking at her a minute; and then he went away.

If when Rollo had entered he room where she was, that evening, the instant feeling had been that he must come often:  perhaps the after feeling was that he could not stand much of this doubtful and neutral intercourse.  For he did as he had promised; left her, practically, to Mr. Falkirk, and came not to town again during all the rest of that winter.

CHAPTER XLII.

STUDY.

It seemed to Hazel, that in these days there was no end to the thinking she had to do; and if Mr. Rollo had only known, she remarked to herself, he need not have been at the trouble to point out new lines of study.  The mere sight of him for two hours had put her head in a tangle that it would take her a month to clear away.  Some of the questions indeed had started up under the conversation of Mrs. Coles; but with them now came others, all wrapped round and twisted in; and instead of dreamily watching the fire in her twilight musings, she began now to spend them with her cheek on her book, or her head dropped on her hands, an impatient little sigh now and then bearing witness to the depth of the difficulties in which she was plunged.  What was foremost among the subjects of her musings?—­perhaps this strange new talk of Mr. Rollo’s, with the whole new world of work and interest and consecration which had opened before him.  It made her sober,—­it brought back the old lonely feelings which of late (since she knew herself to belong to somebody ‘in idea’) had somewhat passed out of sight.  He was beginning a new, glad life; growing wiser and better than she; making himself a blessing, whereas she was only a care.  What could she do for him any more?—­would he even want her any more? given up now to these new ways of which she knew nothing, and in which somebody else might suit him better—­say Primrose?  But at that, Miss Wych started up and stirred the fire energetically, and then came back to her musings.

What did she care, anyhow?  She passed that question, turned it round, and took it up in another shape.  How would she bear to be all her life under orders? in ‘closer’ guardianship?—­and there the word ‘sweeter’ flashed in, confusingly.  But that was not business.  Did she—­that is, could she—­like him well enough to like to give up her own way?  Answer, a prompt negative.  Never!—­Not if she liked him ten times more than—­but it is awkward dealing with unknown quantities:  Hazel sheered off.  Suppose she didn’t like it—­could she do it? do it so that he would never find out what it cost her? do it to give him pleasure? do it because it was his right?  Waiving her own pleasure, pushing aside her own will?  Could she do it?—­Well, there was not the least hope that she would wish to do it.  She should always like her own best:  no doubt of that.