“Molly, I’m going to lecture at the Institute tomorrow, vice somebody or other who can’t turn up.  What subject, think you?”

“The Sagas, probably?”

“The Sagas be blowed!  ‘Woman’s Place in our Time,’ that’s the title.”

Mrs. Liversedge laughed, and showed astonishment.

“And what have you to say about her?”

“Wait and see!”

CHAPTER VI

At the distance of a mile and a half from Polterham lay an estate which had long borne the name of Highmead.  Here had dwelt three successive generations of Glazzards.  The present possessor, by name William, was, like his father and grandfather, simply a country gentleman, but, unlike those respectable ancestors, had seen a good deal of the world, and only settled down amid his acres when he was tired of wandering.  His age at present was nearing fifty.  When quite a young man, he had married rather rashly—­a girl whose acquaintance he had made during a voyage.  In a few years’ time, he and his wife agreed to differ on a great many topics of moment, and consequently to live apart.  Mrs. Glazzard died abroad.  William, when the desire for retirement came upon him, was glad of the society of a son and a daughter in their early teens.  But the lad died of consumption, and the girl, whose name was Ivy, for a long time seemed to be clinging to life with but doubtful tenure.  She still lived, however, and kept her father’s house.

Ivy Glazzard cared little for the pleasures of the world—­knew, indeed, scarcely more about them than she had gathered from books.  Her disposition was serious, inclined to a morbid melancholy; she spent much time over devotional literature, but very seldom was heard to speak of religion.  Probably her father’s avowed indifferentism imposed upon her a timid silence.  When the Revivalist services were being held in Polterham, she visited the Hall and the churches with assiduity, and from that period dated her friendship with the daughter of Mr. Mumbray, Mayor of the town.  Serena Mumbray was so uncomfortable at home that she engaged eagerly in any occupation which could excuse her absence for as many hours a day as possible.  Prior to the outbreak of Revivalism no one had supposed her particularly pious, and, indeed, she had often suffered Mrs. Mumbray’s rebukes for levity of speech and indifference to the conventional norm of feminine behaviour.  Though her parents had always been prominent in Polterham society, she was ill-educated, and of late years had endeavoured, in a fitful, fretful way, to make amends to herself for this injustice.  Disregarding paternal censure, she subscribed to the Literary Institute, and read at hap-hazard with little enough profit.  Twenty-three years old, she was now doubly independent, for the will of a maiden aunt (a lady always on the worst of terms with Mr. and Mrs. Mumbray, and therefore glad to encourage Serena against them) had made her an