"No; but when I carried the brat home, poor Duncombe told me almost with tears, how good she is to them. I fancy he feels their mother's neglect of them."

"I'm sure I gave her credit for having none," said Rosamond.

"Ah!" said Jenny, "you should have heard her condolences with my sister Mary on her last infliction. Fancy Mary's face!"

"No doubt it was to stem a torrent of nursery discussions," said Cecil. "Such bad taste!"

"Which?" murmured Rosamond under her breath, with an arched eyebrow.

"Plain enough," said Frank: "if a woman is a woman, the bad taste is to be ashamed of it."

"Yes," said Cecil, "that is the way with men; they would fain keep us down to the level of the nursery."

"I thought nurseries were usually at the top of the house."

"Perhaps," said Mrs. Poynsett, disregarding this mischievous suggestion, "they mean that organization, like charity, should begin at home."

"You say that meaningly," said Rosamond. "I have heard very odd stories of domestic affairs at Aucuba Villa, and that she can't get a servant to stay there."

"That man, Alexander, has always been there," said Frank.

"Yes; but he has occasionally to do all the work of the house. Yes, I can't help it, Cecil, Susan will regale me with cook-stories sometimes; and I have heard of the whole establishment turning out on being required to eat funguses."

"I shall beware of dining there!" said Rosamond.

"Don't they dine here to-morrow?" asked Frank.

"No, they are engaged to the Moys," said Cecil.

"But the Vivians come?"

"Oh yes."

Every one knew that already; but Frank could not help having it repeated. It was a mere formal necessity to ask them, and had been accepted as such; but there was some amazement when Cecil brought home Lady Tyrrell and Miss Vivian to lunch and spend the afternoon.

It might be intended as one of her demonstrations; for though it was understood that any of the inmates were free to bring home friends to luncheon, it was not done--except with a casual gentleman-- without notice to the mistress of the house. Cecil, however, comported herself entirely as in that position, explaining that Lady Tyrrell was come to give her advice upon an intended fernery, and would perform her toilette here, so as to have plenty of time.

Frank, little knowing what was passing, was working the whole day at his tutor's for the closely imminent examination; Julius and Raymond were gravely polite; Eleonora very silent; and as soon as the meal was over, Rosamond declared that she should not come out to stand planning in the cold; and though Herbert would have liked nothing better in that company, his Rector carried him off to arrange an Advent service in a distant hamlet; Anne's horse came to the door; and only Joanna remained to accompany the gardening party, except that Raymond came out with them to mark the limits of permissible alteration.

"How unchanged!" exclaimed Lady Tyrrell. "Time stands still here; only where is the grand old magnolia? How sweet it used to be!"

"Killed by the frost," said Raymond, shortly, not choosing to undergo a course of reminiscences, and chafing his wife by his repressive manner towards her guest. When he had pointed out the bed of Americans that were to be her boundary, he excused himself as having letters to finish; and as he went away Cecil gave vent to her distaste to the old shrubs and borders, now, of course, at their worst--the azaleas mere dead branches, the roses with a few yellow night-capped buds still lingering, and fuchsias with a scanty bell or two.

Jenny fought for their spring beauty, all the more because Lady Tyrrell was encouraging the wife to criticize the very things she had tried to sentimentalize over with the husband; but seeing that she was only doing harm, she proposed a brisk walk to Eleonora, who gladly assented, though her sister made a protest about damp, and her being a bad walker. The last things they heard was Cecil's sigh, "It is all so shut in, wherever there is level ground, that the bazaar would be impossible."

"I should hope so!" muttered Jenny.

"What do you mean to do about this bazaar?" asked Eleonora, as they sped away.

"I don't know. Those things so often go off in smoke, that I don't make up my mind till they become imminent."

"I am afraid this will go on," said Eleonora. "Camilla means it and she always carries out her plans; I wish I saw the right line."

"About that?"

"About everything. It seems to me that there never was any one so cut off from help and advice as I am;" then, as Joanna made some mute sign of sympathy, "I knew you would understand; I have been longing to be with you, for there has been no one to whom I could speak freely since I left Rockpier."

"And I have been longing to have you. Mamma would have asked you to stay with us before, only we had the house full. Can't you come now?"

"You will see that I shall not be allowed. It is of no use to think about it!" said the girl, with a sigh. "Here, let us get out of this broad path, or she may yet come after us--persuade Mrs.

Charnock Poynsett it is too cold to stand about--anything to break up a tete-a-tete."

Jenny saw she really was in absolute fear of pursuit; but hardly yet understood the nervous haste to turn into a not very inviting side- path, veiled by the trees, whose wet leaves were falling.

"Do you mind the damp?" asked the girl, anxiously.

"No, not at all; but--"

"You don't know what it is never to feel free, but be like a French girl, always watched--at least whenever I am with any one I care to speak to."

"Are you quite sure it is not imagination?"

"O, Joanna, don't be like all the rest, blinded by her! You knew her always!"

"Only from below. I am four years younger; you know dear Emily was my contemporary."

"Dear Emily! I miss her more now than even at Rockpier. But you, who were her friend, and knew Camilla of old, I know you can help me as no one else can."

Jenny returned a caress; and Eleonora spoke on. "You know I was only eight years old when Camilla married, and I had scarcely seen her till she came to us at Rockpier, on Lord Tyrrell's death, and then she was most delightful. I thought her like mother and sister both in one, even more tender than dear Emily. How could I have thought so for a moment? But she enchanted everybody. Clergy, ladies, and all came under the spell; and I can't get advice from any of them--even from Miss Coles--you remember her?"

"Your governess? How nice she was!"

"Emily and I owed everything to her! She was as near being a mother to us as any one could be; and Camilla could not say enough of gratitude, or show esteem enough, and fascinated her like all the rest of us; but she never rested till she had got her off to a situation in Russia. I did not perceive the game at the time, but I see now how all the proposals for situations within reach of me were quashed."

"But you write to her?"

"Yes; but as soon as I showed any of my troubles she reproved me for self-will and wanting to judge for myself, and not submit to my sister. That's the way with all at Rockpier. Camilla has gone about pitying me to them for having to give way to my married sister, but saying it was quite time that she took charge of us; and on that notion they all wrote to me. Then she persuaded papa to go abroad; and I was delighted, little thinking she never meant me to go back again."

"Did she not?"

"Listen! I've heard her praise Rockpier and its church to the skies to one person--say Mr. Bindon. To another, such as our own Vicar, she says it was much too ultra, and she likes moderation; she tells your father that she wants to see papa among his old friends; and to Mrs. Duncombe, I've heard her go as near the truth as is possible to her, and call it a wearisome place, with an atmosphere of incense, curates, and old maids, from whom she had carried me off before I grew fit for nothing else!"

"I dare say all these are true in turn, or seem so to her, or she would not say them before you."

"She has left off trying to gloss it over with me, except so far as it is part of her nature. She did at first, but she knows it is of no use now."

"Really, Lenore, you must be going too far."

"I have shocked you; but you can't conceive what it is to live with perpetual falsity. No, I can't use any other word. I am always mistrusting and being angered, and my senses of right and wrong get so confused, that it is like groping in a maze." Her eyes were full of tears, but she exclaimed, "Tell me, Joanna, was there ever anything between Camilla and Mr. Poynsett?"