'
On a day about three weeks later, the Swancourt trio were sitting
quietly in the drawing-room of The Crags, Mrs. Swancourt's house
at Endelstow, chatting, and taking easeful survey of their
previous month or two of town--a tangible weariness even to people
whose acquaintances there might be counted on the fingers.
A mere season in London with her practised step-mother had so
advanced Elfride's perceptions, that her courtship by Stephen
seemed emotionally meagre, and to have drifted back several years
into a childish past. In regarding our mental experiences, as in
visual observation, our own progress reads like a dwindling of
that we progress from.
She was seated on a low chair, looking over her romance with
melancholy interest for the first time since she had become
acquainted with the remarks of the PRESENT thereupon.
'Still thinking of that reviewer, Elfie?'
'Not of him personally; but I am thinking of his opinion. Really,
on looking into the volume after this long time has elapsed, he
seems to have estimated one part of it fairly enough.'
'No, no; I wouldn't show the white feather now! Fancy that of all
people in the world the writer herself should go over to the
enemy. How shall Monmouth's men fight when Monmouth runs away?'
'I don't do that. But I think he is right in some of his
arguments, though wrong in others. And because he has some claim
to my respect I regret all the more that he should think so
mistakenly of my motives in one or two instances.
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