a labyrinth, when every fresh failure in gaining the centre, only
produces fresh obstinacy in renewing the effort to arrive at it.

From Margaret I gained no sympathy for my newly-aroused curiosity. She
appeared, much to my surprise, to care little about Mr. Mannion; and
always changed the conversation, if it related to him, whenever it
depended upon her to continue the topic or not.

Mrs. Sherwin's conduct was far from resembling her daughter's, when I
spoke to her on the same subject. She always listened intently to what
I said; but her answers were invariably brief, confused, and sometimes
absolutely incomprehensible. It was only after great difficulty that I
induced her to confess her dislike of Mr. Mannion. Whence it proceeded
she could never tell. Did she suspect anything? In answering this
question, she always stammered, trembled, and looked away from me.
"How could she suspect anything? If she did suspect, it would be very
wrong without good reason: but she ought not to suspect, and did not,
of course."

I never obtained any replies from her more intelligible than these.
Attributing their confusion to the nervous agitation which more or
less affected her when she spoke on any subject, I soon ceased making
any efforts to induce her to explain herself; and determined to search
for the clue to Mr. Mannion's character, without seeking assistance
from any one.

Accident at length gave me an opportunity of knowing something of his
habits and opinions; and so far, therefore, of knowing something about
the man himself.