two years. To any remoter
period her memory did not extend, and she implied that she had been
before that time in a chrysalis or non-existent condition. She told Mr.
Fenton, with an air of innocent wonder, that she had heard there were
people living who remembered the first appearance of Jenny Lind.

A little before ten o'clock there was a general movement for the rail,
the greater number of Mrs. Branston's guests having come from town. There
was a scarcity of flys at this juncture, so John Saltram and Gilbert
Fenton walked back to the station in the moonlight.

"Well, Gilbert, old fellow, what do you think of the lady?" Mr. Saltram
asked, when they were a little way beyond the gates of Rivercombe.

"I think her very pretty, Jack, and--well--yes--upon the whole
fascinating. But I don't like the look of the thing altogether, and I
fancy there's considerable bad taste in giving parties with an invalid
husband upstairs. I was wondering how Mr. Branston liked the noise of all
that talk and laughter in the dining-room, or the music that came
afterwards."

"My dear fellow, old Branston delights in society. He is generally well
enough to sit in the drawing-room and look on at his wife's parties. He
doesn't talk much on those occasions. Indeed, I believe he is quite
incapable of conversing about anything except the rise and fall of Indian
stock, or the fluctuations in the value of indigo. And, you see, Adela
married him with the intention of enjoying her life. She confesses as
much sometimes with perfect candour."

"I daresay she is very candid, and just as shallow," said Gilbert Fenton,
who was inclined to set his face against this entanglement of his
friend's.

"Well--yes, I suppose she is rather shallow. Those pretty pleasant little
women generally are, I think. Depth of feeling and force of mind are so
apt to go along with blue spectacles and a rugged aspect. A woman's
prettiness must stand for something. There is so much real pleasure in
the contemplation of a charming face, that a man had need rescind a
little in the way of mental qualifications. And I do not think Adela
Branston is without a heart."

"You praise her very warmly. Are you really in love with her, John?" his
friend asked seriously.

"No, Gilbert, upon my honour. I heartily wish I were. I wish I could give
her more by-and-by, when death brings about her release from Michael
Branston, than the kind of liking I feel for her. No, I am not in love
with