sphere, where her wealth and her beauty made her doubly welcome.  From praying by the bedside of a costermonger’s wife, she would speed away to shine among the brightest in phantasmagoric drawing-rooms; her mother could seldom accompany her, but there was always some one ready to chaperon Beatrice Redwing.  Once in the world from which thought is banished, she seemed as thoughtless as any.  Her spiritual convictions put no veto even upon dancing.  Yet her mood at such times was not the entire self-abandonment of the girl who is born but to waltz.  In spite of the sanction of custom, she could not wholly suppress her virginal instincts, and, however unconsciously, something in her nature held itself aloof.  She led a life of indecision.  Combining in herself such contradictory elements, she was unable to make close friendships.  Her intimacy with Mrs. Rossall, which dated from her late childhood, was not the perfect accord which may subsist between women of very different characters, yet here she gave and received more sympathy than elsewhere.  It was her frequent saying that she came to Mrs. Rossall’s house when she wanted to rest.  Here she could be herself, could pass without interval from pietistic argument to chatter about her neighbours, could indulge in impulses of confession as with no one else, could put off the strain of existence which was the result of her conflicting impulses.  But it was only during a portion of the year that she could have Mrs. Rossall’s society at other times, though no one suspected it, she suffered much from loneliness.  With her mother she was in accord on the subjects of religion and music, but even natural affection, blending with these sympathies, could not bring about complete unity in her home there was the same lack that she experienced in the outer world.  For all her versatility, she was not in appearance emotional; no one seemed less likely to be overcome by passion.  Her enthusiasms fell short of the last note of sincerity.  Perhaps it was on this account that she produced no strong impression, in spite of her beauty.  Her personality suffered on acquaintance from defect of charm.  Was it a half-consciousness of this that led her now and then into the curious affectation of childishness already remarked?  Did she feel unable to rely for pleasing upon those genuine possessions which for sonic reason could never advantageously display themselves?....

For more than an hour she slept.  At her waking she found Minnie standing by her side.

‘Are your lessons over?’ she asked, passing at once into full consciousness, without sign of having slept.

The child replied that they were.

‘Where is Miss Hood?’

‘In the summer-house.’

Beatrice rose, and they walked towards the summer-house together.  It was in a corner of the garden, hidden among acacias and laurels, a circular hut in the ordinary style.  Patty and the governess were seated within.  Beatrice entered, and took a scat with them.