Mr. Kelly asked a good many questions, and expressed due sympathy. His manner with the elderly lady was kind and gentle, all that it should have been; but Prue's still reticence baffled him, and aroused a growing desire to draw her into the conversation. He wanted to see if she were indeed the old Prue, or whether she were greatly altered: and Prue would not be drawn in, without more obvious efforts than Mr. Kelly cared to make. Not fully knowing his own mind, he had to be cautious. The girl, Prue, had been, in his estimation, everything that a girl of twenty-one ought to be; but the woman, Prue, at thirty years old, might be another individual. He had not gauged her yet. The fact that the Valentines would live in his Parish was an unexpected complication. "I shall be thrown a good deal with them," he thought: not sure whether to congratulate himself: and when the question arose, "Why not?" He made no attempt to answer it. Lettice Anderson's name presently came up. "Yes, I have seen much of her brother off and on," Mr. Kelly said, responding to Mrs. Valentine. "He often came in to supper with me on Sunday evenings: and I have been able to get him into a good house of business in London. Did you not know that he was in this neighbourhood? He is likely to make his way." "You think him clever?" Prue's still tones asked. "Capable, certainly. He has in him the making of a good man of business, and I should expect him to be a successful one. I am not—not thoroughly satisfied—however—" This was said slowly. "Lettice wrote lately, just after they met, and I thought she seemed disappointed." "He is very difficult to know. In fact, I do not know him, often as we meet. Any more than I knew his sister—Miss Anderson, I mean: not little Lettice. But there is a serious difference between the two. Miss Anderson lived a self-devoted life for others. Felix lives—I fear—a self-devoted life, for himself. I hardly know how else to express my meaning. It sounds like a contradiction in terms—but you understand? There is a growing absorption in his work, which seems to wall off all external claims. He cares for nothing but how he may advance towards success." "Is the wish for success wrong?" "Intrinsically, no. It is needful, to some extent. No man is likely to get on well in life, who has not set success before him as a goal. No doubt we are meant to make the best use possible of our gifts. The desire is perfectly lawful in its right place, as a main object, but not as the sole object of existence. Do you not see?"