Ellen, whose weakness of character rendered her amiability and her enthusiasm almost valueless, had begun to forget Katharine. She had been charmed by her beauty and kindness, but she had always felt a little restrained, a little puzzled by her; and as she had never thought of applying such intellect as she possessed to the solution of the puzzle, it had remained, to make her uncomfortable. From the first Katharine's flight had been a silent subject between her brother and her; and by degrees Ellen had ceased to think of it much, and the image of her sister-in-law had become faint in her memory. Besides, the Rev. Decimus had always decidedly disapproved of her; and he had improved the occasion, entirely to his own satisfaction, and very nearly to Ellen's conviction, by his eloquent exposition of the dangers of riches, the snares of fashion, the undesirableness of beauty, and the enormity of self-will. The reverend gentleman, who was a good creature in his small way, had one or two defects of character, not altogether unknown in his class. He was uncharitable in his judgments, and implacable--piously so, of course, and with the utmost deprecation of such a sentiment--in his resentments. Robert's marriage had been distasteful to his brother-in-law elect from every point of view, personal and professional; and he had never been able to perceive the slightest concession to his influence on the part of Katharine; indeed he felt perfectly certain that on the few occasions of their meeting she had never remembered his existence, after giving him the prescribed bow or word of recognition. If he could have believed that Mrs. Streightley had disliked or feared him or his doctrines, he would have been far less bitter against her than he really, though secretly, was;--for he mourned over her in the true unctuous style of self-exaltation, and depreciation of the sinner, familiar to "professors" of his sort;--he would then have been enabled to _poser en martyre_, a sufferer of contumely for conscience' sake; and great would have been his reward in Brixton and Clapham circles, where Katharine was utterly unknown, except as an object of holy detraction and affected pity, in the days of her pride and prosperity. But no such resource was open to Mr. Dutton; he knew perfectly well that Mrs. Streightley had never thought of him, had never formed any opinion about him at all; that he had simply been completely indifferent to her. Strange are the complications of human nature, the self-delusions of the best among us. Here was a really good man, disinterested, zealous, perfectly sincere; a man indifferent to wealth (except for missionary purposes), and with whom Ellen Streightley outweighed in attraction the whole of womankind; a man to whom the smallest, the most transient infidelity, either as lover or husband, would have been as impossible as picking a pocket or forging a bill--filled with resentment because a woman, a rich and beautiful