He began to remember having heard people speak of an iron-master's
daughter, whose father had failed and died, and who, after several years
of dire poverty, had lately inherited a vast fortune from her father's
partner. It had been talked about at the time, a few months ago. This
must be she.

"You have a great affection for Miss Gresley," he said, in a low voice.

"I have," said Rachel, her lip still quivering. "But if I disliked her I
hope I should have said the same. Surely it is not necessary to love
the writer in order to defend the book."

Hugh was silent. He looked at her, and wished that she might always be
on his side.

"About two courses ago I was going to tell you," said Rachel, smiling,
"of one of my chief difficulties on my return to the civilized world and
'Society.' But now you have had an example of it. I am trying to cure
myself of the trick of becoming interested in conversation. I must learn
to use words as counters, not as coins. I need not disbelieve what I
say, but I must not speak of anything to which I attach value. I
perceive that to do this is an art and a means of defence from invasion.
But I, on the contrary, become interested, as you have just seen. I
forget that I am only playing a game, and I rush into a subject like a
bull into a china-shop, and knock about all the crockery until--as I am
not opposed by my native pitchfork--I suddenly return to my senses, and
discover that I have mistaken a game for real earnest."

"We were all in earnest five minutes ago," said Hugh; "at least, I was.