He did not see deeply into Gartley, who was by no means an intentional hypocrite. But Vavasor was a gentlemanly fellow, and that went a long way with him. He did not oppose him, and that went another long way—of all things he could not bear to be opposed in what he so plainly saw to be true, nor could think why every other honest man should not at once also see it true. He forgot that the difficulty is not so much in recognizing the truth of a proposition, as in recognizing what the proposition is. In the higher regions of thought, the recognition of what a proposition is, and the recognition of its truth are the same thing.

The ruin of a man’s teaching comes of his followers, such as having never touched the foundation he has laid, build upon it wood, hay, and stubble, fit only to be burnt. Therefore, if only to avoid his worst foes, his admirers, a man should avoid system. The more correct a system the worse will it be misunderstood—its professed admirers will take both its errors and their misconceptions of its truths, and hold them forth as its essence. Mr. Raymount, then, was not the man to take care of his daughter.

The day before Christmas Eve the expected visitors arrived—just in time to dress for dinner.

The family was assembled in the large, old drawing room of dingy white and tarnished gold when Miss Vavasor entered. She was tall and handsome and had been handsomer, for she was not of those who, growing within, grow more beautiful without as they grow older. She was dressed in the plainest, handsomest fashion—in black velvet, fitting well her fine figure, and half covered with lace. The only stones she wore were diamonds. Her features were regular, her eyes a clear gray, her expression very still, and her hair more than half gray but very plentiful. She had a look of distinction and to the merest glance showed herself wellborn, well nurtured, well trained, and well kept, hence well preserved. Her manner was as simple as her dress—without a trace of condescension or more stiffness than was becoming with persons she had just met. She spoke with readiness and simplicity, looked with interest but without curiosity at Hester, and had the sweetest smile at hand for use as often as wanted. The world had given her the appearance of much of which Christ gives the reality. For the world very oddly prizes the form whose informing reality it despises.