t only the prophet who hath honour _save_ in his
own country: it is every one with individuality. In this northern
town Alvina found that her individuality really told. Already she
belonged to the revered caste of medicine-men. And into the bargain
she was a personality, a person.

Well and good. She was not going to cheapen herself. She felt that
even in the eyes of the natives--the well-to-do part, at least--she
lost a _little_ of her distinction when she was engaged to Dr.
Mitchell. The engagement had been announced in _The Times_, _The
Morning Post_, _The Manchester Guardian_, and the local _News_. No
fear about its being known. And it cast a slight slur of vulgar
familiarity over her. In Woodhouse, she knew, it elevated her in the
common esteem tremendously. But she was no longer in Woodhouse. She
was in Lancaster. And in Lancaster her engagement pigeonholed her.
Apart from Dr. Mitchell she had a magic potentiality. Connected with
him, she was a known and labelled quantity.

This she gathered from her contact with the local gentry. The matron
was a woman of family, who somehow managed, in her big, white,
frilled cap, to be distinguished like an abbess of old. The really
toney women of the place came to take tea in her room, and these
little teas in the hospital were like a little elegant female
conspiracy. There was a slight flavour of art and literature about.
The matron had known Walter Pater, in the somewhat remote past.

Alvina was admitted to these teas with the few women who formed the
toney intellectual elite of this northern town. There was a certain
freemasonry in the matron's room. The matron, a lady-doctor, a
clergyman's daughter, and the wives of two industrial magnates of
the place, these five, and then Alvina, formed the little group.
They did not meet a great deal outside the hospital. But they always
met with that curious female freemasonry which can form a law unto
itself even among most conventional women. They talked as they would
never talk before men, or before feminine outsiders. They threw
aside the whole vestment of convention. They discussed plainly the
things they thought about--even the most secret--and they were quite
calm about the things they did--even the most impossible. Alvina
felt that her transgression was a very mild affair, and that her
engagement was really _infra dig_.

"And are you going to marry him?" asked Mrs. Tuke, with a long, cool
look.

"I can't _imagine_ myself