f the hedgerows. The carriages bowl past us, whirling
clouds of dust down our throats. One is trotting by now, a victoria and
pair of grays, and in it, leaning restfully back, and holding up her
parasol, is the lady I noticed in church. Musgrave knows her apparently.
At least, he takes off his hat.

"Who is she?" I say, with a slightly aroused interest. "I was wondering
in church. I suppose she is delicate, as she sat down through the
psalms."

At the moment I address him, Mr. Musgrave is battling angrily with an
angrier wasp, but no sooner has he heard my question than he ceases his
warfare, and allows it to buzz within half an inch of his nose, as he
turns his hazel eyes, full of astonished inquiry, upon me.

"You _do not know_?"

"Not I," reply I lightly. "How should I? I know nobody in these parts."

"That is Mrs. Huntley."

"You do not say so!" reply I, ironically. "I am sure I am very glad to
hear it, but I am not very much wiser than I was before."

"Is it possible," he says, looking rather nettled at my tone, and
lowering his voice a little, as if anxious to confine the question to me
alone--a needless precaution, as there is no one else within
hearing--"that you have _never_ heard of her?"

"Never!" reply I, in some surprise; "why should I?--has she ever done
any thing very remarkable?"

He laughs slightly, but disagreeably.

"Remarkable! well, no, I suppose not!"

The victoria is quite out of sight now--quite out of sight the
delicately poised head, the dove-colored parasol.

"You are joking, of course," says Frank, presently, turning toward me,
and still speaking in that needlessly lowered key. "It is so long since
I have seen you, that I have got out of the habit of remembering that
you never speak seriously; but, _of course_, you have heard--I mean Sir
Roger has mentioned her to you!"

"He has not!" reply I, speaking sharply, and raising my voice a little.
"Neither has he mentioned any of the other neighbors to me! He had not
time." No rejoinder. "Most likely," continue I, speaking with quick
heat, for something in his manner galls me, "he did not recollect her
existence."

"Most likely."

He is looking down at the white dust which is defiling his
patent-leather boots, and smiling slightly.

"How do you know--what reason have you for thinking that he was aware
that there was such a person?" I ask, with injudicious eagerness.

"I have no reason--I think nothing," he answers, coldly, wit