And then there came other thoughts as to that interior life which it would be her destiny to lead with Mr. Barry.  Then came a black cloud upon her face as she sat thinking of it.  “Never,” at last she said, “never, never!  He is very foolish not to know that it is impossible.”  The “he” of whom she then spoke was her father, and not Mr. Barry.  “If I have to be left alone, I shall not be the first.  Others have been left alone before me.  I shall at any rate be left alone.”  Then the wall became higher and more black than ever, and there was no coming of that miracle by which it was to be removed.  It was clearer to her than ever that neither of them could climb it.  “And, after all,” she said to herself, “to know that your husband is not a gentleman!  Ought that not to be enough?  Of course a woman has to pay for her fastidiousness.  Like other luxuries, it is costly; but then, like other luxuries, it cannot be laid aside.”  So, before that morning was gone, she made up her mind steadily that Mr. Barry should never be her lord and master.

How could she best make him understand that it was so, so that she might be quickly rid of him?  When the first hour of thinking was done after breakfast, it was that which filled her mind.  She was sure that he would not take an answer easily and go.  He would have been prepared by her father to persevere,—­not by his absolute words, but by his mode of speaking.  Her father would have given him to understand that she was still in doubt, and therefore might possibly be talked over.  She must teach him at once, as well as she could, that such was not her character, and that she had come to a resolution which left him no chance.  And she was guilty of one weakness which was almost unworthy of her.  When the time came she changed her dress, and put on an old shabby frock, in which she was wont to call upon the Carrolls.  Her best dresses were all kept for her father,—­and, perhaps, accounted for that opinion that to his eyes her face was the sweetest thing on earth to look upon.  As she sat there waiting for Mr. Barry, she certainly did look ten years older than her age.

In truth both Mr. Grey and Dolly had been somewhat mistaken in their reading of Mr. Barry’s character.  There was more of intellect and merit in him than he had obtained credit for from either of them.  He did care very much for the income of the business, and perhaps his first idea in looking for Dolly’s hand had been the probability that he would thus obtain the whole of that income for himself.  But, while wanting money, he wanted also some of the good things which ought to accompany it.  A superior intellect,—­an intellect slightly superior to his own, of which he did not think meanly, a power of conversation which he might imitate, and that fineness of thought which, he flattered himself, he might be able to achieve while living with the daughter of a gentleman,—­these were the treasures which Mr. Barry hoped to gain by