e; he had travelled; he knew the principal cities of his own
country, and many in other lands, with sufficient familiarity. Speaking
generally, he had seen everything, and knew everybody. He had ceased to
be surprised at anything, or to expect much from the world beyond what
his own efforts and talents could procure him. His connections and
associations had been always with good society and with the old and
established portions of it; but he had come into possession of his
property not so very long ago, and the pleasure of that was not yet
worn off. He was a man who thought himself happy, and certainly
possessed a very high place in the esteem of those who knew him; being
educated, travelled, clever, and of noble character, and withal rich.
It was the oddest thing for Philip to walk as he walked now, musingly,
with measured steps, and eyes bent on the ground. There was a most
strange sense of uneasiness upon him.

The image of Lois busied him constantly. It was such a lovely image.
But he had seen hundreds of handsomer women, he told himself. Had he?
Yes, he thought so. Yet not one, not one of them all, had made as much
impression upon him. It was inconvenient; and why was it inconvenient?
Something about her bewitched him. Yes, he had seen handsomer women;
but more or less they were all of a certain pattern; not alike in
feature, or name, or place, or style, yet nevertheless all belonging to
the general sisterhood of what is called the world. And this girl was
different. How different? She was uneducated, but _that_ could not give
a charm; though Philip thereby reflected that there was a certain charm
in variety, and this made variety. She was unaccustomed to the great
world and its ways; there could be no charm in that, for he liked the
utmost elegance of the best breeding. Here he fetched himself up again.
Lois was not in the least ill-bred. Nothing of the kind. She was
utterly and truly refined, in every look and word and movement showing
that she was so. Yet she had no "manner," as Mrs. Caruthers would have
expressed it. No, she had not. She had no trained and inevitable way of
speaking and looking; her way was her own, and sprang naturally from
the truth of her thought or feeling at the moment. Therefore it could
never be counted upon, and gave one the constant pleasure of surprises.
Yes, Philip concluded that this was one point of interest about her.
She had not learned how to hide herself, and the manner of her