He compassionated Lilian, and at the same time he was angry with her.  He looked upon her beauty, her gentle spirit, with tenderness, and therewithal he half hoped that she might some day repent of yielding to Quarrier’s vulgar ambition.

“Have you made many acquaintances?” he asked.

“A good many.  Some, very pleasant people; others—­not so interesting.”

“Polterham society will not absorb you, I think.”

“I hope to have a good deal of quiet time.  But Denzil wishes me to study more from life than from books, just now.  I must understand all the subjects. that interest him.”

“Yes—­the exact position, as a force in politics, of the licensed victuallers; the demands of the newly enfranchised classes—­that kind of thing.”

He seemed to be jesting, and she laughed good-humouredly.

“Those things are very important, Mr. Glazzard.”

“Infinitely!”

He did not stay long, and upon his departure Lilian gave a sigh of relief.

The next day he was to lunch with the Mumbrays.  He went about twelve o’clock, to spend an hour with Serena.  His welcome was not ardent, and he felt the oppression of a languor be hardly tried to disguise.  Yet in truth his cause had benefited whilst he was away.  The eloquent letters did not fail of their effect; Serena had again sighed under domestic tyranny, had thought with longing of a life in London, and was once more swayed by her emotions towards an early marriage.

In dearth of matter for conversation (Glazzard sitting taciturn), she spoke of an event which had occupied Polterham for the last day or two.  Some local genius had conceived the idea of wrecking an express train, and to that end had broken a portion of the line.

“What frightful wickedness!” she exclaimed.  “What motive can there have been, do you think?”

“Probably none, in the sense you mean.”

“Yes—­such a man must be mad.”

“I don’t think that,” said Glazzard, meditatively.  “I can understand his doing it with no reason at all but the wish to see what would happen.  No doubt he would have been standing somewhere in sight.”

“You can understand that?”

“Very well indeed,” he answered, in the same half-absent way.  “Power of all kinds is a temptation to men.  A certain kind of man—­not necessarily cruel—­would be fascinated with the thought of bringing about such a terrific end by such slight means.”

“Not necessarily cruel?  Oh, I can’t follow you at all.  You are not serious.”

“I have shocked you.”  He saw that he had really done so, and felt that it was imprudent.  His tact suggested a use for the situation.  “Serena, why should you speak so conventionally?  You are not really conventional in mind.  You have thoughts and emotions infinitely above those of average girls.  Do recognize your own superiority.  I spoke in a speculative way.  One may speculate about anything and everything—­if one has the brains.  You certainly are not made to go through life with veiled eyes and a tongue tuned to the common phrases.  Do yourself justice, dear girl.  However other people regard you, I from the first have seen what it was in you to become.”