; we then played two other ladies, and in the
middle of the second game Dick came into the room. One glance at him
told me that he was all right, and I should have been very glad to go
away with him. He remarked to me at once that I was "at it" already,
which told me a good deal. No one took any notice of him except to
tell him not to fidget, and as he was not fidgeting I thought he was
very amiable to receive such unnecessary orders in silence. Before
dinner I was able to have a few minutes alone with him, and my fears
about Mr. Leigh-Tompkinson were realized--he was dead. We also made
some plans for the next day, which were never carried out. In fact,
try as I would for many days, and I adopted many artifices, I could
hardly ever spend more than an odd half-hour with him, there was always
something which his mother thought much more important for me to do.
The house was full of people, most of whom were ladies, though none of
them were what I called young; but there were two men there all the
time, who were the mildest beings I have ever met. I don't think
either of them liked me, and I am sure I did not like them; their
wildest amusement was a little, a very little golf, and their chief
employment was to make themselves generally useful. Everybody, with
the exception of Dick and me, seemed to be trying to be young again, it
was a most melancholy spectacle. For some time I could not understand
how Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson could be a friend of my uncle's, but at last
a Miss Bentham, who was always ready to talk, told me that the
house-party were having their holidays before they went back to London
for the season.

"In London my cousin has so much to do," she continued. "Of course the
season is always fatiguing, but Mrs. Leigh-Tompkinson makes it more so
by her devotion to good works."

I nearly laughed aloud, and thought of saying that if she would be a
little more devoted to her son she would not be wasting her time, but I
suppressed myself and asked to hear more about the good works.

"She gives so much away, but then she's so rich," Miss Bentham said.
"She's devoted to your uncle, but then he's so handsome. Don't you
think so?"

"He's fifty," I replied, without remembering to whom I was talking.

"A woman is as old as she looks and a man as he feels," she said, and
looked at me.

I knew that I was expected to say that the Bishop must be about thirty,
and that she could be scarcely twenty-five, but I