nine) more that of a man than
that of a woman. Her dress was very simple in appearance though costly
in material; but it had been chosen and fitted by the nicest art, of
colors which best harmonized with her complexion, and in forms rather to
indicate beauties than to display them.

Thus attired, with grace and dignity in every motion, she advanced to
meet Sir Philip Hastings, frankly holding out her hand to him, and
beaming on him one of her most lustrous smiles. It was all thrown away
upon him indeed; but that did not matter. It had its effect in another
quarter. She then turned to the younger gentleman with a greater degree
of reserve in manner, but yet, as she spoke to him and welcomed him to
her house, the color deepened on her cheek with a blush that would not
have been lost to Sir Philip if he had been at all in the custom of
making use of them. They had evidently met before, but not often; and
her words, "Good evening, Mr. Marlow, I am glad to see you at my house
at length," were said in the tone of one who was really glad, but did
not wish to show it too plainly.

"You have come with my friend, Sir Philip Hastings," she added; "I did
not know you were acquainted."

"Nor were we, my dear madam, till this evening," replied the Baronet,
speaking for himself and his companion of the road, "till we met by
accident on the hill-side on our way hither. We had a somewhat
unpleasant encounter with a notorious personage of the name of Tom
Cutter, which brought us first into acquaintance; though, till you
uttered it, my young friend's name was unknown to me."

"Tom Cutter! is that the man who poaches all my game?" said the lady, in
a musing tone.

Nor was she musing of Tom Cutter, or the lost game, or of the sins and
iniquities of poaching; neither one or the other. The exclamation and
inquiry taken together were only one of those little half-unconscious
stratagems of human nature, by which we often seek to amuse the other
parties in conversation--and sometimes amuse our own outward man
too--while the little spirit within is busily occupied with some
question which we do not wish our interlocutors to have any thing to do
with. She was asking herself, in fact, what had been the conversation
with which Sir Philip Hastings and Mr. Marlow had beguiled the
way--whether they had talked of her--whether they had talked of her
affairs--and how she could best get some information on the subject
without seeming to seek it.

S