Lottie was drifting. She did not know what would be her action. The child of impulse, the slave of inclination, with no higher aim than to enjoy the passing hour, she could not keep a good resolve, if through some twinges of conscience she made one. She had proposed to avoid Hemstead, for, while he interested, he also disquieted her and filled her with self-dissatisfaction. And yet for this very reason he was fascinating. Other men admired and flattered her, bowing to her in unvarying and indiscriminating homage. Hemstead not only admired but respected her for the good qualities that she had simulated, and with equal sincerity recognized faults and failures. She had been admired all her life, but respect from a true, good man was a new offering, and, even though obtained by fraud, was as delightful as it was novel. She still wished to stand well in his estimation, though why she hardly knew. She was now greatly vexed with herself that she had refused to visit Mrs. Dlimm. She was most anxious that he should return, in order that she might discover whether he had become disgusted with her; for, in the knowledge of her own wrong action, she unconsciously gave him credit for knowing more about her than he did. She had no definite purpose for the future. Instead of coolly carrying out a deliberate plot, she was merely permitting herself to be carried along by a subtle undercurrent of interest and inclination, which she did not understand, or trouble herself to analyze. She had felt a passing interest in gentlemen before, which had proved but passing. This was no doubt a similar case, with some peculiar and piquant elements added. A few weeks in New York after her visit was over, and he would fade from memory, and pass below the horizon like other stars that had dazzled for a time. The honest old counsellor, conscience, recklessly snubbed and dismissed, had retired, with a few plain words, for the time, from the unequal contest. She met Hemstead at the door on his return, and held out her hand, saying cordially, "I'm ever so glad to see you. It seems an age since you left us." His face flushed deeply with pleasure at her words and manner. Expecting an indifferent reception, he had purposed to be dignified and reserved himself. And yet her manner on the morning of his departure had pained him deeply, and disappointed him. It had not fulfilled the promise of the previous day, and he had again been sorely perplexed. But his conclusion was partly correct. "She is resisting the truth. She sees what changes in her gay life are involved by its acceptance; and therefore shuns coming under its influence."