With the quick recuperative power that many nervous women possess the invalid had cast off the yoke of her recent illness rapidly. Already keen to return to work, despite Aunt Elizabeth's many lectures, the very fact of her late ordeal had fired her vivid imagination. She held that her public demonstration had given her at last the right to consider herself not only a martyr but a worthy Champion of the Cause. But behind her desire for active work lay dormant the thought of Stephen's friendship. She had suffered from the enforced estrangement, yet was shrewdly aware of the reason. She knew that Miss Uniacke did not approve of the intimacy, but imagined too that the little old maid was no lover of the opposite sex. She had been honestly amazed at her attitude toward McTaggart. It never occurred to her that Jill was the link between the curious pair. Nor could she realize in the girl a charm that would warrant the supposition. Although she loved her only daughter and was secretly proud of her own offspring, she would have been greatly surprised had an outsider pointed out the fact of Jill's attraction to men. The girl was so unlike herself! It is a curious human trait that a mother can rarely appreciate a different type in her daughter. And yet some hidden law of Nature presiding at the children's birth most frequently endows a girl with the characteristics of the father. Jill was the picture of Colonel Uniacke. Roddy, with his bright colour, high cheek bones, and bird-like glance, was far more like the mother, though a stronger edition, in miniature. But Jill, tall, gracefully formed, was rounded too; with wide grey eyes and her father's well-shaped hands and feet. Her mouth was a shade too large for beauty, but full of character, fresh and curved, with the deep corners that spell humour, and her chin held a note of obstinacy. She had her father's clear judgment, sense of proportion and of balance, his strong vitality, warm heart and an almost passionate love of justice. Her greatest stumbling block was pride. Many a time as a tiny child had she wept in secret over a fault, but refused to apologize. She was 'sent to Coventry' once for a week for some unwise rebellious speech, but at the end of the punishment the little girl was still stubborn. "I'm sorry that I hurt you, Mother--I _am_ sorry"--the tears rolled down--"but I meant every word I said--and I do still--I can't help it!" Colonel Uniacke was called, prompted by his indignant wife. He took Jill on his knee. "Now, then, child--out with it!" "I said"--her arms went round his neck--"I simply hated Miss Bellew" ... (she referred to the new governess). "She's a perfect sneak and she hit Roddy--I know I'm naughty"--she wailed aloud--"but I _do_ hate her--she's a beast! and I won't 'kiss and make friends'--not to please anybody!..."