He probably but half understood Pensée's character: he underrated her intellect, and he misconstrued her friendship for Orange into a weak infatuation. Agnes Carillon shared his view on this point, for, as he and his future bride could never be confidential with each other, they managed an appearance of intimacy by discussing with great freedom the private affairs of their friends. Agnes, in the fervour of godliness, had even seen much that was reprehensible in Lady Fitz Rewes's devotion to a man who had no idea of marrying her. She had declared that she could not understand it--an attitude pleasing to her fancy and gratifying to her pride. Reckage had thought it was not quite clear that the danger was immediate. Such was his feeling now toward Pensée, although he was conscious of a certain curiosity with regard to her motive in taking Brigit's part with such magnificent self-effacement. This seemed to him unnatural; and although she had impressed him with the highest opinion of her kindness, he could not believe that a woman of genuinely tender sensibilities could have approached such an altruistic height. She was an excellent creature--as creatures went, he thought, but hard in a feeble way. Then he closed his eyes and called up the elusive image of Sara de Treverell--very dark, very handsome, with her superb black hair reaching to her knees--as he had often seen it when she was a little girl--her blue eyes shining with a strange light, her lips smiling, her white arms held out.... "Sara may not be a happy girl," said Pensée suddenly, "but she is a clever one." Reckage started from his reverie. "How odd!" he exclaimed, surprised into candour. "I was thinking of her at that very moment." Pensée had read as much on his face, but she did not tell him so. "I feel for her very much," she observed instead. "She must be the greatest possible comfort to her father, although he may not realise it. Yet he is forcing on the engagement to Marshire. She keeps up in the most courageous way, but she has ideals, and no persuasion will induce her to change them." He turned red, and said, looking out of the window-- "Ideals do no harm when, for some reason or other, we are unable to carry them out." "I cannot imagine what she will do, or how she will bear her life if things continue as they are." "What things?" "She is like a slave to Lord Garrow. She is with him constantly, reading to him, and doing everything for him. She will be a cruel loss to his home when she marries." "I rather revel at the thought of the dismay which will attend her final capture of Marshire." "I used to hope that you perhaps----" He glanced up and smiled with an air of satisfaction. "I don't like the appearance of measuring myself against Marshire.... But--but he certainly seems, in character, the culminating point of mediocrity! In fact, Mr. Disraeli, whom I seldom quote, so described him."