You felt her 'beating up against the wind,'-- in the current, yet resisting it.

Or to take another comparison, her nature seemed to be at once stiff and rich--like some heavy church stuff, shot with gold.
'Oh! these things are my snare,' said Eleanor, laughing--'If I have any gift, it is for _chiffons_.' 'Any gift!' said Lucy wondering--'when you do so much for Mr.Manisty ?' Mrs.Burgoyne shrugged her shoulders.
'Ah! well--he wanted a secretary--and I happened to get the place,' she said, in a more constrained voice.
'Miss Manisty told me how you helped him in the winter.

And she and Mr.
Brooklyn--have--told me--other things--' said Lucy.

She paused, colouring deeply.

But her eyes travelled timidly to the photographs on Mrs.
Burgoyne's table.
Eleanor understood.
'Ah!--they told you that, did they ?'--The speaker turned a little white.
'And you wonder--don't you ?--that I can go on talking about frocks, and new ways of doing one's hair ?' She moved away from Lucy, a touch of cold defensive dignity effacing all her pliant sweetness.
Lucy followed and caught her hand.
'Oh no! no!'-- she said--'it is only so brave and good of you--to be able still--to take an interest--' 'Do I take it ?' said Eleanor, scornfully, raising her other hand and letting it fall.
Lucy was silenced.