Was her temper prosaic?  It would at any time have surprised her to be told so.  Owing to her father’s influence, she had given much time to scientific studies, but she knew herself by no means defective in appreciation of art and literature.  By whatever accident, the friends of her earlier years had been notable rather for good sense and good feeling than for aesthetic fervour; the one exception, her cousin Olga, had rather turned her from thoughts about the beautiful, for Olga seemed emotional in excess, and was not without taint of affectation.  In Helen Borisoff she knew for the first time a woman who cared supremely for music, poetry, pictures, and who combined with this a vigorous practical intelligence.  Helen could burn with enthusiasm, yet never exposed herself to suspicion of weak-mindedness.  Posturing was her scorn, but no one spoke more ardently of the things she admired.  Her acquaintance with recent literature was wider than that of anyone Irene had known; she talked of it in the most interesting way, giving her friend new lights, inspiring her with a new energy of thought.  And Irene was sorry to go away.  She vaguely felt that this companionship was of moment in the history of her mind; she wished for a larger opportunity of benefiting by it.

Dr. Derwent and his son were now at Cromer; there Irene was to join them; and thither, presently, would come Arnold Jacks.

On the day of her departure there arose a storm of wind and rain, which grew more violent as she approached the Norfolk coast; and nothing could have pleased her better.  Her troubled mood harmonised with the darkened, roaring sea; moreover, this atmospheric disturbance made something to talk about on arriving.  She suffered no embarrassment at the meeting with her father and Eustace, who of course awaited her at the station.  To their eyes, Irene was m excellent spirits, though rather wearied after the tiresome journey.  She said very little about her stay in Hampshire.

The last person in the world with whom Irene would have chosen to converse about her approaching marriage was her excellent brother Eustace; but the young man was not content with offering his good wishes; to her surprise, he took the opportunity of their being alone together on the beach, to speak with most unwonted warmth about Arnold Jacks.

“I really was glad when I heard of it!  To tell you the truth, I had hoped for it.  If there is a man living whom I respect, it is Arnold.  There’s no end to his good qualities.  A downright good and sensible fellow!”

“Of course I’m very glad you think so, Eustace,” replied his sister, stooping to pick up a shell.

“Indeed I do.  I’ve often thought that one’s sister’s choice in marriage must be a very anxious thing; it would have worried me awfully if I had felt any doubts about the man.”

Irene was inclined to laugh.

“It’s very good of you.” she said.

“But I mean it.  Girls haven’t quite a fair chance, you know.  They can’t see much of men.”