better while I was with _you_. But now--now I must be
myself. I can't help it. After all, it is not my fault. What is it
I most covet and desire in the world? It is power. Rank, wealth,
luxury--these are all very well as accessories of life; but how should
I loathe and hate them if they were conditional on my thinking as
other people thought, or doing what I was told! I ought to have been
a man. Women are such weak, vapid, idiotic characters, in general--at
least, all I meet down here. Engrossed with their children, their
parishes, their miserable household cares and perplexities. While in
London, I believe there are women who actually lead a party and turn
out a minister. But they are beautiful, of course. Well--and me? I
don't think I am so much amiss. With my looks and the position I ought
to have, surely I might hold my own with the best of them. But what
good will my looks do me if I am to be a dependent on Aunt Agatha? No.
Without the estate I am nothing. With it I might be _anything_. This
lawyer thinks he can win it for me. I wonder if he knows. How clever
he seems! and how thoughtful! Nothing escapes him, and nothing seems
to take him by surprise. And yet what a fool I could make of him if I
chose. I saw it before he had been five minutes in the room. I wonder
now what he thinks of _me_!--whether he has the presumption to suppose
I could ever allow him to betray what he cared for me. I believe I
should rather admire his impudence! It is pleasant to be cared for,
even by an inferior; and, after all, this Mr. Ryfe is not without his
good points. He has plenty of talent and energy, and I should think
audacity. By his own account he sticks at nothing, when he means
winning, and he certainly means to win for me if he can. I never saw
anybody so eager, so much in earnest. Perhaps he thinks that if he
could come to me and say, 'There, Miss Bruce, I have saved your
birthright for you, and I ask nothing but one kind word in return,' I
might be disposed to give it, and something more. Well, I don't know.
Perhaps it would be as good a way as any other of getting into favour.
One thing is certain. The inheritance I must preserve at every
sacrifice. Dear me, how late it is! I ought to have been in bed hours
ago. Puckers, is that you?"

Puckers did not answer, and a faint rustle in the adjoining room,
which had called forth Miss Bruce's question, ceased the instant she
spoke aloud.

This young lady was not nervous; far fr