here are no longer "toasts," or she would have been one
with both the hunts. Though delicate in build, she was not frail, and
when her blood was up would "go" all day, and come in so bone-tired that
she would drop on to the tiger skin before the fire, rather than face
the stairs. Life at Mildenham was lonely, save for Winton's hunting
cronies, and they but few, for his spiritual dandyism did not gladly
suffer the average country gentleman and his frigid courtesy frightened
women.

Besides, as Betty had foreseen, tongues did wag--those tongues of the
countryside, avid of anything that might spice the tedium of dull lives
and brains. And, though no breath of gossip came to Winton's ears,
no women visited at Mildenham. Save for the friendly casual
acquaintanceships of churchyard, hunting-field, and local race-meetings,
Gyp grew up knowing hardly any of her own sex. This dearth developed
her reserve, kept her backward in sex-perception, gave her a faint,
unconscious contempt for men--creatures always at the beck and call of
her smile, and so easily disquieted by a little frown--gave her also a
secret yearning for companions of her own gender. Any girl or woman that
she did chance to meet always took a fancy to her, because she was so
nice to them, which made the transitory nature of these friendships
tantalizing. She was incapable of jealousies or backbiting. Let men
beware of such--there is coiled in their fibre a secret fascination!

Gyp's moral and spiritual growth was not the sort of subject that Winton
could pay much attention to. It was pre-eminently a matter one did not
talk about. Outward forms, such as going to church, should be preserved;
manners should be taught her by his own example as much as possible;
beyond this, nature must look after things. His view had much real
wisdom. She was a quick and voracious reader, bad at remembering what
she read; and though she had soon devoured all the books in Winton's
meagre library, including Byron, Whyte-Melville, and Humboldt's
"Cosmos," they had not left too much on her mind. The attempts of her
little governess to impart religion were somewhat arid of result, and
the interest of the vicar, Gyp, with her instinctive spice of scepticism
soon put into the same category as the interest of all the other males
she knew. She felt that he enjoyed calling her "my dear" and patting her
shoulder, and that this enjoyment was enough reward for his exertions.

Tucked away in that