is too
much bonhomie for the point of honour."

"I should like to believe that all men are as just to their mistresses,"
Lady Charlotte sighed, mock-earnestly.

Presently Emilia touched the arm of Mr. Powys. She looked agitated. "I
want to be told the name of that gentleman." His eyes were led to rest
on the handsome hussar-captain.

"Do you know him?"

"But his name!"

"Do me the favour to look at me. Captain Gambier."

"It is!"

Captain Gambier's face was resolutely kept in profile to her.

"I hear a rumour," said Lady Gosstre to Arabella, "that you think of
bidding for the Besworth estate. Are you tired of Brookfield?"

"Not tired; but Brookfield is modern, and I confess that Besworth has
won my heart."

"I shall congratulate myself on having you nearer neighbours. Have you
many, or any rivals?"

"There is some talk of the Tinleys wishing to purchase it. I cannot see
why."

"What people are they?" asked Lady Charlotte. "Do they hunt?"

"Oh, dear, no! They are to society what Dissenters are to religion. I
can't describe them otherwise."

"They pass before me in that description," said Lady Gosstre.

"Besworth's an excellent centre for hunting," Lady Charlotte remarked to
Wilfrid. "I've always had an affection for that place. The house is on
gravel; the river has trout; there's a splendid sweep of grass for the
horses to exercise. I think there must be sixteen spare beds. At all
events, I know that number can be made up; so that if you're too poor to
live much in London, you can always have your set about you."

The eyes of the fair economist sparkled as she dwelt on these particular
advantages of Besworth.

Richford boasted a show of flowers that might tempt its guests to
parade the grounds on balmy evenings. Wilfrid kept by the side of Lady
Charlotte. She did not win his taste a bit. Had she been younger, less
decided in tone, and without a title, it is very possible that she would
have offended his native, secret, and dominating fastidiousness as much
as did Emilia. Then, what made him subject at all to her influence, as
he felt himself beginning to be? She supplied a deficiency in the youth.
He was growing and uncertain: she was set and decisive. In his soul
he adored the extreme refinement of woman; even up to the thin edge
of inanity (which neighbours what the philosopher could tell him if he
would, and would, if it were permitted to him). Nothing was too white,
too saintly, or too misty,