Mrs.
Wriothesley; it was only the name of the song that escaped my memory."

"Is Mrs. Wriothesley an aunt of yours?" inquired Blanche, with no
little curiosity; "we know her, and often meet her in town."

"Yes; isn't she charming? I am going up to stay with her as soon as
the Easter holidays are over; we shall no doubt meet often."

Blanche said no more, but pondered for a minute or two over this little
bit of intelligence. She did not understand why, but she was quite
certain that her mother disliked Sylla Chipchase, and was conscious of
being not quite in accord with that young lady herself. She knew,
moreover, that if there was one person that Lady Mary detested in all
her London circle, it was this very Mrs. Wriothesley.

But luncheon is finished, and the whole party proceed to view the
cathedral. Pansey Cottrell, however, was not to be got beyond the
threshold: he protested that he had too small a mind for so great a
subject, and declared his intention of solacing himself with a cigar
outside for the temporary absence of the ladies, which was, as Miss
Sylla informed him, a mere pandering to the coarser instincts of his
nature, whatever he might choose to call it. With the exception of Mr.
Sartoris, it may be doubted whether any of the party paid much
attention to what they were shown. The principal effect on Blanche's
mind was a hazy conviction that Sylla Chipchase was a somewhat
disagreeable girl. She considered that the familiar way in which that
young lady addressed Lionel Beauchamp, to say the least of it, was in
very bad taste.

But these irreverent pilgrims at last brought their inspection of the
famous shrine to a conclusion, having displayed on the whole, perhaps,
no more want of veneration than is usually shown by such sightseers,
and, picking up the philosophic Cottrell in the close, wended their way
once more back to "The Sweet Waters."

"Don't you think Lady Mary was enraptured to see me this morning, Mr.
Cottrell?" inquired Sylla Chipchase, as they lingered for a minute or
two behind the rest.

"Quite sure of it," was the reply, and the speaker's keen dark eyes
twinkled with fun as he spoke; "and what is more, if my ears do not
deceive me, we shall carry back to the Grange a little bit of
intelligence that I am quite sure will gladden the heart of our
hostess."

"What is that?" inquired Sylla.

"Don't you know? No; how could you possibly, considering that you are
only now about to