to be quiet and let me go to sleep:
in fact, I had to feign sleep to make her hold her tongue.

But I was much too restless to sleep, and once when I crept out of bed to
replenish the fire I stood still for a moment to look at Jill.

She was sleeping as placidly as an infant in its cradle, her short black
locks pushed back from her face, and one arm stretched on the coverlet.
I was surprised to see how fine Jill's face really was. The ugly
duckling, as Uncle Brian called her, was fast changing into a swan. At
present she was too big and undeveloped for grace; her awkward manners
and angularities made people think her rough and uncouth. 'I expect she
will eclipse Sara's commonplace prettiness some day; but, poor child,
no one understands her,' I sighed, and as I tucked her up more warmly,
with a kiss, Jill's sleepy arms found their way to my neck and held me
there. 'Is not it delicious, Ursie dear?' she murmured drowsily.

I was glad to see that Miss Hamilton was at the early service. She looked
pale and delicate, but there was a brighter look upon her face when she
nodded to me in the porch. Her brother was putting her into a fly, and
Miss Darrell and Lady Betty followed.

I was rather surprised to see him close the door after them and step back
into the porch. And the next moment he joined us.

'Well, Miss Garston,' holding out his hand, with a friendly smile, 'you
see Gladys contrived to have her way. A happy Christmas to you! But I see
you are not alone,' looking rather inquisitively at Jill, who looked very
big and shy as usual.

'I think you have heard of my cousin Jocelyn?' I returned, without
entering into any further particulars. I should have been sorry for
Jill's escapade to reach Mr. Hamilton's ears. But he shook hands with
her at once, and said, very pleasantly, that he had heard of her from
Mr. Cunliffe. And then, after a few more words, we parted.

Mr. Hamilton was unusually genial this morning. There was nothing in his
manner to recall our stormy interview on the previous evening. Perhaps he
wished to efface the recollection from my memory, for there was something
significant in his smile, as though we perfectly understood each other.

I had lain awake for a long time thinking over Mrs. Maberley's talk and
that uncomfortable walk from Maplehurst. Mr. Hamilton's voice and words
haunted me; the suppressed irritation and pain that almost mastered him,
and how he had flung away from me in the darkness.