impassive face and cold grey eyes. She could well imagine the slight
difference in his manner to her afterwards, scarcely noticeable to the
casual observer, impossible to be overlooked by her. She told herself
she did not care what he thought; but she did. Pride was grasping at a
desired, but impossible, equality with this man, and here, were the
means used only known, was the nearest way to lose it. At times he had
forgotten the gap of age and circumstances between them--really
forgotten it, she knew, not only ignored it in his well-bred way. He
had for a moment really regarded her as an equal; not, perhaps, as he
might the women of his class, rather the men of like experience and
attainments with himself. That was not what she wanted, but she
recognised plainly that in grasping at a shadowy social feminine
equality by paying the debt, she might well lose this small substance
of masculine equality, for there is no gulf so unbridgeable between
man and man as a different standard of honour.

But after all, she asked herself, what did it matter? He need not
know; she would pay, fulfilling her word, and proving her father an
honest man (which he was not); the debtor could not know how it was
done. And if he did, what then? If she told him herself--he would know
no other way--she would do it deliberately with the set purpose of
tarring him with the same brush; she would show him how his attempt on
Herr Van de Greutz might also be made to look. He would not be
convinced, of course, but at bottom the two things were so related
that it would be surprising if she did not get a few shafts home. He
would not show the wounds then, but they would be there; they would
rankle; there would be some humiliation for him, too. A curious light
crept into her eyes at the thought; she was surer of being able to
reduce him than of exalting herself, and it is good, when
circumstances prevent one from mounting, to drag a superior to the