“Stunning pair that!” was young Strangeways’ exclamation.

“Most beautiful!” murmured Cecil, in a low voice, as if she was quite dazzled.  “You never said she was like that,” she added reproachfully to Julius.

“Our encounter was in the dark,” he answered.

“Oh, I did not mean the young one, but Lady Tyrrell.  She is just like a gem we saw at Firenze—­which was it?”

“Where?” said Raymond, bewildered.

“Firenze—­Florence,” she said, deigning to translate; and finding her own reply.  “Ah, yes, the Medusa!” then, as more than one exclaimed in indignant dismay, she said, “No, not the Gorgon, but the beautiful winged head, with only two serpents on the brow and one coiled round the neck, and the pensive melancholy face.”

“I know,” said Julius, shortly; while the other gentlemen entered into an argument, some defending the beauty of the younger sister, some of the elder; and it lasted till they entered the park, where all were glad to partake of their well-earned meal, most of the gentlemen having been at work since dawn without sustenance, except a pull at the beer served out to the firemen.

Cecil was not at all shy, and was pleased to take her place as representative lady of the house; but somehow, though every one was civil and attentive to her, she found herself effaced by the more full-blown Rosamond, accustomed to the same world as the guests; and she could not help feeling the same sense of depression as when she had to yield the head of her father’s table to her step-mother.

Nor could she have that going to church for the first time in state with her bridegroom she had professed to dread, but had really anticipated with complacency; for though Julius had bidden the bells to be rung for afternoon service, Raymond was obliged to go back to Wil’sbro’ to make arrangements for the burnt-out families, and she had to go as lonely as Anne herself.

Lady Tyrrell and her sister were both at Compton Church, and overtook the three sisters-in-law as they were waiting to be joined by the Rector.

“We shall have to take shelter with you,” said Lady Tyrrell, “poor burnt-out beings that we are.”

“Do you belong to Wil’sbro’?” said Rosamond.

“Yes; St. Nicholas is an immense straggling parish, going four miles along the river.  I don’t know how we shall ever be able to go back again to poor old Mr. Fuller.  You’ll never get rid of us from Compton.”

“I suppose they will set about rebuilding the church at once,” said Cecil.  “Of course they will form a committee, and put my husband on it.”

“In the chair, no doubt,” said Lady Tyrrell, in a tone that sounded to Rosamond sarcastic, but which evidently gratified Cecil.  “But we will have a committee of our own, and you will have to preside, and patronize our bazaar.  Of course you know all about them.”

“Oh yes!” said Cecil, eagerly.  “We have one every year for the Infirmary, only my father did not approve of my selling at a stall.”