“Now, both these faces are interesting,” said Mallard.  “Both are uncommon, and full of force.  But the first I can’t say that I like.  It is that of an utterly undisciplined woman, with a possibility of great things in her, but likely to be dangerous for lack of self-knowledge and humility; an ignorant woman, moreover; one subjected to superstitions, and aiming at unworthy predominance.  The second is obviously her sister, but how different!  An educated woman, this; one who has learnt a good deal about herself and the world.  She is ‘emancipated,’ in the true sense of the hackneyed word; that is to say, she is not only freed from those bonds that numb the faculties of mind and heart, but is able to control the native passions that would make a slave of her.  Now, this face I love.”

Miriam did not stir, but a thrill went through her.  “One of the passions that she has subdued,” Mallard went on, “is, you can see, particularly strong in this sister of hers.  I mean jealousy.  This first face is that of a woman so prone to jealousy of all kinds that there would be no wonder if it drove her to commit a crime.  The woman whom I love is superior to idle suspicions; she thinks nobly of her friends; she respects herself too much to be at the mercy of chance and change of circumstance.”

He paused, and Miriam spoke humbly.

“Do you think it impossible for the first to become like her sister?”

“Certainly not impossible.  The fact is that she has already made great progress in that direction.  The first face is not that of an actually existing person.  She has changed much since she looked altogether like this, so much, indeed, that occasionally I see the sister in her, and then I love her for the sister’s sake.  But naturally she has relapses, and they cannot but affect my love.  That word, you know, has such very different meanings.  When I say that I love her, I don’t mean that I am ready to lose my wits when she is good enough to smile on me.  I shouldn’t dream of allowing her to come in the way of my life’s work; if she cannot be my helper in it, then she shall be nothing to me at all.  I shall never think or call her a goddess, not even if she develop all the best qualities she has.  Still, I think the love is true love; I think so for several reasons, of which I needn’t speak.”

Miriam again spoke, all but raising her face.

“You once loved in another way.”

“I was once out of my mind, which is not at all the same as loving.”

He moved to a distance; then turned, and asked: 

“Will you tell me now why you became so cold to Cecily?”

“I was jealous of her.”

“And still remain so?”

“No.”

“I am glad to hear that.  Now I think I’ll get on with my work.  Thank you very much for the sewing.—­By-the-bye, I often feel the want of some one at hand to do a little thing of that kind.”

“If you will send for me, I shall always be glad to come.”