As she came to know Hemstead better, she found that he was different from what she had expected. The conventional idea of a theological student had dwelt in her mind; and she had expected to find a rather narrow and spiritually conceited man, full of the clerical mannerisms which she had often heard laughed at. But she saw that Hemstead's awkwardness would wear away, through familiarity with society, and that, when at ease, he was simple and manly in manner. She also perceived that this seclusion from the world, which was the cause of his diffidence, had been employed in training and richly storing his mind. Moreover, to one so accustomed to the insincerity of society, his perfect frankness of speech and manner was a novelty, interesting, if not always pleasing. She read his thoughts as she would an open page, and saw that he esteemed her as a true, sincere girl, kind and womanly, and that he had for her the strongest respect. She feared that when he discovered her true self he would scorn her to loathing. Not that she cared, except that her pride would be hurt. But as she was more proud than vain, she feared this honest man's verdict. But soon her old reckless self triumphed. "Of course what I am doing will seem awful to him," she thought. "I knew that before I commenced. He shall not preach me out of my fun in one half-hour. If I could make him love me in spite of what I am, it would be the greater triumph. After all, I am only acting as all the girls in my set do when they get a chance. It's not as bad as he makes out." Still that was an eventful half-hour, when they looked out upon a transfigured world together; and while she saw nature in her rarest and purest beauty, she had also been given a glimpse into the more beautiful world of truth, where God dwells. But, as the morning advanced, good impulses and better feelings and thoughts vanished, even as the snow-wreaths were dropping from branch and spray, leaving them as bare as before. By the time the sleigh drove up to the door she was as bent as ever upon victimizing the "Western giant," as the conspirators had named him. She was her old, decided, resolute self; all the more resolute because facing, to her, a new hindrance,--her own conscience, which Hemstead had unwittingly awakened; and it said to its uncomfortable possessor some rather severe things that day. If Lottie were Bel Parton, she would have been in a miserably undecided state. But it was her nature to carry out what she had begun, if for no other reason than that she had begun it, and she was not one to give up a frolic at anyone's scolding,--even her own.