difficult class
of beings lovers are, and how impossible it is to satisfy or to console
them.

Coming as it did in the middle of a long dull winter the change to
Culversham was received by Jane with whole-hearted joy. Miss
Abingdon's large staff of servants, all elderly and all over-paid,
combined with their mistress to welcome Miss Erskine back. The
familiar rooms had never looked more pleasant than on this bleak
December afternoon. A big tea-table was set by the fire, and the
massive silver upon it winked delightedly at the newly arrived guest.
The fire (Miss Abingdon was famous for her good fires) roared joyfully
up the chimney; the dogs knew Jane's voice long before she was out of
the carriage, and proceeded to give an almost hysterical demonstration
of their affection. And Miss Abingdon, whom emotion always made more
than usually severe, snubbed her maid and scolded the butler, and,
sitting down by the fire while Jane poured out tea, entered into so
long and minute an account of the gardener's shortcomings that it would
seem as though her niece had come from London for no other reason than
to hear the recital of her wrongs.

'You must go to bed early,' said Miss Abingdon when she and Jane went
to dress for dinner; and she kept her up talking until long after
twelve o'clock. Mrs. Avory was established in a charming little
cottage almost at the gate of the Vicarage, and was a sort of senior
curate to Canon Wrottesley. Mrs. Avory, Miss Abingdon said, was really
able to appreciate the canon, and in going so far the lady probably
meant that Mrs. Avory wholly admired and perhaps came very near to
accepting as her Pope the good-looking vicar. Mr. Lawrence was being
most attentive and useful, as he always was, and had chosen a new
tea-service for Miss Abingdon the last time he was in town--his taste
was perfect in such matters. He had even arranged to have her baths
painted with a special sort of white enamel, and Miss Abingdon could
only hope the world would not censure her for confiding these intimate
domestic details to a gentleman. Mrs. Wrottesley was still very far
from well; her illness seemed to have brought out--so Miss Abingdon
said--all the nobility of Canon Wrottesley's character. But--in
justice, Miss Abingdon ought to say--Mrs. Wrottesley had been equally
self-forgetful, and had insisted on her husband's going into society a
little. He was coming to them--according to old-established custom--to
d