eet her husband, and Cecil has her guest in
her own domains."

Then Jenny asked after his day's work--a county matter, interesting
to all the magistracy, and their womankind in their degree; and
Eleonora listened in silence, watching with quiet heedfulness
Frank's mother and brother.

When Frank himself came in, his face was a perfect study; and the
colour mantled in her cheeks, so that Jenny trusted that both were
touched by the wonderful beauty that a little softness and timidity
brought out on the features, usually so resolutely on guard. But
when, in the later evening, Jenny crept in to her old friend, hoping
to find that the impression had been favourable, she only heard,
"Exactly like her sister, who always had the making of a fine
countenance."

"The mask--yes, but Lena has the spirit behind the mask. Poor girl!
she is not at all happy in the atmosphere her sister has brought
home."

"Then I wish they would marry her!"

"Won't you believe how truly nice and good she is?"

"That will not make up for the connection. My heart sank, Jenny,
from the time I heard that those Vivians were coming back. I kept
Frank away as long as I could--but there's no help for it. It seems
the fate of my boys to be the prey of those sirens."

"Well, then, dear Mrs. Poynsett, do pray believe, on my word, that
Eleonora is a different creature!"

"Is there no hope of averting it? I thought Camilla would--poor
Frank is such insignificant game!"

"And when it does come, don't be set against her, please, dear Mrs.
Poynsett. Be as kind to her--as you were to me," whispered Jenny,
nestling up, and hiding her face.

"My dear, but I knew you! You were no such case."

"Except that you all were horribly vexed with us, because we
couldn't help liking each other," said Jenny.

"Ah! my poor child! I only wish you could have liked any one else!"

"Do you?" said Jenny, looking up. "Oh no, you don't! You would not
have me for your supplementary child, if I had," she added
playfully; then very low--"It is because the thought of dear Archie,
even ending as it did, is my very heart's joy, that I want you to
let them have theirs!"

And then came a break, which ended the pleading; and Jenny was
obliged to leave Compton without much notion as to the effect of her
advice, audacious as she knew it to have been.

CHAPTER XIV
Neither Land Nor Water

A light that never was on sea or land.--WORDSWORTH

Nothing could be pr