'Catchley, that at last Mrs. M'Catchley was
secretly supposed to be a myth, a creature of the elements, a poetic
fiction of Mrs. Pompley's. Richard Avenel, however, though by no means
a credulous man, was an implicit believer in Mrs. M'Catchley. He had
learned that she was a widow, and honourable by birth, and honourable by
marriage, living on her handsome jointure, and refusing offers every day
that she so lived. Somehow or other, whenever Richard Avenel thought
of a wife, he thought of the Honourable Mrs. M'Catchley. Perhaps that
romantic attachment to the fair invisible preserved him heart-whole
amongst the temptations of Screwstown. Suddenly, to the astonishment of
the Abbey Gardens, Mrs. M'Catchley proved her identity, and arrived at
Colonel Pompley's in a handsome travelling-carriage, attended by her
maid and footman. She had come to stay some weeks; a tea-party was given
in her honour. Mr. Avenel and his nephew were invited. Colonel Pompley,
who kept his head clear in the midst of the greatest excitement, had
a desire to get from the Corporation a lease of a piece of ground
adjoining his garden, and he no sooner saw Richard Avenel enter than he
caught him by the button, and drew him into a quiet corner, in order
to secure his interest. Leonard, meanwhile, was borne on by the stream,
till his progress was arrested by a sofa-table at which sat Mrs.
M'Catchley herself, with Mrs. Pompley by her side. For on this great
occasion the hostess had abandoned her proper post at the entrance,
and, whether to show her respect to Mrs. M'Catchley, or to show Mrs.
M'Catchley her well-bred contempt for the people of Screwstown, remained
in state by her friend, honouring only the elite of the town with
introductions to the illustrious visitor.

Mrs. M'Catchley was a very fine woman,--a woman who justified Mrs.
Pompley's pride in her. Her cheek-bones were rather high, it is true but
that proved the purity of her Caledonian descent; for the rest, she had
a brilliant complexion, heightened by a soupcon of rouge, good eyes and
teeth, a showy figure, and all the ladies of Screwstown pronounced her
dress to be perfect. She might have arrived at that age at which one
intends to stop for the next ten years, but even a Frenchman would not
have called her passee,--that is, for a widow. For a spinster it would
have been different.

Looking round her with a glass, which Mrs. Pompley was in the habit of
declaring that "Mrs. M'Catchley used li