with your capacities, your quickness for learning, your--well, your
lightness of heart, my dear Loo. That goes far in the great world.
To be light of heart--to amuse. Yes, you are for the world. You
might do something there."

"And nothing in Farlingford?" inquired Barebone, gaily; but he
turned, as he spoke, and glanced once more at Miriam Liston as if in
some dim way the question could not be answered by any other. She
was absorbed in her book again. The print must indeed have been
large and clear, for the twilight was fading fast.

She looked up and met his glance with direct and steady eyes of a
clear grey. A severe critic of that which none can satisfactorily
define--a woman's beauty--would have objected that her face was too
wide, and her chin too square. Her hair, which was of a bright
brown, grew with a singular strength and crispness round a brow
which was serene and square. In her eyes there shone the light of
tenacity, and a steady purpose. A student of human nature must have
regretted that the soul looking out of such eyes should have been
vouchsafed to a woman. For strength and purpose in a man are
usually exercised for the good of mankind, while in a woman such
qualities must, it would seem, benefit no more than one man of her
own generation, and a few who may follow her in the next.

"There is nothing," she said, turning to her book again, "for a man
to do in Farlingford."

"And for a woman--?" inquired Barebone, without looking at her.

"There is always something--everywhere."