“The rails have spoilt this spot,” said Mrs. Wade.  “They were only put up last autumn, after an accident.  I wonder it was never found necessary before.  Some children were gathering blackberries from the bramble there, and one of them reached too far forward, and over she went!  I witnessed it from the other side, where I happened to be walking.  A great splash, and then a chorus of shrieks from the companions.  I began to run forward, though of course I could have done nothing whatever; when all at once I saw a splendid sight.  A man who was standing not far off ran to the edge and plunged in—­a magnificent ‘header!’ He had only thrown away his hat and coat.  They say it’s very deep just here.  He disappeared completely, and then in a few seconds I saw that be had hold of the child.  He brought her out where the bank slopes yonder—­no harm done.  I can’t tell you bow I enjoyed that scene It made me cry with delight.”

As usual, when deeply moved, Lilian stood in a reverie, her eyes wide, her lips tremulous.  Then she stepped forward, and, with her hand resting upon the wooden rail, looked down.  There was no perceptible movement in the water; it showed a dark greenish surface, smooth to the edge, without a trace of weed.

“How I envy that man his courage!”

“His power, rather,” suggested Mrs. Wade.  “If we could swim well, and had no foolish petticoats, we should jump in just as readily.  It was the power over circumstances that I admired and envied.”

Lilian smiled thoughtfully.

“I suppose that is what most attracts us in men?”

“And makes us feel our own dependence.  I can’t say I like that feeling—­do you?”

She seemed to wait for an answer.

“I’m afraid it’s in the order of nature,” replied Lilian at length with a laugh.

“Very likely.  But I am not content with it on that account.  I know of a thousand things quite in the order of nature which revolt me.  I very often think of nature as an evil force, at war with the good principle of which we are conscious in our souls.”

“But,” Lilian faltered, “is your ideal an absolute independence?”

Mrs. Wade looked far across the water, and answered, “Yes, absolute!”

“Then you—­I don’t quite know what would result from that.”

“Nor I,” returned the other, laughing.  “That doesn’t affect my ideal.  You have heard, of course, of that lecture your husband gave at the Institute before—­before your marriage?”

“Yes; I wish I could have heard it.”

“You would have sympathized with every word, I am sure.  Mr. Quarrier is one of the strong men who find satisfaction in women’s weakness.”

It was said with perfect good-humour, with a certain indulgent kindness—­a tone Mrs. Wade had used from the first in talking with Lilian.  A manner of affectionate playfulness, occasionally of caressing protection, distinguished her in this intercourse; quite unlike that by which she was known to people in general.  Lilian did not dislike it, rather was drawn by it into a mood of grateful confidence.