As for Sidney himself, it was not without reason that he had seen encouragement in the girl’s first reply to his advances.  At sixteen, Clara found it agreeable to have her good graces sought by the one man in whom she recognised superiority of mind and purpose.  Of all the unbetrothed girls she knew not one but would have felt flattered had Kirkwood thus distinguished her.  Nothing common adhered to his demeanour, to his character; he had the look of one who will hold his own in life; his word had the ring of truth.  Of his generosity she had innumerable proofs, and it contrasted nobly with the selfishness of young men as she knew them; she appreciated it all the more because her own frequent desire to be unselfish was so fruitless.  Of awakening tenderness towards him she knew nothing, but she gave him smiles and words which might mean little or much, just for the pleasure of completing a conquest.  Nor did she, in truth, then regard it as impossible that, sooner or later, she might become his wife.  If she must marry a workman, assuredly it should be Sidney.  He thought so highly of her, he understood things in her to which the ordinary artisan would have been dead; he had little delicacies of homage which gave her keen pleasure.  And yet—­well, time enough!

Time went very quickly, and changed both herself and Sidney in ways she could not foresee.  It was true, all he said to her in anger that night by the prison wall—­true and deserved every word of it.  Even in acknowledging that, she hardened herself against him implacably.  Since he chose to take this tone with her, to throw aside all his graceful blindness to her faults, he had only himself to blame if she considered everything at an end between them.  She tried to believe herself glad this had happened; it relieved her from an embarrassment, and made her absolutely free to pursue the ambitions which now gave her no rest.  For all that, she could not dismiss Sidney from her mind; indeed, throughout the week that followed their parting, she thought of him more persistently than for many months.  That he would before long seek pardon for his rudeness she felt certain, she felt also that such submission would gratify her in a high degree.  But the weeks were passing and no letter came; in vain she glanced from the window of the bar at the faces which moved by.  Even on Sunday, when she went home for an hour or two, she neither saw nor heard of Kirkwood.  She could not bring herself to ask a question.

Under any circumstances Clara would ill have borne a suspense that irritated her pride, and at present she lived amid conditions so repugnant, that her nerves were ceaselessly strung almost beyond endurance.  Before entering upon this engagement she had formed but an imperfect notion of what would be demanded of her.  To begin with, Mrs. Tubbs belonged to the order of women who are by nature slave-drivers; though it was her interest to secure Clara for a permanency,