“Colonel Egerton—­Mr. Denbigh.”

Both gentlemen bowed, but nothing striking was seen in the deportment of either.  The colonel, who was not exactly at ease, said hastily—­

“Mr. Denbigh is, or has been in the army, I believe.”

Denbigh was now taken by surprise in his turn:  he cast a look on Egerton of fixed and settled meaning; then carelessly observed, but still as if requiring an answer: 

“I am yet; but I do not recollect having had the pleasure of meeting with Colonel Egerton on service.”

“Your countenance is familiar, sir,” replied the colonel, coldly; “but at this moment I cannot tax my memory with the place of-our meeting, though one sees so many strange faces in a campaign, that they come and go like shadows.”

He then changed the conversation.  It was some time, however, before either gentleman entirely recovered his ease—­and many days elapsed ere anything like intercourse passed between them.  The colonel attached himself during this visit to Jane, with occasional notices of the Misses Jarvis, who began to manifest symptoms of uneasiness at the decided preference he showed to a lady they now chose to look upon, in some measure, as a rival.

Mrs. Wilson and her charge, on the other hand, were entertained by the conversation of Chatterton and Denbigh, relieved by occasional sallies from the lively John.  There was something in the person and manners of Denbigh that insensibly attracted those whom chance threw in his way.  His face was not strikingly handsome, but it was noble; and when he smiled, or was much animated, it invariably communicated a spark of his own enthusiasm to the beholder.  His figure was faultless; his air and manner, if less easy than those of Colonel Egerton, were more sincere and ingenuous; his breeding was clearly higher; his respect for others rather bordering on the old school.  But in his voice there existed a charm which would make him, when he spoke, to a female ear, almost resistless:  it was soft, deep, melodious, and winning.

“Baronet,” said the rector, looking with a smile towards his son and daughter, “I love to see my children happy, and Mrs. Ives threatens a divorce if I go on in the manner I have commenced.  She says I desert her for Bolton.”

“Why, doctor, if our wives conspire against us, and prevent our enjoying a comfortable dish of tea with Clara, or a glass of wine with Frank, we must call in the higher authorities as umpires.  What say you, sister?  Is a parent to desert his child in any case?”

“My opinion is,” said Mrs. Wilson, with a smile, yet speaking with emphasis, “that a parent is not to desert a child, in any case or in any manner.”

“Do you hear that, my Lady Moseley?” cried the good-humored baronet.

“Do you hear that, my Lady Chatterton?” echoed John, who had just taken a seat by Grace, when her mother approached them.

“I hear it, but do not see the application, Mr. Moseley.”