again into what seemed to be an habitual composure. There were
the same outlines, the same characters, he remembered very
well; yet there was a difference; not grief had changed them,
but life had. The brow had all its fine chiselling and high
purity of expression; but now there sat there a hopelessness,
or rather a want of hopefulness, that a child's face never
knows. The mouth was sweet and pliable as ever, but now often
patience and endurance did not quit their seat upon the lip
even when it smiled. The eye, with all its old clearness and
truthfulness, had a shade upon it that, nine years ago, only
fell at the bidding of sorrow; and in every line of the face
there was a quiet gravity that went to the heart of the person
who was studying it. Whatever causes had been at work, he was
very sure, had done no harm to the character; its old
simplicity had suffered no change, as every look and movement
proved; the very unstudied careless position of the fingers
over the eyes showed that the thoughts had nothing to do
there.


On one half of his doubt Mr. Carleton's mind was entirely made
up; but education? the training and storing of the mind — how
had that fared? He would know!

Perhaps he would have made some attempt that very evening
towards satisfying himself; but noticing that, in coming out,
Thorn permitted the Evelyns to pass him, and attached himself
determinately to Fleda, he drew back, and resolved to make his
observations indirectly, and on more than one point, before he
should seem to make them at all.