call free-thinkers. Interest in the problem is common to
both; it's the nature of the solution alone that differs in the two cases."
"That's quite true," Alan assented. "And have you ever noticed this curious corollary, that
you and I can talk far more sympathetically with an earnest Catholic, for example, or an
earnest Evangelical, than we can talk with a mere ordinary worldly person."
"Oh dear, yes," Herminia answered with conviction. "Thought will always sympathize
with thought. It's the unthinking mass one can get no further with."
Alan changed the subject abruptly. This girl so interested him. She was the girl he had
imagined, the girl he had dreamt of, the girl he had thought possible, but never yet met
with. "And you're in lodgings on the Holmwood here?" he said, musing. "For how much
longer?"
"For, six weeks, I'm glad to say," Herminia answered, rising.
"At what cottage?"
"Mrs. Burke's,--not far from the station."
"May I come to see you there?"
Herminia's clear brown eyes gazed down at him, all puzzlement. "Why, surely," she
answered; "I shall be delighted to see you!" She paused for a second. "We agree about so
many things," she went on; "and it's so rare to find a man who can sympathize with the
higher longings in women."
"When are you likeliest to be at home?" Alan asked.
"In the morning, after breakfast,--that is, at eight o'clock," Herminia answered, smiling;
"or later, after lunch, say two or thereabouts."
"Six weeks," Alan repeated, more to himself than to her. Those six week were precious.
Not a moment of them must be lost. "Then I think," he went on quietly, "I shall call
tomorrow."
A wave of conscious pleasure broke over Herminia's cheek, blush rose on white lily; but
she answered nothing. She was glad this kindred soul should seem in such a hurry to
renew her acquaintance.
II.
Next afternoon, about two o'clock, Alan called with a tremulous heart at the cottage.
Herminia had heard not a little of him meanwhile from her friend Mrs. Dewsbury. "He's a
charming young man, my dear," the woman of the world observed with confidence. "I
felt quite sure you'd attract one another. He's so clever and advanced, and everything
that's dreadful,--just like yourself, Herminia. But then he's also very well connected.
That's always something, especially when one's an oddity. You wouldn't go down one bit
yourself, dear, if you weren't a dean's daughter. The shadow of a cathedral steeple covers
a multitude of sins. Mr. Merrick's the son of the famous London gout doctor,--you MUST
know his name,--all the royal dukes flock to him. He's a barrister himself, and in
excellent practice. You might do worse, do you know, than to go in for Alan Merrick."
Herminia's lip curled an almost imperceptible curl as she answered gravely, "I don't think
you quite understand my plans in life, Mrs. Dewsbury. It isn't my present intention to GO
IN for anybody."
But Mrs. Dewsbury shook her head. She knew the world she lived in. "Ah, I've heard a
great many girls talk like that beforehand," she answered at once with her society
glibness; "but when the right man turned up, they soon forgot their protestations. It makes
a lot of difference, dear, when a man really asks you!"
Herminia bent her head. "You misunderstand me," she replied. "I don't mean to say I will
never fall in love. I expect to do that. I look forward to it frankly,--it is a woman's place
in life. I only mean to say, I don't think anything will ever induce me to marry,--that is to
say, legally."
Mrs. Dewsbury gave a start of surprise and horror. She really didn't know what girls were
coming to nowadays,--which, considering her first principles, was certainly natural. But
if only she had seen the conscious flush with which Herminia received her visitor that
afternoon, she would have been confirmed in her belief that Herminia, after all, in spite of
her learning, was much like other girls. In which conclusion Mrs. Dewsbury would not in
the end have been fully justified.
When Alan arrived, Herminia sat at the window by the quaintly clipped box-tree, a
volume of verse held half closed in her hand, though she was a great deal too honest and
transparent to pretend she was reading it. She expected Alan to call, in accordance with
his promise, for she had seen at Mrs. Dewsbury's how great an impression she produced
upon him; and, having taught herself that it was every true woman's duty to avoid the
affectations and self-deceptions which the rule of man has begotten in women, she didn't
try to conceal from herself the fact that she on her side was by no means without interest
in the question how soon he

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