‘Yes, I will tell you all about it another time. I see you don’t half believe it. But it is true. We have not quarrelled, I am glad to say; but he has gone. He has begun life for himself, and henceforth our paths are divided. There was another. You did not know him. I could scarcely call him one of my friends, but I miss him. He is one interest less. There was Mr. Blisset; he is dead. There was you--at least I hope so.’ ‘I don’t think we ever were really friends. I did not like your opinions.’ ‘But not enemies?’ ‘Well, perhaps not exactly; at least, not at last,’ said Helena with a sudden change in her voice. ‘But,’ she repeated, ‘I did not like your opinions. You shut me--I mean, you denied to women the right to participate in those larger questions which I hold they ought to be interested in as well as men, for the sake both of men and of themselves; and I never would give in to that as long as I live.’ She did not speak vehemently, but with a decision and calmness unlike her old agitation of manner. ‘I wonder how I shall ever make you understand my real views on that subject,’ he said despairingly. ‘You said you had no views on the question. Perhaps, if you had ever tried to find out whether I had any understanding, you might have succeeded in discovering a tiny scrap somewhere very low down. But never mind, it is of no consequence now. I can never help forward the questions I take an interest in, as I once hoped to do; so you need not be afraid of my going astray. I have lost the power.’ ‘Miss Spenceley----’ ‘I think you have forgotten one of your friends,’ suggested Helena, with a change in her voice, which she could not quite conceal. ‘Have I? Which?’ he asked very meekly. ‘Miss Adrienne Blisset.’ ‘Ah, yes! I actually had forgotten her. I never see her now, either.’ ‘Does she no longer live in Thanshope?’ asked Helena, bending over her work. ‘She still has Stonegate, but she is scarcely ever there. I think she has taken a dislike to the place. And when she is there, I do not see her. As you say, she is lost to me too, for we once were friends.’ Sebastian’s voice did not change. It was quite steady and composed. Helena still seemed interested in her work, as she said, ‘I should think that must be the greatest loss of all to you.’ ‘In some respects it is. At first it was a great loss. Now I feel it less. For two years I have been learning to live alone. Smile scornfully to yourself if you like! You may not believe me, but it is true all the same.’ ‘Oh, I can believe that you found it hard to lose Miss Blisset’s society. She was no ordinary young lady. If she had once been your friend, it must have been difficult to resign her. And people spoke of something more than friendship. I heard, often, that you and she were engaged.’ ‘Did you? I, too, have heard something of the same kind; but there was no truth in the report. We were never engaged.’ ‘Ah! people will talk, you see!’