‘With regard to Miss Trent,’ she said, ’I beg you not to indulge your idealistic habits of thought immoderately.  I found her a pretty and interesting girl, and it is not unlikely that she may make a good wife for such a man as Mr. Grail—­himself, clearly, quite enough of an idealist to dispense with the more solid housewifely virtues in his life-mate.  But I add this, Walter:  It certainly would not be advisable to fill her head too suddenly with a kind of thought to which she has hitherto been a stranger.  If I had influence with Mr. Grail, I should hint to him that he is going to marry a very young wife, and that, under the circumstances, the balance of character to be found in sober domestic occupation will, for some time, be what she most needs to aim at.  You see, I am not an idealist, and I think commonplace domestic happiness of more account than aspirations which might not improbably endanger it.  Forgive me for these remarks, which you will say have a slight odour of the kitchen, or, at best, of the store-room.  Never mind; both are places without which the study could not exist.’

Egremont bit his lips over this; for the first time he was dissatisfied with Mrs. Ormonde.  He wondered on what terms she had received Thyrza.  He had imagined the girl as treated with every indulgence at The Chestnuts, but the tone of this letter made him fear lest Mrs. Ormonde had deemed it a duty to refrain from too much kindness.  It was very unlike her; what had she observed that made her so disagreeably prudent all at once?

It added to his mental malaise.  What change was befalling his life?  Was he about to find himself actually sundered from the friends he had made in the sphere which his birth gave him no claim to enter?  It all meant that he was reverting to the condition wherein he was born.  His attempt to become a member of Society (with a capital) was proving itself a failure.  Very well, he would find his friends in the working world.  When he needed society of an evening, he would find it with Gilbert Grail and his wife.  He would pursue his work more earnestly than ever; he would get his club founded, as soon as the library was ready for a rallying-place; he would seek diligently for the working men of hopeful character, and by force of sincerity win their confidence.  Let the wealthy and refined people go their way.

And at this point he veritably experienced a great relief.  For two days he went about almost joyously.  His task was renewed before him, and his energy at the same time had taken new life.  Doubt, he said to himself, was once more vanquished—­perchance finally.

Then came another letter from Mrs. Ormonde, asking him to come and drink the air of these delicious spring days by the shore.  He replied that it was impossible to leave London.  That very day he had despatched seven packing-cases full of volumes to the library, and he was going to begin the work of setting the books on the shelves.