have said that she was not affected: this might be one cause of her
sway over a set in which nearly every other woman was trying rather to
seem, than to be, a somebody.

Put if Mrs. Colonel Poyntz was not artificial, she was artful, or
perhaps I might more justly say artistic. In all she said and did there
were conduct, system, plan. She could be a most serviceable friend, a
most damaging enemy; yet I believe she seldom indulged in strong likings
or strong hatreds. All was policy,--a policy akin to that of a grand
party chief, determined to raise up those whom, for any reason of state,
it was prudent to favour, and to put down those whom, for any reason of
state, it was expedient to humble or to crush.

Ever since the controversy with Dr. Lloyd, this lady had honoured me
with her benignest countenance; and nothing could be more adroit
than the manner in which, while imposing me on others as an oracular
authority, she sought to subject to her will the oracle itself.

She was in the habit of addressing me in a sort of motherly way, as if
she had the deepest interest in my welfare, happiness, and reputation.
And thus, in every compliment, in every seeming mark of respect, she
maintained the superior dignity of one who takes from responsible
station the duty to encourage rising merit; so that, somehow or other,
despite all that pride which made me believe that I needed no helping
and to advance or to clear my way through the world, I could not shake
off from my mind the impression that I was mysteriously patronized by
Mrs. Colonel Poyntz.

We might have sat together five minutes, side by side in silence as
complete as if in the cave of Trophonius--when without looking up from
her work, Mrs. Poyntz said abruptly,--

"I am thinking about you, Dr. Fenwick. And you--are thinking about some
other woman. Ungrateful man!"

"Unjust accusation! My very silence should prove how intently my
thoughts were fixed on you, and on the weird web which springs under
your hand in meshes that bewilder the gaze and snare the attention."

Mrs. Poyntz looked up at me for a moment--one rapid glance of the bright
red hazel eye--and said,--

"Was I really in your thoughts? Answer truly."

"Truly, I answer, you were."

"That is strange! Who can it be?"

"Who can it be? What do you mean?"

"If you were thinking of me, it was in connection with some other
person,--some other person of my own sex. It is certainly not poor dear
Miss Brabazo