These objections were after all, so he told himself, really rooted in masculine selfishness,--the absorbing selfishness of old bachelorhood, which had grown round him like a shell, shutting him out altogether from the soft influences of feminine attraction,--so much so indeed that he had even come to look upon his domestic indoor servants as obliging machines rather than women,--machines which it was necessary to keep well oiled with food and wages, but which could scarcely be considered as entering into his actual life more than the lawn-mower or the roasting-jack. Yet he was invariably kind to all his dependants,--invariably thoughtful of all their needs,--nevertheless he maintained a certain aloofness from them, not only because he was by nature reserved, but because he judged reserve necessary in order to uphold respect. In sickness or trouble, no one could be more quietly helpful or consolatory than he; and in the company of children he threw off all restraint and was as a child himself in the heartiness and spontaneity of his mirth and good humour,--but with all women, save the very aged and matronly, he generally found himself at a loss, uncertain what to say to them, and equally uncertain as to how far he might accept or believe what they said to him. The dark eyes of a sparkling brunette embarrassed him as much as the dreamy blue orbs of a lily-like blonde,--they were curious dazzlements that got into his way at times, and made him doubtful as to whether any positive sincerity ever could or ever would lurk behind such bewildering brief flashes of light which appeared to shine forth without meaning, and vanish again without result. And in various ways,--he now began to think,-- he must certainly have grown inordinately, outrageously selfish!-- his irritation at the prospective return of Miss Vancourt proved it. He determined to brace himself together and put the lurking devil of egotism down. "Put it down!" he said inwardly and with sternness,--"put it down-- trample it under foot, John, my boy! The lady of the Manor is perhaps sent here to try your patience and prove the stuff that is in you! She is no child,--she is twenty-seven years of age--a full grown woman,--she will have her ways, just as you have yours,--she will probably rub every mental and moral hair on the skin of your soul awry,--but that is really just what you want, John,--you do indeed! You want something more irritating than Sir Morton Pippitt's senile snobberies to keep you clean of an overgrowth or an undergrowth of fads! Your powers of endurance are about to be put to the test, and you must come out strong, John! You must not allow yourself to become a querulous old fellow because you cannot always do exactly as you like!" He smiled genially at his own mental scolding of himself, and addressing Bainton once more, said: