death had made a race-course no place for any of the family, especially that of Backsworth; gout coming opportunely to disable her father in London, and one or two other little accidents, had prevented the matter from coming to an issue while she had been in London, and the avowal of her intention to keep away had filled her father with passion at her for her absurd scruples and pretences at being better than other people.  It had been Lady Tyrrell who pacified him with assurances that she would soon do better; no one wished to force her conscience, and Lenore, always on the watch, began to wonder whether her sister had any reason for wishing to keep her away, and longed the more for the house of truth and peace.

So came on the bazaar day, which Mrs. Poynsett spent in solitude, except for visits from the Rectory, and one from Joanna Bowater, who looked in while Julius was sitting with her, and amused them by her account of herself as an emissary from home with ten pounds to be got rid of from her father and mother for good neighbourhood’s sake.  She brought Mrs. Poynsett a beautiful bouquet, for the elderly spinsters, she said, sat on the stairs and kept up a constant supply; and she had also some exquisite Genoese wire ornaments from Cecil’s counter, and a set of studs from a tray of polished pebbles sent up from Vivian’s favourite lapidary at Rockpier.  She had been amused to find the Miss Strangeways hunting over it to match that very simple-looking charm which Lena wore on to her watch, for, as she said, “the attraction must either be the simplicity of it, or the general Lena-worship in which those girls indulge.”

“How does that dear child look?”

“Fagged, I think, but so does every one, and it was not easy to keep order, Mrs. Duncombe’s counter was such a rendezvous for noisy people, and Miss Moy was perfectly dreadful, running about forcing things on people and refusing change.”

“And how is poor Anne enduring?”

“Like Christian in Vanity Fair as long as she did endure, for she retired to the spinsters on the back stairs.  I offered to bring her home, and she accepted with delight, but I dropped her in the village to bestow her presents.  I was determined to come on here; we go on Monday.”

“Shall you be at the Ordination?”

“I trust so.  If mamma is pretty well, we shall both go.”

“Is Edith going to the ball on Thursday?”

“No, she has given it up.  It seems as if we at least ought to recollect our Ember days, though I am ashamed to think we never did till this time last year.”

“I confess that I never heard of them,” said Mrs. Poynsett.  “Don’t look shocked, my dear; such things were not taught in my time.”

Julius showed her the rubric and the prayer from the book in his pocket, knowing that the one endeared to her by association was one of the Prayer-books made easy by omission of all not needed at the barest Sunday service.