most ordinary household topics.

Elfride was almost unconsciously relieved, persuading herself that
her father's reserve on his business justified her in secrecy as
regarded her own--a secrecy which was necessarily a foregone
decision with her. So anxious is a young conscience to discover a
palliative, that the ex post facto nature of a reason is of no
account in excluding it.

The intervening fortnight was spent by her mostly in walking by
herself among the shrubs and trees, indulging sometimes in
sanguine anticipations; more, far more frequently, in misgivings.
All her flowers seemed dull of hue; her pets seemed to look
wistfully into her eyes, as if they no longer stood in the same
friendly relation to her as formerly. She wore melancholy
jewellery, gazed at sunsets, and talked to old men and women. It
was the first time that she had had an inner and private world
apart from the visible one about her. She wished that her father,
instead of neglecting her even more than usual, would make some
advance--just one word; she would then tell all, and risk
Stephen's displeasure. Thus brought round to the youth again, she
saw him in her fancy, standing, touching her, his eyes full of sad
affection, hopelessly renouncing his attempt because she had
renounced hers; and she could not recede.

On the Wednesday she was to receive another letter. She had
resolved to let her father see the arrival of this one, be the
consequences what they might: the dread of losing her lover by
this deed of honesty prevented her acting upon the resolve. Five
minutes before the postman's expected arrival she slipped out, and