know how absurd it must have sounded. But I felt his
kindness, and in my heart I thanked him humbly. I believe now that a
residence in France does not deteriorate an Englishman. Mr. Pollingray,
when in his own house, has the best qualities of the two countries. He
is gay, and, yes, while he makes a study of me, I am making a study of
him. Which of us two will know the other first? He was papa's college
friend--papa's junior, of course, and infinitely more papa's junior now.
I observe that weakness in him, I mean, his clinging to youthfulness,
less and less; but I do see it, I cannot be quite in error. The truth
is, I begin to feel that I cannot venture to mistrust my infallible
judgement, or I shall have no confidence in myself at all.

After breakfast, I was handed over to Miss Pollingray, with the
intimation that I should not see him till dinner.

'Gilbert is anxious to cultivate the society of his English neighbours,
now that he has, as he supposes, really settled among them,' she
remarked to me. 'At his time of life, the desire to be useful is
almost a malady. But, he cherishes the poor, and that is more than an
occupation, it is a virtue.'

Her speech has become occasionally French in the construction of the
sentences.

'Mais oui,' I said shyly, and being alone with her, I was not rebuffed
by her smile, especially as she encouraged me on.

I am, she told me, to see a monde of French people here in September.
So, the story of me is to be completer, or continued in September. I
could not get Miss Pollingray to tell me distinctly whether Madame la
Marquise will be one of the guests. But I know that she is not a widow.
In that case, she has a husband. In that case, what is the story of her
relations towards Mr. Pollingray? There must be some story. He would not
surely have so many portraits of her about the house (and they travel
with him wherever he goes) if she were but a lovely face to him. I
cannot understand it. They were frequent, constant visitors to one
another's estates in France; always together. Perhaps a man of Mr.
Pollingray's age, or perhaps M. le Marquis--and here I lose myself.
French habits are so different from ours. One thing I am certain of: no
charge can be brought against my Englishman. I read perfect rectitude
in his face. I would cast anchor by him. He must have had a dreadful
unhappiness.

Mama kept her promise by sending my riding habit and hat punctually, but
I had run far ahead of all