"It's the life of many people," she made prompt answer--"of most people
of quiet tastes, and it's certainly better than acute distress. One's at
a loss theoretically to defend compromises; but if I found a poor
creature who had managed to arrive at one I should think myself not
urgently called to expose its weak side." But she had no sooner uttered
these words than she laughed all amicably, as if to mitigate their too
personal application.

"Heaven forbid one should do that unless one has something better to
offer," Longmore returned. "And yet I'm haunted by the dream of a life
in which you should have found no compromises, for they're a perversion
of natures that tend only to goodness and rectitude. As I see it you
should have found happiness serene, profound, complete; a femme de
chambre not a jewel perhaps, but warranted to tell but one fib a day; a
society possibly rather provincial, but--in spite of your poor opinion
of mankind--a good deal of solid virtue; jealousies and vanities very
tame, and no particular iniquities and adulteries. A husband," he added
after a moment--"a husband of your own faith and race and spiritual
substance, who would have loved you well."

She rose to her feet, shaking her head. "You're very kind to go to the
expense of such dazzling visions for me. Visions are vain things; we
must make the best of the reality we happen to be in for."

"And yet," said Longmore, provoked by what seemed the very wantonness of
her patience, "the reality YOU 'happen to be in for' has, if I'm not in
error, very recently taken a shape that keenly tests your philosophy."

She seemed on the point of replying that his sympathy was too zealous;
but a couple of impatient tears in his eyes proved it founded on a