look as if there were.' 'No crime, marm,' said
the man, quite seriously. 'Mrs. Ashleigh is a
lady of amiable temper, and you are a woman of
masculine understanding.' "

Here there was a general titter. Mrs. Colonel
Poyntz hushed it with a look of severe surprise.
"What is there to laugh at? All women would
be men if they could. If my understanding is
masculine, so much the better for me. I thanked
Mr. Vigors for his very handsome compliment,
and he then went on to say, 'that though Mrs.
Ashleigh would now have to leave Kirby Hall in
a very few weeks, she seemed quite unable to make
up her mind where to go; that it had occurred
to him that, as Miss Ashleigh was now of an
age to see a little of the world, she ought not to
remain buried in the country; while, being of
quiet mind, she recoiled from the dissipation of
London. Between the seclusion of the one and
the turmoil of the other, the society of L—— was
a happy medium. He should be glad of my
opinion. He had put off asking for it, because he
owned his belief that I had behaved unkindly to
his lamented friend, Dr. Lloyd; but he now
found himself in rather an awkward position. His
ward, young Sumner, had prudently resolved on
fixing his country residence at Kirby Hall, rather
than at Haughton Park, the much larger seat,
which had so suddenly passed to his inheritance,
aud which he could not occupy without a vast
establishment, that to a single man, so young,
would be but a cumbersome and costly trouble.
Mr. Vigors was pledged to his ward to obtain him
possession of Kirby Hall the precise day agreed
upon, but Mrs. Ashleigh did not seem disposed
to stir—could not decide where else to go. Mr.
Vigors was loth to press hard on his old friend's
widow and child. It was a thousand pities Mrs.
Ashleigh could not make up her mind; she had
had ample time for preparation. A word from me,
at this moment, would be an effective kindness.
Abbots' House was vacant, with a garden so extensive
that the ladies would not miss the country.
Another party was after it, but——' 'Say no
more' I cried; 'no party but my dear old friend
Anne Ashleigh shall have Abbots' House. So that
question is settled.' I dismissed Mr. Vigors, sent
for my carriage—that is,for Mr. Barker's yellow fly
and his best horses—and drove that very day to
Kirby Hall, which, though not in this county, is
only twenty-five miles distant. I slept there
that night. By nine o'clock the next morning I
had secured Mrs. Ashleigh's consent, on the
promise to save her all trouble; came back, sent for
the landlord, settled the rent, lease, agreement;
engaged Forbes's vans to remove the furniture
from Kirby Hall, told Forbes to begin with the
beds. When her own bed came, which was last
night, Anne Ashleigh came too. I have seen
her this morning. She likes the place, so does
Lilian. I asked them to meet you all here
tonight; but Mrs. Ashleigh was tired. The last
of the furniture was to arrive to-day; and though
dear Mrs. Ashleigh is an undecided character,
she is not inactive. But it is not only the planning
where to put tables and chairs that would have
tired her to-day; she has had Mr. Vigors on her
hands all the afternoon, and he has been—here's
her little note—what are the words? no doubt,
'most overpowering and oppressive'—no, 'most
kind and attentive'—different words, but, as
applied to Mr. Vigors, they mean the same thing.

"And now, next Monday—we must leave them
in peace till then—you will all call on the
Ashleighs. The Hill knows what is due to itself; it
cannot delegate to Mr. Vigors, a respectable
man indeed, but who does not belong to its set,
its own proper course of action towards those
who would shelter themselves on its bosom. The
Hill cannot be kind and attentive, overpowering
or oppressive, by proxy. To those new born
into its family circle it cannot be an indifferent
godmother; it has towards them all the feelings
of a mother, or of a stepmother, as the
case may be. Where it says, 'This can be no
child of mine,' it is a stepmother indeed; but,
in all those whom I have presented to its
arms, it has hitherto, I am proud to say,
recognised desirable acquaintances, and to them the
Hill has been a Mother. And now, my dear
Mr. Sloman, go to your rubber: Poyntz is
impatient, though he don't show it. Miss Brabazon,
love, oblige us at the piano; something gay, but
not very noisy—Mr. Leopold Smythe will turn
the leaves for you. Mrs. Bruce, your own
favourite set at vingt-un, with four new recruits.
Dr. Fenwick, you are like me, don't play cards,
and don't care for music: sit here, and talk or
not, as you please, while I knit."

The other guests thus disposed of, some at the
card-tables, some round the piano, I placed myself
at Mrs. Poyntz's side, on a seat niched in the
recess of a window, which an evening unusually
warm for the month of May permitted to be left
open. I was next to one who had known Lilian
as a child, one from whom I had learned by what
sweet name to call the image which my thoughts
had already shrined. How much that I still
longed to know she could tell me! But in what
form of question could I lead to the subject, yet
not betray my absorbing interest in it? Longing
to speak, I felt as if stricken dumb; stealing an
unquiet glance towards the face beside me, and
deeply impressed with that truth which the Hill
had long ago reverently acknowledged, that Mrs.
Colonel Poyntz was a very superior woman—a
very powerful creature.

And there she sat knitting—rapidly, firmly:
a woman somewhat on the other side of forty,
complexion a bronzed paleness, hair a bronzed
brown, in strong ringlets, cropped short behind
—handsome hair for a man; lips that, when
closed, showed inflexible decision, when speaking,
became supple and flexile with an easy
humour and a vigilant finesse; eyes of a red hazel,
quick but steady; observant, piercing, dauntless
eyes; altogether a fine countenance—would have
been a very fine countenance in a man; profile
sharp, straight, clear-cut, with an expression,
when in repose, like that of a sphinx; a frame