him a step in begging him to retire? Morsfield has lived a good deal
among our neighbours, who expound the physiology of women. He anatomizes
us; pulls us to pieces, puts us together, and then animates us with a
breath of his "passion"--sincere upon every occasion, I don't doubt. He
spared me, although he saw I was engaged. Perhaps it was because I 'm of
no definite colour. Or he thought I was not a receptacle for "passion."
And quite true,--Adder, the dear good fellow, has none. Or where should
we be? On a Swiss Alp, in a chalet, he shooting chamois, and I milking
cows, with 'ah-ahio, ah-ahio,' all day long, and a quarrel at night over
curds and whey. Well, and that 's a better old pensioner's limp to his
end for "passion" than the foreign hotel bell rung mightily, and one of
the two discovered with a dagger in the breast, and the other a don't-
look lying on the pavement under the window. Yes, and that's better than
"passion" splitting and dispersing upon new adventures, from habit, with
two sparks remaining of the fire.'

Aminta took Mrs. Lawrence's hands. 'Is it a lecture?'

She was kissed. 'Frothy gabble. I'm really near to "passion" when I
embrace you. You're the only one I could run away with; live with all
alone, I believe. I wonder men can see you while that silly lord of
yours is absent, and not begin Morsfielding. They're virtuous if they
resist. Paggy tells the world . . . well?' Aminta had reddened.

'What does my aunt tell the world?'

Mrs. Lawrence laid her smoothing hand absently on a frill of lace fichu
above a sternly disciplined bosom at half-heave. 'I think I can
judge now that you're not much hurt by this wretched business of the
presentation. The little service I could do was a moral lesson to me on