ected the idea. What she could not get away from--it hardly needed
stating in her mind--was that he had tentatively made love to her that
morning. Or rather--and here she rather congratulated herself on making
the distinction, as a process of pure thought--he had seemed to show her
that marriage was in his mind, perhaps as a thing already settled
between them, although she, for her part, had long since given up
thinking of it as a matter to be considered, however loosely, settled.
Of course she knew he was fond of her, as she was of him. If he was not
in love with her, as once he had been, he might still want to marry her,
as the nicest person he could find, and the requisite impulsion might
come from his return after a long absence. She would be included in his
heightened appreciation of all his home surroundings. These
considerations passed through her mind, in no logical sequence of
thought, but at various points of her self-questioning, and when she was
also thinking further of her own part in what might follow, trying to
discover what she wanted and to decide what she should do. The fact that
he had opened and would probably open again the subject of their
marriage was all that really mattered, and she knew that without
thinking.

She knew, too, without thinking, that she did not want to engage herself
again to marry Jim, at any rate not yet; and, in fact, she would not do
so. What her honesty of mind impelled her to was the discovery of the
root from which this femininely instinctive decision had flowered. What
were her reasons for not wanting to marry Jim now, or soon; and would
they take from her, when examined, that always present but always
unstated possibility of some day finding herself living at Mountfield as
his wife? She a little dreaded the conclusion, which may have shown that
she had already made up her mind; but it was here that an answer had to
be found, and she faced it bravely.

She was not ready to marry Jim now, or soon, because in the first place
she did not love him--not in that way--and in the second place because
she did not love, in any way, what he stood for.

When she said to herself that she did not love Jim her mind recoiled a
little. He was such a good sort, so kind, so reliable. It was just as if
she had said that she did not love her brothers. It was ungracious, and
ungrateful. She did love him. Dear old Jim! And she would be sorry to
cause him pain. But, if she did not want him to