She might have been herself the young America, arguing, probing, deciding for herself--refusing to be overawed or brow-beaten by the old Europe.
Eleanor meanwhile was unfailingly gracious both to Lucy and the others, though perhaps the grace had in it sometimes a new note of distance, of that delicate _hauteur_, which every woman of the world has at command.

She gave as much attention as ever--more than ever--to the fashioning of Lucy's dresses; the girl was constantly pricked with compunction and shame on the subject.

Who was she, that Mrs.Burgoyne--so elegant and distinguished a person--should waste so much time and thought upon her?
But sometimes she could not help seeing that Mrs.Burgoyne was glad of the occupation.

Her days had been full to the brim; they were now empty.

She said nothing; she took up the new books; she talked to and instructed the maids; but Lucy divined a secret suffering.
* * * * * One evening, about a week after Mr.Neal's arrival at the Villa, Manisty was more depressed than usual.