“Quite just,” said Mrs. Lovell; “and natural?  Yes, natural; though not common.  Eccentric; which only means, hors du commun; and can be natural.  It is natural.  I was convinced he was a noble fellow, before I knew that you had made a friend of him.  I am sure of it now.  And did he not save your life, Percy?”

“I have warned you that you are partly the subject of the letter.”

“Do you forget that I am a woman, and want it all the more impatiently?”

Major Waring suffered the letter to be snatched from his hand, and stood like one who is submitting to a test, or watching the effect of a potent drug.

“It is his second letter to you,” Mrs. Lovell murmured.  “I see; it is a reply to yours.”

She read a few lines, and glanced up, blushing.  “Am I not made to bear more than I deserve?”

“If you can do such mischief, without meaning any, to a man who is in love with another woman—­,” said Percy.

“Yes,” she nodded, “I perceive the deduction; but inferences are like shadows on the wall—­they are thrown from an object, and are monstrous distortions of it.  That is why you misjudge women.  You infer one thing from another, and are ruled by the inference.”

He simply bowed.  Edward would have answered her in a bright strain, and led her on to say brilliant things, and then have shown her, as by a sudden light, that she had lost herself, and reduced her to feel the strength and safety of his hard intellect.  That was the idea in her brain.  The next moment her heart ejected it.

“Petty, when I asked permission to look at this letter, I was not aware how great a compliment it would be to me if I was permitted to see it.  It betrays your friend.”

“It betrays something more,” said he.

Mrs. Lovell cast down her eyes and read, without further comment.

These were the contents:—­

“My Dear Percy,—­Now that I see her every day again, I am worse than ever; and I remember thinking once or twice that Mrs. L. had cured me.  I am a sort of man who would jump to reach the top of a mountain.  I understand how superior Mrs. L. is to every woman in the world I have seen; but Rhoda cures me on that head.  Mrs. Lovell makes men mad and happy, and Rhoda makes them sensible and miserable.  I have had the talk with Rhoda.  It is all over.  I have felt like being in a big room with one candle alight ever since.  She has not looked at me, and does nothing but get by her father whenever she can, and takes his hand and holds it.  I see where the blow has struck her:  it has killed her pride; and Rhoda is almost all pride.  I suppose she thinks our plan is the best.  She has not said she does, and does not mention her sister.  She is going to die, or she turns nun, or marries a gentleman.  I shall never get her.  She will not forgive me for bringing this news to her.  I told you how she coloured, the first day I came; which has all gone now.