least indulgent to conjugal differences, and which found a
proportionate pleasure in being for once able to feast openly on a
dish liberally seasoned with the outrageous. So much did this
endear Mrs. Aubyn to the university ladies that they were disposed
from the first to allow her more latitude of speech and action
than the ill-used wife was generally accorded in Hillbridge, where
misfortune was still regarded as a visitation designed to put
people in their proper place and make them feel the superiority of
their neighbors. The young woman so privileged combined with a
kind of personal shyness an intellectual audacity that was like a
deflected impulse of coquetry: one felt that if she had been
prettier she would have had emotions instead of ideas. She was in
fact even then what she had always remained: a genius capable of
the acutest generalizations, but curiously undiscerning where her
personal susceptibilities were concerned. Her psychology failed
her just where it serves most women and one felt that her brains
would never be a guide to her heart. Of all this, however,
Glennard thought little in the first year of their acquaintance.
He was at an age when all the gifts and graces are but so much
undiscriminated food to the ravening egoism of youth. In seeking
Mrs. Aubyn's company he was prompted by an intuitive taste for the
best as a pledge of his own superiority. The sympathy of the
cleverest woman in Hillbridge was balm to his craving for
distinction: it was public confirmation of his secret sense that
he was cut out for a bigger place. It must not be understood that
Glennard was vain. Vanity contents itself with the coarsest diet;
there is no palate so fastidious as that of self-distrust. To a
youth of Glennard's aspirations the encouragement of a clever
woman stood for the symbol of all success. Later, when he had
begun to feel his way, to gain a foothold, he would not need such