"Why, no, I should think not, for their refining education must render such a course most repulsive. But then, all interviewers are not like Miss Clutch; you must not think it. Some of them are quite ladies, who would never force themselves on any one."
"Who was the visitor with a charming face, whom you introduced to me as Miss Forster?"
"She is quite a friend of mine, though we do not often meet, who is greatly interested in the college, and visits there every week. It is an object, you see, for a woman who is alone in the world. I often think what I should do without my husband and my son."
"Alone in the world!" That was what Quintin Ferrars had called himself. It was the second time within a few days that the phrase had forced itself upon her, and this time it struck her like a blow. Would not she be "alone in the world," when Mordy had taken unto himself a wife, and no longer needed her? She would never marry for expediency's sake, or for any reason but one. Therefore, it seemed tolerably sure now that she would be left "alone in the world." How strange, that when two people cared for each other—and she knew, no matter what she might say to Mordy, that Ivor Lawrence did care for her—how strange that a mistaken pride should be suffered to divide them! But then, might there not also be mistaken pride on her part, which had held her back hitherto from writing?
As these thoughts sped through her mind, in the train, on their way back, Mrs. Barham observed the far-away look on her companion's face, and was silent. That evening, on Saul's return home to dinner, this self-communing bore unexpected fruit in the course of her conversation with the young man. They were sitting alone in the twilight, both Saul's parents being out of the room. He coughed a good deal, and looked ill, the excitement of the previous evening having passed; and, without showing the concern she felt, she questioned him as to his health and his work.
"I am afraid you take too much out of yourself."
"I can't do less," he replied. "If I was at home here, doing nothing, I should be much worse. I must have work; and my best relaxation is to discuss things with my friends, men whose ways of thought are congenial with mine. My father's, you see, are not. He is a splendid man. I admire and respect him immensely. But we both avoid discussion, knowing that neither will ever convince the other. So it would never do for me to live at home."
"I can understand that. Family controversy is always disagreeable. Have you, at Harvard, any friend with whom you are really intimate?—any one towards whom you feel as a brother?"
"Yes, one; a man to whom I am not afraid of speaking openly on nearly every subject, feeling sure he will understand, even if he does not agree with me."
There was a pause. Grace, who rarely hesitated, hesitated now before she said,