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Tea arrived just as Rosamund was again sinking into bodily faintness and desolation of spirit. It presently restored her, but she could hardly converse. She kept hoping that Caroline would offer her some invitation–to lunch, to dine, anything; but as yet no such thought seemed to occur to the young hostess. Suddenly the aspect of things was altered by the arrival of new callers, a whole fa
mily, man, wife and three children, strangers to Rosamund. For a time it seemed as if she must go away without any kind of solace; for Geoffrey had quitted her, and she sat alone. On the spur of irrational resentment, she rose and advanced to Miss Hunt.

“Oh, but you are not going! I want you to stay and have dinner with us, if you can. Would it make you too late?”

Rosamund flushed and could scarce contain her delight. In a moment she was playing with the youngest of the children, and even laughing aloud, so that Geoffrey glanced curiously towards her. Even the opportunity of private conversation which she had not dared to count upon was granted before long; when the callers had departed Caroline excused herself, and left her brother alone with the guest for half an hour. There was no time to be lost; Rosamund broached almost immediately the subject uppermost in her mind.

“Mr. Hunt, I know how dreadful it is to have people asking for advice, but if I might–if you could have patience with me–“

“I haven’t much wisdom to spare,” he answered, with easy good-nature.

“Oh, you are very rich in it, compared with poor me. –And my position is sodifficult. I want–I am trying to find some way of being useful in the world. I am tired of living for myself. I seem to be such a useless creature. Surely even Imust have sometalent, which it’s my duty to put to use! Where should I turn? Could you help me with a suggestion?”

Her words, now that she had overcome the difficulty of beginning, chased each other with breathless speed, and Geoffrey was all but constrained to seriousness; he took it for granted, however, that Miss Jewell frequently used this language; doubtless it was part of her foolish, futile existence to talk of her soul’s welfare, especially in tête-à-têtewith unmarried men. The truth he did not suspect, and Rosamund could not bring herself to convey it in plain words.

“I do so envy the people who have something to live for!” Thus she panted.”I fear I have neverhad a purpose in life–I’m sure I don’t know why. Of course I’m only a woman, but even women nowadays are doing so much. You don’t despise their efforts, do you?”

“Not indiscriminately.”

“If I could feel myself a profitable member of society!–I want to be lifted above my wretched self. Is there no great end to which I could devote myself?”

Her phrases grew only more magniloquent, and all the time she was longing for courage to say: “How can I earn money?” Geoffrey, confirmed in the suspicion that she talked only for effect, indulged his natural humour.

“I’m such a groveller, Miss Jewell. I never knew these aspirations. I see the world mainly as cubic feet of timber.”

“No, no, you won’t make me believe that. I knowyou have ideals!”

“That word reminds me of poor old Halliday. You remember Halliday, don’t you?”

In vexed silence, Rosamund shook her head.

“But I think you must have met him, in the old days. A tall, fair man–no? He talked a great deal about ideals, and meant to move the world. We lost sight of each other when I first left England, and only met again a day or two ago. He is married, and has three children, and looks fifty years old, though he can’t be much more than thirty. He took me to see his wife–they live at Forest Hill.”