the features were extraordinarily minute, and moreover,
blanched and etherealized by age. She had the elfish look of a little
withered fairy godmother. And yet through it all it was clear that she
was a great lady. There were certain poses and gestures about her, which
made her thread gloves and rusty skirts seem a mere whim and masquerade,
adopted, perhaps deliberately, from a high-bred love of congruity, to
suit the country lanes.

She had come to ask them all to dinner at the Hall on the following
evening, and she either brought or devised on the spot the politest
messages from the Squire to the new Rector, which pleased the sensitive
Robert and silenced for the moment his various misgivings as to Mr.
Wendover's advent. Then she stayed chattering, studying Rose every now
and then out of her strange little eyes, restless and glancing as a
bird's, which took stock also of the garden, of the flower-beds,
of Elsmere's lanky frame, and of Elsmere's handsome friend in the
background. She was most odd when she was grateful, and she was grateful
for the most unexpected things. She thanked Elsmere effusively for
coming to live there, 'sacrificing yourself so nobly to us country
folk,' and she thanked him with an appreciative glance at Langham,
for having his clever friends to stay with him. 'The Squire will be
so pleased. My brother, you know, is very clever; oh yes, frightfully
clever!'

And then there was a long sigh, at which Elsmere cold hardly keep his
countenance.

She thought it particularly considerate of them to have been to see the
Squire's books. It would make conversation so easy when they came to
dinner.

'Though I don't know anything about his books. He doesn't like women
to talk about books. He says they only pretend--even the clever ones.
Except, of course, Madame de Stael. He can only say she was ugly, and
I don't deny it. But I have about used up Madame de Stael,' she added,
dropping into another sigh as soft and light as a child's.

Robert was charmed with her, and even Langham smiled. And as Mrs. Darcy
adored 'clever men,' ranking them, as the London of her youth had ranked
them, only second to 'persons of birth,' she stood among them beaming,
becoming more and more whimsical and inconsequent, more and more
deliciously incalculable, as she expanded. At last she fluttered off,
only, however, to come hurrying back with little, short, scudding steps,
to implore them all to come to tea with her as soon