churlishness and perforce tarries with him, there ensues a
passionate revulsion unknown to hearts which open readily to every
fluttering illusive bliss. Illusion it of course remains; is ever
recognised as that; but illusion so sweet and powerful that he
thanks the god that blinds him, and counts off with sighs of joy the
hours thus brightly winged.

He awaited with extreme impatience the evening on which he would
again see Ida. Distrustful always, he could not entirely dismiss the
fear that his first impressions might prove mistaken in the second
interview; yet he tried his best to do so, and amused himself with
imagining for Ida a romantic past, for her and himself together a
yet more romantic future. In spite of the strange nature of their
relations, he did not delude himself with the notion that the girl
had fallen in love with him at first sight, and that she stood
before him to take or reject as he chose. He had a certain awe of
her. He divined in her a strength of character which made her his
equal; it might well be, his superior. Take, for instance, the
question of the life she was at present leading. In the case of an
ordinary pretty and good-natured girl falling in his way as Ida
Starr had done, he would have exerted whatever influence he might
acquire over her to persuade her into better paths. Any such direct
guidance was, he felt, out of the question here. The girl had
independence of judgment; she would resent anything said by him on
the assumption of her moral inferiority, and, for aught he knew,
with justice. The chances were at least as great that he might prove
unworthy of her, as that she should prove unworthy of him.

When he presented himself at the house in the little court by Temple
Bar, it was the girl Sally who opened the door to him. She beckoned