Miss Rose's opinion of Rhoda Maxfield's insignificant appearance was not, however, shared by many persons present. Several young gentlemen, and more than one old gentleman, vied with each other in offering her cups of tea, and paying her various little attentions according to their opportunities. Even old Colonel Whistler, when he thought himself unobserved by his nieces, sidled up to pretty Rhoda Maxfield, and was heard to say to one of the "county" gentlemen, "She's the prettiest girl I've seen this many a day, by George! And I know a pretty girl when I see one, sir; or used to, once upon a time!" To Rhoda, all the strangers who spoke and looked so kindly were merely troublesome. Her colour went and came, her heart beat with anxiety. She started nervously every time the door opened. She could think only of Algernon and Algernon's wife. She made a silent and very earnest prayer that she might be strengthened to sit still and quiet when they should appear, for she had had serious apprehensions lest she should be irresistibly impelled to start up and run away, as soon as she saw them. It was in vain that young Mr. Pawkins hovered near her, inviting her to accept his arm into the tea-room; it was in vain that old Colonel Whistler softened his martinet voice to ask her, with paternal tenderness, how she had enjoyed her stay at the seaside, and to say that, if one might judge by her looks, she had derived great benefit from the change of air. In the words of the song, "All men else seemed to her like shadows." She was in a dream, with the consciousness of an impending awakening, which she half longed for, half dreaded. Two persons watched over her, and covered the mistakes she made in her nervous trepidation. Matthew Diamond and Minnie Bodkin exerted themselves to shield her from importunate observation, and to give her time to recover her self-possession, if that might be possible. Diamond was in good spirits. He could wait, he could be patient, he could be silent now, with a good heart. Algernon's marriage had opened a bright vista of hope before him; and perhaps he had never felt so disposed to condone and excuse his old pupil's faults and failings as at the present moment. "Minnie is a good creature," he thought, with a momentary, grateful diversion of his attention from Rhoda, "to keep my timid birdie so carefully under her wing! She might do it with a little more softness of manner. But we cannot change people's natures." Meanwhile Minnie reclined in her chair, watching his tender lingering looks at Rhoda, and his complete indifference to everyone else, with a heartache which might have excused even less "softness of manner" than Diamond thought she displayed towards the girl beside her.