Then she began to grow more _curious_ about Malcolm. She had already much real knowledge of him, gathered both from himself and from Mr. Graham. As to what went to make the man, she knew him, indeed, not thoroughly, but well; and just therefore, she said to herself, there were some points in his history and condition concerning which she had _curiosity_. The principal of these was whether he might not be engaged to some young woman in his own station of life. It was not merely possible, but was it likely he could have escaped it? In the lower ranks of society men married younger--they had no false aims to prevent them: that implied earlier engagements. On the other hand, was it likely that in a fishing-village there would be any choice of girls who could understand him when he talked about Plato and the New Testament? If there were _one_, however, that might be--_worse?_ Yes, _worse_: she accepted the word. Neither was it absolutely necessary in a wife that she should understand more of her husband than his heart. Many learned men had had mere housekeepers for wives, and been satisfied--at least never complained. And what did she know about the fishers, men or women? There were none at Wastbeach. For anything she knew to the contrary, they might all be philosophers together, and a fitting match for Malcolm might be far more easy to find amongst them than in the society to which she herself belonged, where in truth the philosophical element was rare enough. Then arose in her mind, she could not have told how, the vision, half logical, half pictorial, of a whole family of brave, believing, daring, saving fisherfolk, father, mother, boys and girls, each sacrificing to the rest, each sacrificed to by all, and all devoted to their neighbors. Grand it was and blissful, and the borders of the great sea alone seemed fit place for such beings amphibious of time and eternity. Their very toils and dangers were but additional atmospheres to press their souls together. It was glorious! Why had she been born an earl's daughter, never to look a danger in the face, never to have a chance of a true life--that is, a grand, simple, noble one? Who, then, denied her the chance? Had she _no_ power to order her own steps, to determine her own being? Was she nailed to her rank? Or who was there that could part her from it? Was she a prisoner in the dungeons of the House of Pride? When the gates of Paradise closed behind Adam and Eve, they had this consolation left, that "the world was all before them where to choose." Was she not a free woman, without even a guardian to trouble her with advice? She had no excuse to act ignobly, but had she any for being unmaidenly? Would it then be--would it be a _very_ unmaidenly thing if--? The rest of the sentence did not even take the shape of words. But she answered it nevertheless in the words, "Not so unmaidenly as presumptuous." And, alas! there was little hope that _he_