Miss Matty Frankland all this time had not been without her trials. They were trials as unlike Colin’s as possible, but not without some weight and poignancy¹ of their own, such as might naturally belong to the secondary heartaches of a woman who was far from being destitute² either of sense or feeling, and yet was at the same time a little woman of the world. In the first place, she was greatly aggravated³ that Harry⁴, who on the whole seemed to be her fate, an inevitable⁵ necessity, should allow himself to be picked out of a canal at the hazard of another man’s life. Harry was, on the whole, a very good fellow, and was not apt to fall into an inferior place among his equals, or show himself less manful, courageous⁶, or fortunate than other people.{186} But it wounded Matty’s pride intensely to think that she might have to marry a man whose life had been twice saved, all the more as it was not a fault with which he could be reasonably upbraided⁷. And then, being a woman, it was impossible for her to refrain from a little natural involuntary hero-worship of the other; who was not only the hero of these adventures, but her own chivalrous⁸ adorer to boot—perhaps the only man in the world who had suffered his life to be seriously affected⁹ by her influence. Not only so; but at bottom Miss Matty was fond of Colin, and looked upon him with an affectionate, caressing¹⁰ regard, which was not love, but might very easily have borne the aspect of love by moments, especially when its object was in a position of special interest. Between these two sentiments the young lady was kept in a state of

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