My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. I heard John was talking about you again from Jenny McIntyre. The gale had become a hurricane: that hurricane was the most terrible that ever laid waste our city. People think it is, but they are wrong. Every now and then she fingered an ornament, moved a piece of furniture, or rearranged some draperies. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. Both had dropped the rather elaborate politeness of the dining-room, and in their faces an impartial observer would have discovered little lines of obstinate wilfulness in common; a certain hardness—sharp, indeed, in the father and softly rounded in the daughter—but hardness nevertheless, that made every compromise a bargain and every charity a discount.
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