heart being full of love, her brain
teemed with ideas; the love she lived on, the ideas she held in
reserve, for she had been so weakened by all she had suffered that the
slightest exertion in the way of work exhausted her. In any case,
however, great ideas must simmer long in the mind before they come to
the boil, and the time was not lost.

In those days fewer people than ever came to the house. For weeks
together Beth never spoke to a soul except the servants and her
husband, and through the long hours when her head troubled her and she
could not work, she felt her isolation extremely. Mrs. Kilroy and her
other new friends sent her pamphlets and papers and hurried notes to
keep her heart up and inform her of their progress, and Beth, knowing
what the hurry of their lives was, and not expecting any attention,
was grateful for all they paid her. She had no fear of losing touch
with such friends after they had once received her into their circle
as one of themselves, however seldom she might see them, and it was
well for her mental health that she had them to rely on during that
time of trial, for without them she would have had no sense of
security in any relation in life.

She was gradually growing to be on much more formal terms with Dan
than she had been, thanks to her own strength of character. She found
she was able to reduce the daily jar, and even to keep his coarseness
in check, by extreme politeness. In any difference, his habit had been
to try and shout her down; but the contrast of her own quiet dignified
demeanour checked him in that. Beth had the magnetic quality which,
when steadily directed, acts on people and forces them into any
attitude desired; and Dan accommodated his manner and conversation to
her taste more now than he had ever done before; but he felt the
restraint, and was with her as little as possible, which, as she began
to recover, was also a relief--for his blatant self-absorption, the
everlasting I, I, I, of his conversation, and his low views of life,
rasped her irritable nerves beyond endurance.

One day, coming into the drawing-room about tea-time, with muddy boots
and his hat on, he found her lying on the sofa, prostrated with
nervous headache. The days closed in early then, and she had had the
fire lighted and the curtains drawn, but could not bear the gaslight
because of her head.

"Well, this isn't brilliant," he began, at the top of his voice. "A
little more light would suit