"May that day be far distant!" I said earnestly. She raised her soft meditative eyes to mine. "Thank you!" she responded gently--"But I do not mind when it comes, so long as it finds me ready." She waved her hand to us as we left her and turned the corner of the lane,--and for some minutes we walked on slowly in absolute silence. Then at last Sibyl spoke-- "I quite understand the hatred there is in some quarters for Mavis Clare,"--she said--"I am afraid I begin to hate her myself!" I stopped and stared at her, astonished and confounded. "You begin to hate her----you?--and why?" "Are you so blind that you cannot perceive why?" she retorted, the little malign smile I knew so well playing round her lips--"Because she is happy! Because she has no scandals in her life, and because she dares to be content! One longs to make her miserable! But how to do it? She believes in a God,--she thinks all He ordains is right and good. With such a firm faith as that, she would be happy in a garret earning but a few pence a day. I see now perfectly how she has won her public,--it is by the absolute conviction she has herself of the theories of life she tries to instil. What can be done against her? Nothing! But I understand why the critics would like to 'quash' her,--if I were a critic, fond of whiskey-and-soda, and music-hall women, I should like to quash her myself for being so different to the rest of her sex!" "What an incomprehensible woman you are, Sibyl!" I exclaimed with real irritation,--"You admire Miss Clare's books,--you have always admired them,--you have asked her to become your friend,--and almost in the same breath you aver you would like to 'quash' her or to make her miserable! I confess I cannot understand you!"