There was no use, he thought, in continuing attentions so evidently distasteful to Jemima.  To her, a young girl hardly out of the schoolroom; he probably appeared like an old man; and he might even lose the friendship with which she used to regard him, and which was, and ever would be, very dear to him, if he persevered in trying to be considered as a lover.  He should always feel affectionately towards her; her very faults gave her an interest in his eyes, for which he had blamed himself most conscientiously and most uselessly when he was looking upon her as his future wife, but which the said conscience would learn to approve of when she sank down to the place of a young friend, over whom he might exercise a good and salutary interest.  Mrs. Denbigh, if not many months older in years, had known sorrow and cares so early that she was much older in character.  Besides, her shy reserve, and her quiet daily walk within the lines of duty, were much in accordance with Mr. Farquhar’s notion of what a wife should be.  Still, it was a wrench to take his affections away from Jemima.  If she had not helped him to do so by every means in her power, he could never have accomplished it.

Yes! by every means in her power had Jemima alienated her lover, her beloved—­for so he was in fact.  And now her quick-sighted eyes saw he was gone for ever—­past recall:  for did not her jealous, sore heart feel, even before he himself was conscious of the fact, that he was drawn towards sweet, lovely, composed, and dignified Ruth—­one who always thought before she spoke (as Mr. Farquhar used to bid Jemima do)—­who never was tempted by sudden impulse, but walked the world calm and self-governed.  What now availed Jemima’s reproaches, as she remembered the days when he had watched her with earnest, attentive eyes, as he now watched Ruth; and the times since, when, led astray by her morbid fancy, she had turned away from all his advances!

“It was only in March—­last March, he called me ‘dear Jemima.’  Ah! don’t I remember it well?  The pretty nosegay of greenhouse flowers that he gave me in exchange for the wild daffodils—­and how he seemed to care for the flowers I gave him—­and how he looked at me, and thanked me—­that is all gone and over now.”

Her sisters came in bright and glowing.

“O Jemima, how nice and cool you are, sitting in this shady room!” (she had felt it even chilly).  “We have been such a long walk!  We are so tired.  It is so hot.”

“Why did you go, then?” said she.

“Oh! we wanted to go.  We would not have stayed at home on any account.  It has been so pleasant,” said Mary.

“We’ve been to Scaurside Wood, to gather wild strawberries,” said Elizabeth.

“Such a quantity!  We’ve left a whole basketful in the dairy.  Mr. Farquhar says he’ll teach us how to dress them in the way he learnt in Germany, if we can get him some hock.  Do you think papa will let us have some?”