d her.

"After all, what does it matter?" she asked herself as Mr. Money was
speaking. "I shall have to suffer this kind of thing in some way for
half my life, I suppose. It is no one's fault but my own. Why should I
disturb the arrangements of these kind people because of any weaknesses
of mine? If women will be fools, at least they ought to try to hide
their folly. This is as good practice for me as I could have."

So she told Mr. Money and Lucy that any arrangement that suited them
would suit her, and that she would be ready to go the moment he gave
the word. Then Mr. Money hastened away to look after other things, and
Lucy remained behind "to help Nola with her preparations," as she
insisted on putting it, but partly, as Minola felt only too sure, to
talk with her about Victor Heron.

Since Heron had offered her his advice in the park, and she had put it
aside, Minola and he had only met once or twice. Then he had attempted,
the first time of their meeting, to renew his apologies, and she had
put them lightly away, as she already had done the advice, and had
given him to understand that she wished to hear no more of the matter.
She had hoped that by assuming a manner of indifference she might lead
him to forget the whole affair. But he did not understand her, and
really believed that he had lost her friendship for ever by the manner
in which he had spoken against Herbert Blanchet. He was troubled for
her much more than for himself, believing, or at least fearing, that
she had set her heart on a man unworthy of her. He kept away from her
therefore, assuming that his society was no longer welcome, and
resolute not to intrude on her.

Minola had hoped that the worst was over, and that he and she were
likely to settle gradually and unnoticed by others into a condition of
ordinary acquaintanceship. This melancholy hope, to her a cruel
necessity in itself, but yet the best hope she could see now left for
her, was likely to be disturbed for a while by this ill-omened visit to
Keeton.

Minola was busy making her preparations for going to Keeton, and with a
very heavy heart. Everything about the visit was now distressing to
her. The occasion was mournful; she dreaded long talks and discussions
with Mr. Saulsbury; she dreaded meeting old acquaintances in Keeton;
she shrank from the responsibilities of various kinds that seemed to be
thrust upon her. When she left Keeton she thought she had done with it
for ever. Where w