n body, where worldly thoughts can torture me? Do we not?'

'Yes,' said Stephen and Elfride.

'One has a sense of wrong, too, that such an appreciative breadth as a
sentient being possesses should be committed to the frail casket of
a body. What weakens one's intentions regarding the future like the
thought of this?...However, let us tune ourselves to a more cheerful
chord, for there's a great deal to be done yet by us all.'

As Knight meditatively addressed his juniors thus, unconscious of the
deception practised, for different reasons, by the severed hearts at his
side, and of the scenes that had in earlier days united them, each one
felt that he and she did not gain by contrast with their musing mentor.
Physically not so handsome as either the youthful architect or the
vicar's daughter, the thoroughness and integrity of Knight illuminated
his features with a dignity not even incipient in the other two. It is
difficult to frame rules which shall apply to both sexes, and Elfride,
an undeveloped girl, must, perhaps, hardly be laden with the moral
responsibilities which attach to a man in like circumstances. The charm
of woman, too, lies partly in her subtleness in matters of love. But if
honesty is a virtue in itself, Elfride, having none of it now, seemed,
being for being, scarcely good enough for Knight. Stephen, though
deceptive for no unworthy purpose, was deceptive after all; and
whatever good results grace such strategy if it succeed, it seldom draws
admiration, especially when it fails.

On an ordinary occasion, had Knight been even quite alone with Stephen,
he would hardly have alluded to his possible relationship to Elfride.
But moved by attendant circumstances Knight was impelled to be
confiding.

'Stephen,' he said, 'this lady is Miss Swancourt. I am staying at her
father's house, as you probably know.' He stepped a few paces nearer
to Smith, and said in a lower tone: 'I may as well tell you that we are
engaged to be married.'

Low as the words had been spoken, Elfride had heard them, and awaited
Stephen's reply in breathless silence, if that could be called silence
where Elfride's dress, at each throb of her heart, shook and indicated
it like a pulse-glass, rustling also against the wall in reply to the
same throbbing. The ray of daylight which reached her face lent it a
blue pallor in comparison with those of the other two.

'I congratulate you,' Stephen whispered; and said aloud, 'I know Miss
Swanc