good-natured. There are lines about the contour of her chin, and also
where the neck sweeps upward, which suggest a more than common power of
satisfaction in certain things, such as dinners and good sound sleep,
and good inn-keeping--yes, and in spring flowers, and in autumn leaves
and winter sunsets. Zilda Chaplot was formed for pleasure, yet there is
no tendency latent in her which could have made her a voluptuary. There
are some natures which have so nice a proportion of faculties that they
are a law of moderation to themselves. They take such keen delight in
small pleasures that to them a little is enough.

The world would account Mam'selle Chaplot to have had a life of toil and
stern limitations; a prosperous life, truly, for no one could see her
without observing her prosperity, but still a hard dry life. Even her
neighbours, whose ideas of enjoyment do not soar above the St. Armand
level, think that her lot would be softer if she married. Many of the
men have offered marriage, not with any disinterested motive, it is
true, but with kindly intent. They have been set aside like children who
make requests unreasonable, but so natural for them to make that the
request is hardly worth noticing. The women relatives of these rejected
suitors have boasted to mam'selle of their own domestic joys, and have
drawn the contrast of her state in strong colour. Zilda only says
'Chut!' or she lifts her chin a little, so that the pretty upward sweep
of the neck is apparent, and lets them talk. Mam'selle is not the woman
to be turned out of her way by talk.

The way of single blessedness is not chosen by Zilda Chaplot because of
any fiction of loyalty to a quondam lover. Her mind is such that she
could not have invented obligations for herself, because she has not the
inventive faculty. No, it is simply this: Mam'selle Chaplot loved once,
and was happy; her mind still hugs the memory of that happiness with
exultant reserve; it is enough; she does not desire other happiness of
that sort.

When she looks out on the little station platform and sees the loungers
upon it, once and again she lets her busy mind stop in its business to
think of some one else she was once accustomed to see there. When she
looks with well-practised critical eye down the hotel dining-room, which
is now quite clean and orderly, when she is scolding a servant, or
serving a customer, her mind will revert to the room in its former rough
state, and she will re