he did, and that she was to be transferred by the former, and accepted by the latter, as a sort of stock-in-trade—­these were the two Mr. Farquhars who clashed together in her mind.  And in this state of irritation and prejudice, she could not bear the way in which he gave up his opinions to please her; that was not the way to win her; she liked him far better when he inflexibly and rigidly adhered to his idea of right and wrong, not even allowing any force to temptation, and hardly any grace to repentance, compared with that beauty of holiness which had never yielded to sin.  He had been her idol in those days, as she found out now, however much at the time she had opposed him with violence.

As for Mr. Farquhar, he was almost weary of himself; no reasoning, even no principle, seemed to have influence over him, for he saw that Jemima was not at all what he approved of in woman.  He saw her uncurbed and passionate, affecting to despise the rules of life he held most sacred, and indifferent to, if not positively disliking, him; and yet he loved her dearly.  But he resolved to make a great effort of will, and break loose from these trammels of sense.  And while he resolved, some old recollection would bring her up, hanging on his arm, in all the confidence of early girlhood, looking up in his face with her soft, dark eyes, and questioning him upon the mysterious subjects which had so much interest for both of them at that time, although they had become only matter for dissension in these later days.

It was also true, as Mr. Bradshaw had said, Mr. Farquhar wished to marry, and had not much choice in the small town of Eccleston.  He never put this so plainly before himself, as a reason for choosing Jemima, as her father had done to her; but it was an unconscious motive all the same.  However, now he had lectured himself into the resolution to make a pretty long absence from Eccleston, and see if, amongst his distant friends, there was no woman more in accordance with his ideal, who could put the naughty, wilful, plaguing Jemima Bradshaw out of his head, if he did not soon perceive some change in her for the better.  A few days after Ruth’s conversation with Mr. Bradshaw the invitation she had been expecting, yet dreading, came.  It was to her alone.  Mr. and Miss Benson were pleased at the compliment to her, and urged her acceptance of it.  She wished that they had been included; she had not thought it right, or kind to Jemima, to tell them why she was going, and she feared now lest they should feel a little hurt that they were not asked too.  But she need not have been afraid.  They were glad and proud of the attention to her, and never thought of themselves.

“Ruthie, what gown shall you wear to-night?  Your dark-grey one, I suppose?” asked Miss Benson.

“Yes, I suppose so.  I never thought of it; but that is my best.”

“Well; then, I shall quill up a ruff for you.  You know I am a famous quiller of net.”