Miss Lestrange was fond of speaking of Life or Destiny as being gigantic monsters with invincible powers, and yet there were times when she manipulated these great forces very easily. Mr. Flinders left her more struck than ever by her genuine qualities. “I daresay she will miss me too,” he said to himself with pleasant regretfulness. “I may have been of some use to her,” and there was no doubt that in this particular deduction Mr. Flinders was right. IV Lady Walton was a woman who never did anything with her hands. She was content to sit for hours at a time thinking--“doing nothing,” her acquaintances called it. Certain hours in the day she read, but she never opened a modern book of any kind. “I have a feeling,” she said to her niece, “that they would revive a very painful experience I once received of a kitchen-maid in hysterics. People used to accept life and make their appeal to the intellect; now they spend their time screaming at natural laws and living for the emotions. It is a mysterious modern compulsion which used to be called selfishness. When I hear you begin to talk of your temperament, my dear Edith, I shall cease to ask you to run my errands.” Edith stroked her aunt’s hand and smiled at her; but she was preoccupied; she was expecting Horace. “Sometimes, Edith, you disappoint me. I have an impression that all the wisdom of all the ages, including my own, would have less effect upon your intelligence than the sound (I suppose they have no creak) of an ordinary pair of Bond Street boots.” “Well, he is rather late,” said Edith. “He is talking with his sister,” suggested Lady Walton. “I must congratulate you, my dear, in having chosen a husband who has complete ignorance of women. It is a very valuable attribute nowadays, when women have no restraint and men no manners. Horace is doubtless explaining to Miss Lestrange what an excellent arrangement his marriage will be for everybody concerned; and Miss Lestrange is turning his attention to awkward details. I hope you are prepared for complications, Edith; the maternal instinct of maiden aunts is a very fierce thing to combat. Do you realize that she may refuse to let the boy go?” The girl moved restlessly. “Oh, she can’t!” she murmured. “After all, Horace is very strong; he’s not a weak man, auntie.” “There is nothing so vulnerable as some kinds of strength,” said Lady Walton, with a sigh, “or so invulnerable as some kinds of weakness. What is tyranny but weakness playing on generosity, and how long do you suppose it can last? It can last as long as the generosity.” Edith shivered a little. “But he’ll think of me,” she said. “He knows how I want his child.” “He’ll think of you,” said her aunt very slowly; “yes, he’ll think of you, Edith; but thought doesn’t compel--there is only one compulsion.” It was surgery for the sake of healing, but the knife struck deep.