“Then it is reduced to the grave Raymond.”

“I wish I had betrayed nothing.”

“Now you may as well proceed to betray the rest, instead of leaving me to exercise my fancy.”

“It is no secret, only such things are best not brought up again.  Camilla Vivian was poor Raymond’s grande passion, and you may imagine what a grief that was to my mother, especially as the poor brother was then living—­one of the most fascinating, dangerous men I ever saw; and the whole tone of the place was ultra gay and thoughtless, the most reckless extravagance.  However, he was set upon it, and my mother was forced to consent to the engagement.  She seemed equally devoted to him, till she met Lord Tyrrell at some country house, and then a quarrel was picked, either by her mother or herself, about my mother retaining the headship of her own house.  It was a palpable excuse, but it served to break the affair off, and Raymond was cruelly cut up.  My mother made herself everything to him from that moment, gave up all her former habits to be with him, sent the little boys to school, and fairly dragged him through the trouble!”

“How long ago was it?”

“Ten years—­yes, ten years.  So far as ceasing to care a straw for a heartless woman like that, he has got over it, no doubt; but it has made a graver man of him for life, and I doubt whether, but for my mother’s accident, he ever would have married.”

“Did you marry for your mother’s sake, Julius, or only tell her so?”

“For shame, my Lady Mischief!”

“And do you think the fair Camilla returned with plans that she finds disconcerted?”

“How can I tell?  I have not seen her since I was a lad of eighteen.—­Ah! how d’ye do, Betty?” in a tone of relief; “you’ve not seen my wife.”

This was the first of a long series of introductions.  Compton Poynsett was a straggling village, with the church, schools, and Rectory, ten minutes’ walk from the park gates.  It had not been neglected, so that Julius had not the doubtful satisfaction of coming like a missionary or reformer.  The church, though not exactly as with his present lights he would have made it, was in respectable order, and contained hardly anything obnoxious to his taste; the schools were well built, properly officered, and the children under such discipline that Rosamond declared she could no more meddle with them than with her father’s regiment.

The Rectory was at that moment level with the ground, and Julius explaining the plans, when up came the senior curate.  Mr. Bindon, whom she, as well as Julius, greeted as an old friend, was the typical modern priest, full of his work, and caring for nothing besides, except a Swiss mountain once a year; a slight, spare, small, sallow man, but with an enormous power of untiring energy.

Scarcely had Rosamond shaken hands with him, standing where her drawing-room rug was to be in future days, when a merry whistle came near, and over the wall from the churchyard leapt first a black retriever, secondly a Skye terrier, thirdly a bull ditto, fourthly a young man, or rather an enormous boy, who for a moment stood amazed and disconcerted at the unexpectedly worshipful society into which he had jumped!