tree, this man would have remained in his unobserved
seclusion. But seeing her thus, he came round to the front, stooped
under the rail, and stood beside the carriage-door.

Mrs. Swancourt looked reflectively at him for a quarter of a minute,
then held out her hand laughingly:

'Why, Henry Knight--of course it is! My--second--third--fourth
cousin--what shall I say? At any rate, my kinsman.'

'Yes, one of a remnant not yet cut off. I scarcely was certain of you,
either, from where I was standing.'

'I have not seen you since you first went to Oxford; consider the number
of years! You know, I suppose, of my marriage?'

And there sprang up a dialogue concerning family matters of birth,
death, and marriage, which it is not necessary to detail. Knight
presently inquired:

'The young lady who changed into the other carriage is, then, your
stepdaughter?'

'Yes, Elfride. You must know her.'

'And who was the lady in the carriage Elfride entered; who had an
ill-defined and watery look, as if she were only the reflection of
herself in a pool?'

'Lady Luxellian; very weakly, Elfride says. My husband is remotely
connected with them; but there is not much intimacy on account of----.
However, Henry, you'll come and see us, of course. 24 Chevron Square.
Come this week. We shall only be in town a week or two longer.'

'Let me see. I've got to run up to Oxford to-morrow, where I shall be
for several days; so that I must, I fear, lose the pleasure of seeing
you in London this year.'

'Then come to Endelstow; why not return with us?'

'I am afraid if I were to come before August I should have to leave
again in a day or two. I should be delighted to be with you at the
beginning of that month; and I could stay a nice long time. I have
thought of going westward all the summer.'

'Very well. Now remember that's a compact. And won't you wait now and
see Mr. Swancourt? He will not be away ten minutes longer.'

'No; I'll beg to be excused; for I must get to my chambers again this
evening before I go home; indeed, I ought to have been there now--I have
such a press of matters to attend to just at present. You will explain
to him, please. Good-bye.'

'And let us know the day of your appearance as soon as you can.'

'I will'

Chapter XV

'A wandering voice.'

Though sheer and intelligible griefs are not charmed away by being
confided to mere acquaintances, the process is a palliative to certain
ill-humours. Amo