“Six weeks,” Alan repeated, more to himself than to her.  Those six week were precious.  Not a moment of them must be lost.  “Then I think,” he went on quietly, “I shall call tomorrow.”

A wave of conscious pleasure broke over Herminia’s cheek, blush rose on white lily; but she answered nothing.  She was glad this kindred soul should seem in such a hurry to renew her acquaintance.

II.

Next afternoon, about two o’clock, Alan called with a tremulous heart at the cottage.  Herminia had heard not a little of him meanwhile from her friend Mrs. Dewsbury.  “He’s a charming young man, my dear,” the woman of the world observed with confidence.  “I felt quite sure you’d attract one another.  He’s so clever and advanced, and everything that’s dreadful,—­just like yourself, Herminia.  But then he’s also very well connected.  That’s always something, especially when one’s an oddity.  You wouldn’t go down one bit yourself, dear, if you weren’t a dean’s daughter.  The shadow of a cathedral steeple covers a multitude of sins.  Mr. Merrick’s the son of the famous London gout doctor,—­you must know his name,—­all the royal dukes flock to him.  He’s a barrister himself, and in excellent practice.  You might do worse, do you know, than to go in for Alan Merrick.”

Herminia’s lip curled an almost imperceptible curl as she answered gravely, “I don’t think you quite understand my plans in life, Mrs. Dewsbury.  It isn’t my present intention to go in for anybody.”

But Mrs. Dewsbury shook her head.  She knew the world she lived in.  “Ah, I’ve heard a great many girls talk like that beforehand,” she answered at once with her society glibness; “but when the right man turned up, they soon forgot their protestations.  It makes a lot of difference, dear, when a man really asks you!”

Herminia bent her head.  “You misunderstand me,” she replied.  “I don’t mean to say I will never fall in love.  I expect to do that.  I look forward to it frankly,—­it is a woman’s place in life.  I only mean to say, I don’t think anything will ever induce me to marry,—­that is to say, legally.”

Mrs. Dewsbury gave a start of surprise and horror.  She really didn’t know what girls were coming to nowadays,—­which, considering her first principles, was certainly natural.  But if only she had seen the conscious flush with which Herminia received her visitor that afternoon, she would have been confirmed in her belief that Herminia, after all, in spite of her learning, was much like other girls.  In which conclusion Mrs. Dewsbury would not in the end have been fully justified.