friend of his father's.

She lay awake a long time that night, thinking with angry humiliation
how her mother wanted her to marry John Mangam, and she thought of Mr.
Hyacinthus Ware and his polished, gentle manner, which was yet strong.
Then all at once a feeling which she had never known before came over
her. She saw quite plainly before her, in the moonlit dusk of the room,
Hyacinthus Ware's face, and she felt that she could go down on her knees
before him and worship him.

"Never was such a man," she said to herself. "Never was a man so
beautiful and so good. He is not like other men."

It was not so much love as devotion which possessed her. She looked out
of her little window opposite the bed, at the moonlit night, for the
storm had cleared the air. She had the window open and a cool wind was
blowing through the room. She looked out at the silver-lit immensity of
the sky, and a feeling of exaltation came over her. She thought of
Hyacinthus as she might have thought of a divinity. Love and marriage
were hardly within her imagination in connection with him. But they came
later.

Ware quite often called at the Lynn house. He often joined the group on
the door-step in the summer nights. He often came when John Mangam
occupied his usual chair in his usual place, and his graceful urbanity
on such occasions seemed to make more evident the other man's stolid or
stupid silence. Hyacinthus and Sarah usually had the most of the
conversation to themselves, as even Mrs. Lynn and the old woman, who
were not backward in speech, were at a loss to discuss many of the
topics introduced. One evening, after they had all gone home, Mrs. Lynn