Vanity is a strong plant, and it flourishes in every soil; but it had found no root in Ida's nature.

She was too absorbed in the round of her daily tasks, in the care of her father and her efforts to keep the great place from going to rack and ruin, to think of herself; and if her glass had ever whispered that she was one of the loveliest of the daughters of Eve, she had turned a deaf ear to it.
No; she assured herself that it was just a whim of Mr.Orme's, a passing fancy and caprice which would soon be satisfied, and that he would tire of it after a few days, perhaps hours.

Of course, she was wrong to humour the whim; but it had been hard to refuse him, hard to seem churlish and obstinate after he had been so kind on the night her father had frightened her by his sleep-walking; and it had been still harder because she had been conscious of a certain pleasure in the thought that she should see him again.
For the first time, as she went into the great silent house, she realised how lonely her life was, how drear and uneventful.

Now and again, while cantering along the roads on the big chestnut, she had met other girls riding and driving: the Vaynes, the Avorys, and the Bannerdales; had heard them talking and laughing merrily and happily, but it had never occurred to her to envy them, to reflect that she was different to other girls who had friends and companions and girlish amusements.

She had been quite content--until now.