Her brother and his character formed to her a strange new book, which she was never weary of studying. The outside of that book was of the most alluring character; and she, of an intensely receptive nature, and intensely sensitive, too, to beauty, delighted in that fair outside, in those polished manners, in the smooth, calm, composed demeanour. She delighted to go out with Jerome, to behold others turning to look at him; in every proof that she was not alone in her sense of being fascinated by him. They naturally went out little during those days of waiting; when they did go, they went alone together, avoiding the crowded gardens and the more public walks. They had, therefore, ample opportunity of learning more of one another; and perhaps each modified the estimate already formed of the other’s character. But the affection increased. In their long walks to the _Concordia_, or along the white country roads, Jerome told her about all their circumstances—told her he did not know whether they would have any secure income, even the smallest, upon which to live; asked her if she could reconcile herself to existence with him, perhaps in a back parlour of some dingy town-lodgings. To all of which questions her ‘yes, oh, yes!’ leaped out with an eager readiness. ‘Now I begin to see what papa meant when he kept calling me a little interloper, Jerome,’ she said one day. ‘If it were not for me, how much easier everything would be for you. I have heard that a man, alone, need never fear anything, even starvation; but that when he has a woman with him it clogs him, and paralyses him, and unfits him——’ ‘Hush, child!’ he said, putting his finger on her lip, and smiling at the same time; ‘that is nothing less than blasphemy, and I know where you learnt it.’ Avice hung her head. Presently she looked up again, remarking: ‘Living with papa first, and then with you, Jerome, is like going to school first with one schoolmaster, and then with another; and one uses the cane, and the other doesn’t.’ ‘Is it?’ ‘Sometimes, with papa, the sensation was just like what I could imagine a child feeling on being told, “Hold out your hand.” Horrible!’ ‘You don’t mean——’ he began sharply. ‘That papa was cruel? Oh no! He never meant to be, at any rate. I suppose he could not help being cold and sarcastic and severe in manner. What he hated most was what he called drivelling sentimentality. I always knew in an instant when I had said something sentimental. And I think, as long as I live, I shall never forget the tone of his voice as he used to say, “That is your view of the case, is it, mademoiselle? Suppose we look at it in the light in which persons of judgment will see it.” And then, how foolish I was made to feel! Papa certainly could put people down in a way I never saw anyone else use.’ She sighed, and Jerome smiled rather bitterly, commiserating the young creature who had been trained in such a school.