at Rose and
Mr. Langham had hardly spoken to each other since she had seen them
walking about together. Robert had already made merry over his own
alarms, and hers, and she admitted he was in the right. As to her talk
with Rose her deep meditative nature was slowly working upon and
digesting it. Meanwhile, she was all tenderness to her sister, and there
was even a reaction of pity in her heart towards the lonely sceptic who
had once been so good to Robert.

Robert was just bethinking himself that it was time to go off to the
school, when they were all startled by an unexpected visitor--a short
old lady, in a rusty black dress and bonnet, who entered the drive and
stood staring at the rectory party, a tiny hand in a black thread glove
shading the sun from a pair of wrinkled eyes.

'Mrs. Darcy!' exclaimed Robert to his wife after a moment's perplexity,
and they walked quickly to meet her.

Rose and Langham exchanged a few commonplaces till the others joined
them, and then for a while the attention of everybody in the group was
held by the squire's sister. She was very small, as thin and light as
thistle-down, ill-dressed, and as communicative as a babbling child. The
face and all the features were extraordinarily minute, and moreover,
blanched and etherealised by age. She had the elfish look of a little
withered fairy godmother. And yet through it all it was clear that she
was a great lady. There were certain poses and gestures about her, which
made her thread gloves and rusty skirts seem a mere whim and masquerade,
adopted, perhaps deliberately, from a high-bred love of congruity, to
suit the country lanes.

She had come to ask them all to dinner at the Hall on the following
evening, and she either brought or devised on the spot the politest
messages from the squire to the new rector, which pleased the sensitive
Robert and silenced for the moment his various misgivings as to Mr.
Wendover's advent. Then she stayed chattering, studying Rose every now
and then out of her strange little eyes, restless and glancing as a
bird's, which took stock also of the garden, of the flower-beds, of
Elsmere's lanky frame, and of Elsmere's handsome friend in the
background. She was most odd when she was grateful, and she was grateful
for the most unexpected things. She thanked Elsmere effusively for
coming to live there, 'sacrificing yourself so nobly to us country
folk,' and she thanked him with an appreciative glance at Langham, for