As to the effect of her career outside of herself, and of those whom her skill was to benefit, she tried to think neither arrogantly nor meanly.  She would not entertain the vanity that she was serving what is called the cause of woman, and she would not assume any duties or responsibilities toward it.  She thought men were as good as women; at least one man had been no worse than one woman; and it was in no representative or exemplary character that she had chosen her course.  At the same time that she held these sane opinions, she believed that she had put away the hopes with the pleasures that might once have taken her as a young girl.  In regard to what had changed the current of her life, she mentally asserted her mere nullity, her absolute non-existence.  The thought of it no longer rankled, and that interest could never be hers again.  If it had not been so much like affectation, and so counter to her strong aesthetic instinct, she might have made her dress somehow significant of her complete abeyance in such matters; but as it was she only studied simplicity, and as we have seen from the impression of the barge-driver she did not finally escape distinction in dress and manner.  In fact, she could not have escaped that effect if she would; and it was one of the indomitable contradictions of her nature that she would not.

When she came back to the croquet-ground, leading the little girl by the hand, she found Mrs. Maynard no longer alone and no longer sad.  She was chatting and laughing with a slim young fellow, whose gay blue eyes looked out of a sunburnt face, and whose straw hat, carried in his hand, exposed a closely shaven head.  He wore a suit of gray flannel, and Mrs. Maynard explained that he was camping on the beach at Birkman’s Cove, and had come over in the steamer with her when she returned from Europe.  She introduced him as Mr. Libby, and said, “Oh, Bella, you dirty little thing!”

Mr. Libby bowed anxiously to Grace, and turned for refuge to the little girl.  “Hello, Bella!” “Hello!” said the child.  “Remember me?” The child put her left hand on that of Grace holding her right, and prettily pressed her head against the girl’s arm in bashful silence.  Grace said some coldly civil words to the young man:  without looking at Mrs. Maynard, and passed on into the house.

“You don’t mean that’s your doctor?” he scarcely more than whispered.

“Yes, I do,” answered Mrs. Maynard.  “Is n’t she too lovely?  And she’s just as good!  She used to stand up at school for me, when all the girls were down on me because I was Western.  And when I came East, this time, I just went right straight to her house.  I knew she could tell me exactly what to do.  And that’s the reason I’m here.  I shall always recommend this air to anybody with lung difficulties.  It’s the greatest thing!  I’m almost another person.  Oh, you need n’t look after her, Mr. Libby!  There’s nothing flirtatious about Grace,” said Mrs. Maynard.