her finger and said,
'Hush!' and there she was talking in such a disagreeable, sneering voice
to Miss Hamilton, only I stopped my ears and would not listen. And now
she has got used to me she says unpleasant little things before my face,
and then when "dear Cousin Giles" comes in'--and here Jill looked
wicked--'she is all sweetness and amiability, quite charming, in fact.
Now, that is what I hate, for a person to wear two faces, and have
different voices: it shows they are not true.'

'Well, perhaps you are right, dear'; for, without being uncharitable
to Miss Darrell, I wished to put Jill on her guard a little.

'I don't like the way she talks about you,' went on Jill indignantly.
'She always begins when we are alone; not exactly saying things so much
as implying them.'

'Indeed! What sort of things?' I asked carelessly.

'Oh, she is always hinting that it is rather odd for you to be living
alone; she calls you deliciously unconventional and strong-minded,
but I know what she means by that. Then she is so curious: she is always
trying to find out how often Mr. Cunliffe or Mr. Tudor comes to see you,
or if you go to the vicarage; and she said one day that she thought you
preferred gentlemen's society to ladies', as they could never induce you
to come up to Gladwyn, but of course you saw plenty of her cousin Giles
in the village.'

I felt my cheeks burn at this unwarrantable accusation, but Jill begged
me not to disturb myself.

'She won't make those sort of speeches to me again,' she said calmly.
'She had a piece of my mind then that will last her for a long time.'

'I hope you were not rude, Jill?'

'Oh no! I only flew into a passion, and asked her how she dared to imply
such a thing?--that my cousin Ursula was the best and the dearest woman
in the world, and that no one else could hold a candle to her. "Ursula
care for gentlemen's society!" I exclaimed: "why, at Hyde Park Gate we
never could get her to remain in the drawing-room when those stupid
officers were there: she never would talk to any of them, except old
Colonel Trevanion, who is nearly blind! You do not understand Ursula: she
is a perfect saint: she is the simplest, most unselfish, grandest-hearted
creature; and you make out that she is a silly flirt like Sara." And then
I had to hold my tongue, though I was as red as a turkey-cock, for there
was Mr. Hamilton staring at us both, and asking if I were in my senses,
and why I was quarrelling about my