But her cheek reddened, with a kind of shame, as the thought passed through her mind. Even in this short time and because of the daily contact which their business relations required, she was beginning to know Winnington, to realise something of his life and character. And as for the love borne him in the neighbourhood--it was really preposterous--bad for any man! Delia pitied herself, not only because she was Winnington's ward against her will, but because of the silent force of public opinion that upheld him, and must necessarily condemn her. So he had once been engaged? Lady Tonbridge had told her so. To a gentle, saintly person of course!--a person to suit him. Delia could not help a movement of half petulant curiosity--and then an involuntary thrill. Many women since had been in love with him. Lady Tonbridge had said as much. And he--with no one! But he had a great many women friends? No doubt!--with that manner, and that charm. Delia resented the women friends. She would have been quite ready indeed to enrol herself among them--to worship with the rest--from afar; were it not for ideas, and principles, and honesty of soul! As it was, she despised the worship of which she was told, as something blind and overdone. It was not the greatest men--not the best men--who were so easily and universally beloved. What did he really think of her? Did he ever guess that there was something else in her than this obstinacy, this troublesomeness with which she was forced to meet him? She was sorry for herself, much more than for him; because she must so chill and mislead a man who _ought_ to understand her. Looking up she saw a dim reflection of her own beauty in the glass above the mantelpiece. "No, I am _not_ either a minx, or a wild-cat!"--she thought, as though she were angrily arguing with someone. "I could be as attractive, as 'feminine,' as silly as anyone else, if I chose! I could have lovers--of course--just like other girls--if it weren't"-- For what? At that moment she hardly knew. And why were her eyes filling with tears? She dashed them indignantly away. But for the first time, this cause, this public cause to which she was pledged presented itself to her as a sacrifice to be offered, a noble burden to be borne, rather than as something which expressed the natural and spontaneous impulse of her life. Which meant that, already, since her recapture by this English world, since what was hearsay had begun to be experience, the value of things had slightly and imperceptibly changed. * * * * * The days ran on. One evening, just before the first of the "Daughters'" meetings, which was to be held at Latchford, Winnington appeared in Lady Tonbridge's drawing-room to ask for a cup of tea on his way to a public dinner in Wanchester. He seemed pre-occupied and worried; and she fed him before questioning him. But at last she said-- "You couldn't prevail on her to give up any of these performances?"