_Lady Maisie_ (_flushing_). Now, Rhoda, I won't have you talking as if--as if---- _You_ ought to know, if Gerald Thicknesse doesn't, that it's nothing at all of that sort! It's just---- Oh, I can't _tell_ you how some of his poems moved me, what new ideas, wider views they seemed to teach; and then how _dreadfully_ it hurt to think it was only Mr. Spurrell after all!... But _now_--oh, the _relief_ of finding they're not spoilt; that I can still admire, still look up to the man who wrote them! Not to have to feel that he is quite commonplace--not even a gentleman--in the ordinary sense! _Lady Rhoda_ (_rising_). Ah well, I prefer a hero who looks as if he had his hair cut, occasionally--but then, I'm not romantic. He may be the paragon you say; but if I was you, my dear, I wouldn't expect too much of that young man--allow a margin for shrinkage, don't you know. And now I think I'll turn into my little crib, for I'm dead tired. Good night; don't sit up late readin' poetry; it's my opinion you've read quite enough as it is! [_She goes._ _Lady Maisie_ (_alone, as she gazes dreamily into the fire_). She doesn't in the _least_ understand! She actually suspects me of---- As if I could possibly--or as if mamma would ever--even if _he_---- Oh, how _silly_ I am!... I don't care! I _am_ glad I haven't had to give up my ideal. I _should_ like to know him better. What harm is there in that? And if Gerald chooses to go to-morrow, he must--that's all. He isn't nearly so nice as he used to be; and he has even _less_ imagination than ever! I don't think I _could_ care for anybody so absolutely matter-of-fact. And yet, only an hour ago I almost---- But that was _before_! PART XXI THE FEELINGS OF A MOTHER. _In the Morning Room._ TIME--_Sunday morning; just after breakfast._ _Captain Thicknesse_ (_outside, to_ TREDWELL). Dogcart round, eh? everything in? All right--shan't be a minute. (_Entering._) Hallo, Pilliner, you all alone here? (_He looks round disconcertedly._) Don't happen to have seen Lady Maisie about? _Pilliner._ Let me see--she _was_ here a little while ago, I fancy.... Why? Do you want her? _Captain Thicknesse._ No--only to say good-bye and that. I'm just off. _Pilliner._ Off? To-day! You don't mean to tell me your chief is such an inconsiderate old ruffian as to expect you to travel back to your Tommies on the Sabbath! You could wait till to-morrow if you _wanted_ to. Come now! _Captain Thicknesse._ Perhaps--only, you see, I _don't_ want to. _Pilliner._ Well, tastes differ. I shouldn't call a cross-country journey in a slow train, with unlimited opportunities of studying the company's bye-laws and traffic arrangements at several admirably ventilated junctions, the ideal method of spending a cheery Sunday, myself, that's all. _Captain Thicknesse_ (_gloomily_). Dare say it will be about as cheery as stoppin' on here, if it comes to that.