than
to lead to such subjects. 'It is all gossip,' she said, angrily; 'Mr.
Dynevor would never marry for money.'

'Nay, let us find in her an Adeline,' said Isabel.

The next day, Miss Mercy had hurried into No. 7, to declare that the
ladies were all that was charming, but that their servants gave
themselves airs beyond credence, especially the butler, who played the
guitar, and insisted on a second table; when there was a peal of the
bell, and Mary from her post of observation 'really believed it was
Lady Conway herself;' whereupon Miss Mercy, without listening to
persuasions, popped into the back drawing room to effect her retreat.

Lady Conway was all eagerness and cordiality, enchanted to renew her
acquaintance, venturing so early a call in hopes of prevailing on Mrs.
Ponsonby to come out with her to take a drive. She conjured up
recollections of Mary's childhood, declared that she looked to her for
drawing Isabel out, and was extremely kind and agreeable. Mary thought
her delightful, with something of Louis's charm of manner; and Mrs.
Ponsonby believed it no acting, for Lady Conway was sincerely affable
and affectionate, with great warmth and kindness, and might have been
all that was excellent, had she started into life with a different code
of duty.

So there was to be an intimacy. For Fitzjocelyn's sake, as well as for
the real good-nature of the advances, Mrs. Ponsonby would not shrink
back more than befitted her self-respect. Of that quality she had less
than Mrs. Frost, who, with her innate punctilious spirit, avoided all
favours or patronage. It was curious to see the gentle old lady fire
up with all the dignity of the Pendragons, at the least peril of
incurring an obligation, and, though perfectly courteous, easy, and
obliging, she contrived to keep at a greater distance than if she had
been mistress of Cheveleigh. There, she would have remembered that
both she and Lady Conway were aunts to Louis; at Northwold, her care
was to become beholden for nothing that she could not repay.

Lady Conway did her best, when driving out with Mrs. Ponsonby, to draw
her into confidence. There were tender reminiscences from her heart of
poor sweet Louisa, tearful inquiries respecting her last weeks,
certainties that Mrs. Ponsonby had been of great use to her; for, poor
darling, she had been thoughtless--so much to turn her head. There was
cause for regret in their own education--there was then so much less