Hertha felt somewhat surprised. After all, Winifred was not so dense as appeared. And "to be quite fair on her," thought Miss Norreys, "she _might_ have resented my changing to her without giving her my reasons and a chance of justifying herself to some extent." This reflection came at a good moment. It softened her tone to Winifred. "Yes," she said, "I will be entirely frank with you, and put before you the whole story of our acquaintance, and what I did to help you, from my point of view, which is likely, I much fear, to be that of others; and I certainly will not exaggerate things. For,"--and here a generous impulse made her add warmly--"I _do_ trust you, Winifred. I trust your good intentions and your honesty of purpose, though I believe you deceive yourself; and self-deception is terribly insidious." She paused a moment, but the girl did not speak. Hertha glanced round her as if to gather strength and breath for what she had to say. How fair and charming a prospect it was! There was something almost _unreal_ in the vivid clearness of the spring beauty all about-- unreconcilable with the troubles and anxieties which yet one knew must be there behind it all. But as Hertha's gaze wandered farther, over to where, on the other side of some rising ground, the old church spire rose up into the blue, and the lazily curling smoke of the surrounding homesteads told of the human lives and interests close at hand, different thoughts arose in her mind. What infatuation was over the girl, or woman, beside her? Who could desire a more distinct field of usefulness than Winifred Maryon was deliberately rejecting? The awful problems relating to the poor of our overcrowded great cities must not be shirked by such as are wise enough to grasp them, but how thankful should be those whose duties in smaller spheres are clear and defined, lying among more normal conditions and along less conflicting paths! She turned to her companion abruptly. "Winifred, my dear child--my dear friend, if you don't like to be called a child--I _wish_ I understood you; that is at the root of it all. I _cannot_ get at your motives, your way of looking at things." Winifred looked up--a frown, not of annoyance but of perplexity, lining her usually unruffled forehead; her blue eyes fixed on Hertha's face with a touch of appeal which was almost piteous. "Tell me," she said, "tell me everything; I do want to know." And Miss Norreys did as she asked. She went back to the beginning of their acquaintance, and told her all, as it had affected her herself, as it had taken shape and colour, from her point of view. She spoke as simply as she could, and tried her best to be practical and matter-of-fact. For talking to Winifred was not like talking to Celia, who, young as she was, could take in the sense of a sentence before it was half expressed, who felt the _spirit_ underlying and surrounding even the "commonest" commonplaces of life.