right, that Aunt Betsy's judgment, face to face with the actual facts,
had been wiser than his own view of the case at a distance. And then,
suddenly remembering upon what grounds he was arriving at this more
liberal view, he began to feel scornful of himself, after the manner of
your thinking man, given to metaphysics.

'Heaven help me! I am as weak as the rest of my sex,' he said to himself.
'Because she is lovely I am ready to think she is good--ready to fall
into the old, old trap which has snapped its wicked jaws upon so many
victims. However, be she what she may, at the worst she is not vulgar. I
am glad of that, for Bessie's sake.'

He tried to make a little conversation during the rest of the way, asking
about different members of the Wendover family, and telling Ida some
stray facts about his late wanderings. But she did not encourage him to
talk. Her answers were faltering, her manner absent-minded. He began to
think her stupid; and yet he had been told that she was a wonder of
cleverness.

'I daresay her talent all lies in her fingers' ends,' he thought. 'She
plays Beethoven and works in crewels. That is a girl's idea of feminine
genius. Perhaps she makes her own gowns, which is a higher flight, since
it involves usefulness.'

It was only four o'clock when they went in at the little orchard gate,
and Miss Wendover could hardly be expected for an hour. What was Ida to
do with her guest, unless he kept his word and stayed in the orchard?

'Shall I send you out the newspapers, or any refreshment?' she asked.