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She would like to compare Ronald with the men she had
met lately.
The desire for comparison had increased of late. A fortnight had passed
since she had first met John Harrington, and she had made up her mind. He
was handsome, though his hair was red and he had no beard, and she liked
him; she liked him very much; it was quite different from her liking for
Ronald. She liked Ronald, she said to herself that she loved him dearly,
partly because she expected to marry him, and partly because he was so
good and so much in love with herself. He would take any amount of trouble
for anything she wanted. But John was different. She knew very well that
she was thinking much more of him than he of her, if indeed he thought of
her at all. But she was a little ashamed of it, and in order to justify
herself in her own eyes she was cold and sarcastic in her manner to him,
so that people noticed it, and even John Harrington himself, who never
thought twice whether his acquaintances liked him or disliked him,
remarked one day to Mrs.


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