Not that she, in so many words, put this before herself. She only tried "to get things straight," and even in that she failed. She was too young, life was too new, the "things" in question were too large, for immediate success. She did not yet know herself; and till we know ourselves, we cannot know those about us—those who make our "world"—or grapple with the problems of their and our existence. From an artistic and contemplative atmosphere, from a home where the cult of beauty ranked foremost, from a new breadth of view and a new rush of thought, she was plunged in the old narrow circle, where what she best loved was condemned, where beauty was regarded as a snare, where the love of Nature was a synonym for wasted time, where Art was a delusion and a plaything for a dying world. The contrast tried her. With the unbalanced eagerness of youth, she expected to find all good on one side, all evil on the other; and, like a child, impatient of consideration, she was as ready to condemn Barbara, Miss Robins, even her grandmother, as they were to condemn her friends. Yet she had begun to see with wider eyes,—to realise that others too found difficulties, and that the same clues do not serve for all minds. She had begun to feel the need in herself of a kinder and fairer spirit. She had begun to appreciate the saintly goodness of her stern old grandmother, to perceive the true beauty which underlay superficial blemishes. "It is all bewilderment," she had often said. But step by step she was being led to levels where she could look over dividing walls which once had shut her in. She was gaining glimpses of the true unity which underlies diversity—that unity which meets in Christ. She was dimly seeing that all ideals of beauty centre in Him; that the highest types of beauty are reflected from Him. So these weeks meant much to her. She was learning tolerance from the bigotry of others, and sympathy through her own struggles. Such lessons once mastered, differences of opinion on lesser points fall into their right positions, and the pursuit of beauty rises to a higher level. The old Vicar saw, and he would not meddle. He had faith in the Divine training of individuals; and he had learnt something of that quality, rare in human beings,—Divine patience. He would not hurry her faster than she could go safely. A word here, a sentence there, gave the needed touches. They were oftener together than in past days. Phyllys' absence had made a difference, setting her more at liberty. But the ruthless condemnation of people and things went on as of old; and Phyllys was far from having Divine patience.