vorite amusement, but his wife always snubbed him when he
attempted it, and most men either showed weariness or had theories of
their own which they were in such haste to air that his had only half a
chance. Now, here was a young lady ready to listen, and, since it was
not because she was unable to talk well herself, her listening was a
compliment that he felt.

At first Elizabeth did listen. But her companion fairly launched, went
on excellently by himself, and involuntarily her eyes turned upon
Edmonson. He was very handsome; she wondered if it was his conversation
with Lady Dacre that gave him so much animation. Since circumstances had
roused Elizabeth from the dreamy state in which she used to indulge, she
had lost something of her belief in his intellectual superiority, for
the things that had once seemed so difficult as to be almost impossible
to her had suddenly become simple enough; now that, they being required
of her, she found herself doing them. That was the way with Elizabeth;
whatever she could do she thought easy; it was the things that she
believed lay beyond her for which she had the reverence. She was not
much used to praise; the little that occasionally fell to her surprised
and embarrassed her, so that she seemed to receive it coldly, or else
the thing itself appeared to her so trivial that doing it well was a
matter of course. She learned with remarkable quickness, for her mind
was in good working order and grasped strongly whatever it laid hold of.
A few months ago Edmonson's social accomplishments had seemed a marvel
to her. Already she was beginning to see that, after all, they did not
require a very high order of mind, though she was far from undervaluing
them or thinking it possible that she could ever have such power of
being agreeable. She was wondering that day as she watched him how much
better ambitions he had, and what life would bring him. She could not
understand him.

But in a few moments she was watching another face that had now a
stronger fascination for her than ever--Katie's. How lovely she looked.
Her demureness was giving way under the assaults that fate was making
upon it, and she was becoming more and more like her old self--with a
difference, however, toward Elizabeth, if toward no one else. It was
true, she had greeted her with effusive warmth, but even then Elizabeth
had felt the change and drawn back humbly in response to it. But if more
proof had been needed, it had been