baritone, that someone had pleased
him by likening to a cavalry trumpet,

"Oh, Father McCann was a beautiful man,
But a bit of a rogue, a bit of a rogue!
He was full six feet high, he'd a cast in his eye,
And an illigant brogue, an illigant brogue!"

In both his wife's and his cousin's faces was the same look, the look
that often comes into women's faces when, unperceived, they regard the
sovereign creature. Future generations may not know that look, but in
the faces of these women, born in the earlier half of the nineteenth
century, there was something of awe, and of indulgence, of
apprehension, and of pity. Dick was so powerful, so blundering, so
childlike. Miss Frederica expressed something of their common thought
when she said:

"Dick seems to forget that he is Larry's guardian as well as I. Also
that Larry is a Roman Catholic, and it is not only useless but
dishonourable to ignore it!"

It has been said that Lady Isabel had _les qualities de ses defauts_;
in Miss Coppinger's case the words may be restored to their rightful
sequence. She had the inevitable _defauts de ses qualites_. The sense
of duty was as prominent a feature of her soul as a hump on her long
straight back would have been, but toleration was inconspicuous. She
ran straight herself, and though she could forgive deviations on the
part of others, she could not forget them. She was entirely and
implacably Protestant, a typical member of that Church that expects
friendship from its votaries, but leaves their course of action to
their own consciences. It was a very successful example of the malign
humour of Fate that Miss Coppinger's ward should belong to the other
Church, that exacts not only obedience, but passion, and it was a
master-stroke that Frederica's sense of duty should compel her to
enforce her nephew to compliance with its demands.

"Dear Frederica, Dick will leave all religious things to you, I
know--" warbled Lady Isabel, in her gentle, musical voice, that
suggested something between the tones of a wood pigeon and an ocarina.
"And they couldn't be in better hands!"

"But my dear Isabel, that is precisely what I complain of! Dick's
solitary suggestion has been that we should send Larry to Winchester,
which is perfectly impracticable! I entirely agree with him, but,
unfortunately, _I_ know that it is our duty to send him to one of
those--" Miss Coppinger hesitated, swallowed several adjectives, and
ended with Christian t