But three months had been enough to show her the kind of thing--the hopeless narrowness and Philistinism of these English back-waters.

What did these small squires and country clergy know of the real world, the world that mattered to _her_, where people had free minds and progressive ideas?
Her resentment of the _milieu_ in which Roger expected her to live subtly swelled and strengthened her wrath against himself; it made the soil from which sprang a sudden growth of angry will--violent and destructive.

There was in her little or none of that affinity with a traditional, a parent England, which is present in so many Americans, which emerges in them like buried land from the waters.

On the contrary, the pressure of race and blood in her was not towards, but against; not friendly, but hostile.

The nearer she came to the English life, the more certain forces in her, deeply infused, rose up and made their protest.
The Celtic and Latin strains that were mingled in her, their natural sympathies and repulsions, which had been indistinct in the girl, overlaid by the deposits of the current American world, were becoming dominant in the woman.
* * * * * Well, thank goodness, modern life is not as the old! There are ways out.
Midnight had just struck.