It appears that they have been all over the world and, like experienced
travelers, understand exceedingly well the art of adapting oneself to all
manners of surroundings. In no time at all they had transformed their
ugly little house into quite a decent dwelling.

Miss Jelliffe is a decidedly attractive young woman. Of course I can
only compare her with Dora Maclennon. They belong to two different
types. The one is a bustling little woman, very earnest, determined and
hard-working, who looks to the world for something which must as yet be
rather indefinitely shaped in her mind, and who is going to find it. The
other, I should say, has no cut and dried aim or ambition. Her father or
grandfather achieved everything for her, and she is as free as air to
follow her every inclination. Both are unquestionably good to look upon,
and, at least for the present, I hope it may not be treasonable to say
that Miss Jelliffe is the more restful of the two. We men are apt to
think that the privilege of striving and pushing forward should be
exclusively ours, and when we see a woman occupied with something of that
sort we are somewhat apt to resent it as an unjustifiable poaching in our
preserves. For a long time I considered Dora's efforts to be something in
the nature of growing pains, which would disappear in the course of time.
Now I am not so sure of this. Yet when I think of the dear little girl my
heart beats faster, and somehow I persist in believing that a day will
come when she will drift towards me, and we will tackle the further
problems of life together.

I must confess I am glad to have met the Jelliffes. Barnett and his wife
have been the only people with whom one could exchange ideas unconnected
with codfish. The parson is a splendid little chap, utterly cocksure of a
lot of things I take good care not to discuss too deeply with him.
Moreover he is away a good part of the time, and composes his sermons