As she glanced at the man beside her she thought of the strange difference in people’s estimates of the same thing; no doubt he represented everything to someone, but she had spoken with absolute truth when she said that it had not occurred to her to compare him to Speid. She saw the same difference between the two men that she saw between fire and clay, between the husk and the grain, between the seen and the unseen. In her twenty-four years she had contrived to pierce the veils and shadows that hide the eyes of life, and, having looked upon them, to care for no light but theirs. The impression produced on her when she first saw Gilbert Speid by the dovecot was very vivid, and it was wonderful how little it had been obliterated or altered in their subsequent acquaintance. His quietness and the forces below it had more meaning for her than the obvious speeches and actions of other people. She had seen him in a flash, understood him in a flash, and, in a flash, her nature had risen up and paused, quivering and waiting, unconscious of its own attitude. Simple-minded people were inclined to call Cecilia cold. ‘I am expecting letters from home to-day,’ said Fordyce at last. ‘I have written very fully to my father on a particular subject, and I am hoping for an answer.’ ‘Indeed?’ said she, assuming a look of interest; she felt none, but she was anxious to be pleasant. ‘I should like you to see Fordyce Castle,’ said he. ‘I must try to persuade Lady Eliza to pay us a visit with you.’ ‘I am afraid you will hardly be able to do that,’ she answered, smiling. ‘I have lived with her for nearly twelve years, and I have never once known her to leave Morphie.’ ‘But I feel sure she would enjoy seeing Fordyce,’ he continued; ‘it is considered one of the finest places in Lanarkshire, and my mother would make her very welcome; my sisters, too, they will be delighted to make your acquaintance. You would suit each other perfectly; I have often thought that.’ ‘You are very good,’ she said, ‘and the visit would be interesting, I am sure. The invitation would please her, even if she did not accept it. You can but ask her.’ ‘Then I have your permission to write to my mother?’ said Crauford earnestly. It struck Cecilia all at once that she was standing on the brink of a chasm. Her colour changed a little. ‘It is for my aunt to give that,’ she said. ‘I am always ready to go anywhere with her that she pleases.’