"Mr. Rhys is coming," said Julia.

"I dare say. Mr. Powle wants him here all the time. It is a mercy the
man has a little consideration--or some business to keep him at
home--or he would be the sauce to every dish. As it is, he really is
not obtrusive."

"Are all these people coming with the hope and intent of seeing me,
mamma?"

"I can only guess at people's hopes, Eleanor. I am guiltless of
anything but confessing that you were to make your appearance."

"Mr. Rhys is not coming to see you," said Julia. "He wants to see the
books--that is what he wants."

There was some promise for Eleanor in the company announced for the
evening. If anybody could be useful to her in the matter of her late
doubts and wishes, it ought to be Dr. Cairnes, the rector. He at least
was the only one she knew whom she could talk to about them; the only
friend. Mr. Rhys was a stranger and her brother's tutor; that was all;
a chance of speaking to him again was possible, but not to be depended
on. Dr. Cairnes was her pastor and old friend; it is true, she knew him
best, out of the pulpit, as an antiquarian; then she had never tried
him on religious questions. Nor he her, she remembered; it was a
doubtful hope altogether; nevertheless the evening offered what another
evening might not in many a day. So Eleanor dressed, and with her slow
languid step made her way down stairs to the scene of the social
gayeties which had been so long interrupted for her.

Ivy Lodge was a respectable, comfortable, old house; pretty by the
combination of those advantages; and pleasant by the fact of making no
pretensions beyond what it was worth. It was not disturbed by the rage
after new fashions, nor the race after distant greatness. Quiet
respectability was the characteristic of the family; Mrs. Powle alone
being burdened with the consciousness of higher birth than belonged to
the name of Powle generally. She fell into her husband's ways, however,
outwardly, well enough; did not dislodge the old furniture, nor
introduce new extravagances; and the Lodge was a pleasant place. "A
most enjoyable house, my dear,"--as Miss Broadus expressed it. So the
gentry of the neighbourhood found it universally.

The drawing-room was a pretty, spacious apartment; light and bright;
opening upon the lawn directly without intervention of piazza or
terrace. Windows, or rather glass doors, in deep recesses, stood open;
the company seemed to be half in and half out. Dr. Cairnes