dawned for them; new thoughts had opened; the secret of life was shown, or, at least, that life had a secret.
They could not forget what they had heard, and what they had been surprised into saying.
A true refinement had begun to work in many who had been slaves to trifles.
They went home thoughtful and happy, since the steady elevation of Margaret's aim had infused a certain unexpected greatness of tone into the conversation.
It was, I believe, only an expression of the feeling of the class, the remark made, perhaps at the next year's course, by a lady of eminent powers, previously by no means partial to Margaret, and who expressed her frank admiration on leaving the house:—‘I never heard, read of, or imagined a conversation at all equal to this we have now heard.’
The strongest wishes were expressed, on all sides, that the conversations should be renewed at the beginning of the following winter.
Margaret willingly consented; but, as I have already intimated, in the summer
of 1840, she had retreated to some interior shrine, and believed that she came into life and society with some advantage from this devotion.
Of this feeling the new discussion bore evident traces.