. Vigors, they mean
the same thing.

"And now, next Monday---we must leave them in peace till then--you will
all call on the Ashleighs. The Hill knows what is due to itself; it
cannot delegate to Mr. Vigors, a respectable man indeed, but who does
not belong to its set, its own proper course of action towards those
who would shelter themselves on its bosom. The Hill cannot be kind and
attentive, overpowering or oppressive by proxy. To those newborn into
its family circle it cannot be an indifferent godmother; it has towards
them all the feelings of a mother,--or of a stepmother, as the case may
be. Where it says 'This can be no child of mine,' it is a stepmother
indeed; but in all those whom I have presented to its arms, it has
hitherto, I am proud to say, recognized desirable acquaintances, and to
them the Hill has been a mother. And now, my dear Mr. Sloman, go to your
rubber; Poyntz is impatient, though he don't show it. Miss Brabazon,
love, we all long to see you seated at the piano,--you play so divinely!
Something gay, if you please; something gay, but not very noisy,--Mr.
Leopold Symthe will turn the leaves for you. Mrs. Bruce, your own
favourite set at vingt-un, with four new recruits. Dr. Fenwick, you are
like me, don't play cards, and don't care for music; sit here, and talk
or not, as you please, while I knit."

The other guests thus disposed of, some at the card-tables, some round
the piano, I placed myself at Mrs. Poyntz's side, on a seat niched in
the recess of a window which an evening unusually warm for the month of
May permitted to be left open. I was next to one who had known Lilian
as a child, one from whom I had learned by what sweet name to call
the image which my thoughts had already shrined. How much that I still
longed to know she could tell me! But in what form of question could I
lead to the subject, yet not betray my absorbing interest in it? Longing
to speak, I felt as if stricken dumb; stealing an unquiet glance towards
the face beside me, and deeply impressed with that truth which the Hill
had long ago reverently acknowledged,--namely, that Mrs. Colonel Poyntz
was a very superior woman, a very powerful creature.

And there she sat knitting, rapidly, firmly; a woman somewhat on the
other side of forty, complexion a bronze paleness, hair a bronze brown,
in strong ringlets cropped short behind,--handsome hair for a man; lips
that, when closed, showed inflexible decision, when speaking, became