Nigel acquiesced with a resolute patience, which he would not once have shown. For he was eager, and longed to enter upon a career. Past ill-health had thrown him back; and the year abroad had meant further delay. Most young men of his own age were already launched on some definite line of life; and Nigel was keenly conscious of the difference. He wanted to waste no more time; to be hard at work as soon as possible, with a settled aim ahead. Though he patiently bore the continued uncertainty as to his future, he did not the less feel it; and but for the greater trouble about Ethel, he would have felt it much more. In that direction, hopelessness increased. He could not get hold of her, could not bear down the barrier of her changed manner. Not that she was unkind or uninterested; not that he could have defined what was wrong. Only ever since the Postscript affair, she had been different—never entirely at her ease. She seemed to be always slipping out of his reach; always too busy to give him any time; and when they were together there was an indescribable something which rose like a barrier and kept them apart. Ethel did not mean it to be so. She had not the smallest intention of repelling Nigel. She was only startled by Mr. Carden-Cox's insinuations, dismayed at the idea that any one could suppose her capable of wishing to marry Nigel if he did not wish to marry her, bent upon setting things straight; and in her efforts she went farther than was needful. Where she meant to be only kind and pleasant, but not too warm, she was distinctly distant and cold. Nigel then was hurt and grave; and this told upon Ethel, adding to her constraint. It was very hard to give him pain; and she knew that her changed manner did pain him sorely; yet how could it be helped? She dared not allow herself to meet him in the old style, for fear of what others might think. The pain reacted sharply upon herself: and those were sorrowful weeks to Ethel. She had often a severe struggle to keep up some appearance of cheerfulness. Fulvia's watchful eyes noted the difference in Ethel's bearing towards Nigel, and in Nigel's towards Ethel; and her heart beat often with a wild joy. For she thought she understood. She believed that Nigel was at last awake to the fact that Ethel was not and could not be more to him than the sister of his friend. She believed that Nigel was willing to have things so; and that she—she herself—Fulvia would hide her face at this point, clasping her hands in an ecstasy of delight, so intense as to be almost unbearable. What would life be to her without Nigel? But these reasonings were never allowed to have sway except when Fulvia was alone; never, if any one were present to mark her look.