"That's logical, on the surface. To digress, why do you most admire Jephthah's daughter, the gentle Gileadite?" His hostess affected surprise. "Isn't it evident, when one remembers her patient sacrifice, her fine sense of family honour?" Carroll felt that this was much the kind of sentiment one could have expected from her; and he did her justice in believing that it was genuine and that she was capable of acting up to her convictions. His glance rested on Vane for a moment, and the latter was startled as he guessed his comrade's thought. Evelyn sat near him, reclining languidly in a wicker chair. She had been silent and, now her face was in repose, the signs of reserve and repression were plainer than ever. There was, however, pride in it, and he felt that she was endowed with a keener and finer sense of family honour than her mother. Her brother's career was threatened by the results of his own imprudence, and though her father could hardly be compared with the Gileadite warrior, there was, Vane imagined, a disturbing similarity between the two cases. It was unpleasant to contemplate the possibility of this girl's being called upon to bear the cost of her relations' misfortunes or follies. Carroll, however, looked across at Lucy with a smile. "You don't agree with Mrs. Chisholm?" he suggested. "No," said Lucy firmly. "Leaving the instance in question out, there are too many people who transgress and then expect somebody else--a woman as a rule--to serve as a sacrifice." "I don't agree, either," Mabel broke in. "I'd sooner have been Cleopatra or Joan or Arc--only she was burned, poor thing." "That was only what she might have expected. An unpleasant fate generally overtakes people who go about disturbing things," Mrs. Chisholm said severely. The speech was characteristic, and the others smiled. It would have astonished them had Mrs. Chisholm sympathised with the rebel idealist whose beckoning visions led to the clash of arms. Then Vane turned to his comrade. "Aren't you getting off the track?" he asked. "I don't see the drift of your previous remarks." "Well," said Carroll, with an air of reflection, "there must be, I think, a certain distinctive stamp upon those who belong to the leader type; I mean the folks who are capable of doing striking and heroic things. Apart from this, I've been studying you English--and it has struck me that there's occasionally something imperious, or rather imperial, in the faces of your women in the most northern counties. I can't define the thing, but it's there--in the line of nose, the mouth, and I think most marked in the brows. It's not Saxon, or Norse, or Danish. I'd sooner call it Roman." Vane was slightly astonished. He had seen that look in Evelyn's face, and now, for the first time, he recognised it in his sister's. "I wonder if you have hit it," he said with a laugh. "You can reach the Wall from here in a day's ride." "The Wall?"