Page:The Clergyman's Wife.djvu/74

Melinda has an understanding with her conscience which keeps it in well-bred, silent subjection. The "still, small voice within" is dumb, though she permits whispered words that might startle ears for which they were not intended; though she returns telegraphic glances, whose meaning would hardly be translatable; though she allows the soft pressure of her hand; or wears upon her proudly heaving bosom, or in the coronal braid that encircles her regal head, the flowers some favored gallant gives her. She will even close her white fingers upon a tiny note, thrust unseen into her palm; it may only be "an innocent bit of poetry," it may be a few words which she must have blushed if she had heard uttered, though the color that deepens into a triumphant glow on her cheek can hardly be called a blush.

An unconquerable impulse makes her desire to turn the head of every man who approaches her, literally to unsettle his mind, and her surpassing charms enable her to carry her will into execution. She is emulous to subdue to her service not one, but all. None are too high, none too low, none too great, none too insignificant for the wide-spreading vine of vanity to twine its tendrils around, with undiscriminating grasp, and claim as fostering supports.

Yet among that group of adorers there is always one who is the preferred of the hour. One whom she distinguishes by claiming little services at his