there had come over me the
feeling that I ought in some way to bestir myself to preach, to warn,
to advise. But the idea of finding any sort of fault with these
contented, leisurely, interested people, seemed to me absurd, and so I
continued as before, half enjoying the life about me, and half bored by
it. It seemed so ludicrous in any way to pity the inhabitants of the
place, and yet I dimly saw that none of them could possibly continue
there. But I soon saw that there was no question of advice, because I
had nothing to advise. To ask them to be discontented, to suffer, to
inquire, seemed as absurd as to ask a man riding comfortably in a
carriage to get out and walk; and yet I felt that it was just that which
they needed. But one effect the incident had; it somehow seemed to draw
me more to Cynthia. There followed a time of very close companionship
with her. She sought me out, she began to confide in me, chattering
about her happiness and her delight in her surroundings, as a child
might chatter, and half chiding me, in a tender and pretty way, for not
being more at ease in the place. "You always seem to me," she said, "as
if you were only staying here, while I feel as if I could live here for
ever. Of course you are very kind and patient about it all, but you are
not at home--and I don't care a bit about your disapproval now." She
talked to me much about Lucius, who seemed to have a great attraction
for her. "He is all right," she said. "There is no nonsense about
him,--we understand each other; I don't get tired of him, and we like
the same things. I seem to know exactly what he feels about everything;
and that is one of the comforts of this place, that no one asks
questions or makes mischief; one can do just as one likes all the time.
I did not think, when I was alive, that there could be anything so
delightful as all this ahead of me."

"Do you never think--?" I began, but she put her hand to my lips, like a
child, to stop me, and said, "No, I never think, and I never mean to
think, of all the old hateful things. I never wilfully did any harm; I
only liked the people who liked me, and gave them all they asked--and
now I know that I did right, though in old days serious people used to
try to frighten me. God is very good to me," she went on, smiling, "to
allow me to be happy in my own way."

While we talked thus, sitting on a seat that overlooked the great
city--I had never seen it look so stately and beautiful, so