“Good-bye, Mrs. Coleman,” said the Major in his careless way; “I am glad to find Manchester does not disagree with you. At least, I should think it does not.” “Oh no, Major Maitland, I like it quite as well as London. Mind, you promise to come again _soon_—very soon.” The Major had gone downstairs first. She had followed him to the first landing, and then returned to bid Pauline and Caillaud good-bye. She stood like a statue while Pauline put on her hat. “Good-night, madam,” said Caillaud, slightly bowing. “Good-night, madam,” said Pauline, not bowing in the least. “Good-night,” she replied, without relaxing her rigidity. As soon as they were in the street Pauline said, “Father, I abhor that woman. If she lives she will kill her husband.” Mrs. Coleman, on the other hand, at the same moment said, “Zachariah, Pauline and Caillaud cannot come to this house again.” “Why not?” “Why not, Zachariah? I am astonished at you! The child of a woman who lived in open sin!” He made no reply. Years ago not a doubt would have crossed his mind. That a member of Mr. Bradshaw’s church could receive such people as Caillaud and Pauline would have seemed impossible. Nevertheless, neither Caillaud nor Pauline were now repugnant to him; nor did he feel that any soundless gulf separated them from him, although, so far as he knew his opinions had undergone no change. Mrs. Coleman forbore to pursue the subject, for her thoughts went off upon another theme, and she was inwardly wondering whether the Major would ever invite her to the theatre again. Just as she was going to sleep, the figure of the Major hovering before her eyes, she suddenly bethought herself that Pauline, if not handsome, was attractive. She started, and lay awake for an hour. When she rose in the morning the same thought again presented itself, to dwell with her hence forwards, and to gnaw her continually like vitriol. CHAPTER XI POLITICS AND PAULINE