 eyes of Miss Doran. There could be no
doubt that she knew, at all events, the main items of his story, was it not
certain that they must make some appeal to her sympathies? His air of graceful
sadness could not but lead her to muse as often as she observed it; he had
contemplated himself in the mirror, and each time with reassurance on this
point. Why should the attractions which had been potent with Madeline fail to
engage the interest of this younger and more emotional girl? Miss Doran was far
beyond Madeline in beauty, and, there was every reason to believe, had the
substantial gifts of fortune which Madeline altogether lacked. It was a bold
thing to turn his eye to her with such a thought, circumstances considered; but
the boldness was characteristic of Marsh, with whom at all times self-esteem had
the force of an irresistible argument.
    He was incapable of passion. Just as he had made a pretence of pursuing art,
because of a superficial cleverness and a liking for ease and the various
satisfactions of his vanity in such a career, so did he now permit his mind to
be occupied with Cecily Doran, not because her qualities blinded him to all
other considerations, but in pleasant yielding to a temptation of his fancy,
which made a lively picture of many desirable things, and flattered, him into
thinking that they were not beyond his reach. For the present he could do
nothing but wait, supporting his pose of placid martyrdom. Wait, and watch every
opportunity; there would arrive a moment when seeming recklessness might advance
him far on the way to triumph.
    And yet he never for a moment regarded himself as a schemer endeavouring to
compass vulgar ends by machination. He had the remarkable faculty of viewing
himself in an ideal light, even whilst conscious that so many of his claims were
mere pretence. Men such as Clifford Marsh do not say to themselves, »What a
humbug I am!« When driven to face their conscience, it speaks to them rather in
this way: »You are a fellow of fine qualities, altogether out of the common way
of men. A pity that conditions do not allow you to be perfectly honest; but
people in general are so foolish that you would get no credit for your
superiority if you did not wear a little tinsel, practise a few harmless
affectations. Some day your difficulties will be at an end, and then you can
afford to show yourself in a simpler guise.« When he looked in the glass,
Clifford admired himself without reserve; when he talked freely, he applauded
his own
