On arriving at the lodge-gates Phillis began to take herself to task. Conscience, that "makes cowards of us all," began its small inner remonstrance; then followed self-flagellation and much belaboring of herself with many remorseful terms. She was a pitiful thing compared to Nan; she was conventional; there were no limits to her pride. Where were that freedom and nobility of soul which she once fancied would sweep over worldly prejudices, and carry her into purer air? She was still choking in the fogs of mere earthly exhalations; no wonder Nan was a little disappointed in her, though she was far too kind to say so. Well, she was disappointed in herself. By this time she had reached the hall door; and now she began to hold up her head more boldly, and to look about her; when a very solemn-looking butler confronted her, she said to herself, "It will be all the same a hundred years hence, and I am determined this time not to be beaten;" and then she asked for Mrs. Cheyne with something of her old sprightliness, and nothing could exceed the graceful ease of her entrance. All the Challoners walked well. There was a purity of health about them that made them delight in movement and every bodily exercise,--an elasticity of gait that somehow attracted attention. No girls danced better than they. And when they had the chance, which was seldom, they could ride splendidly. Their skating was a joy to see, and made one wish that the ice would last forever, that one could watch such light, skimming practice; and as for tennis, no other girl had a chance of being chosen for a partner unless the Challoners good-naturedly held aloof, which ten times out of twelve they were sure to do. Phillis, who, from her pale complexion, was supposed to possess the least vitality, delighted in exercise for its own sake. "It is a pleasure only to be alive and to know it," was a favorite speech with her on summer mornings, when the shadows were blowing lightly hither and thither, and the birds had so much to say that it took them until evening to finish saying it. Mrs. Cheyne, who was lying on her couch, watched with admiring eyes the girl's straightforward walk, so alert and business-like, so free from fuss and consciousness, and held out her hand with a more cordial welcome than she was accustomed to show her visitors. It was a long room; and as the summer dusk was falling, and there was only a shaded lamp beside Mrs. Cheyne, it was full of dim corners. Nevertheless, Phillis piloted herself without hesitation to the illuminated circle. "This is good of you, Miss Challoner, to take me at my word. But where is your sister? I wanted to look at her again, for it is long since I have seen any one so pretty. Miss Mewlstone, this is the good Samaritan who bound up my foot so cleverly." "Ah, just so," returned Miss Mewlstone. And a soft, plump hand touched Phillis's, and then she went on picking up stitches and taking no further notice.