‘Oh, she is a deep one,’ Jill would say.  ’I could not understand her at first.  I thought she was just bright and talkative and good-natured, and I thought it nice to sit and listen to her, and she was very kind, and petted me a good deal, and I did not find her out at first.’

‘Find her out! what do you mean, Jill?’ I asked innocently.

‘Why, that she is not good-natured a bit, really,’ with a sagacious nod of her head.  ’She keeps a stock of smiles for Cousin Giles and any chance visitor.  She is not half so nice and charming when Miss Hamilton and Lady Betty are alone with her.  Oh, I heard her one day, when I was in the conservatory with Lady Betty.  Lady Betty held up her finger and said, ‘Hush!’ and there she was talking in such a disagreeable, sneering voice to Miss Hamilton, only I stopped my ears and would not listen.  And now she has got used to me she says unpleasant little things before my face, and then when “dear Cousin Giles” comes in’—­and here Jill looked wicked—­’she is all sweetness and amiability, quite charming, in fact.  Now, that is what I hate, for a person to wear two faces, and have different voices:  it shows they are not true.’

‘Well, perhaps you are right, dear’; for, without being uncharitable to Miss Darrell, I wished to put Jill on her guard a little.

‘I don’t like the way she talks about you,’ went on Jill indignantly.  ’She always begins when we are alone; not exactly saying things so much as implying them.’

‘Indeed!  What sort of things?’ I asked carelessly.

’Oh, she is always hinting that it is rather odd for you to be living alone; she calls you deliciously unconventional and strong-minded, but I know what she means by that.  Then she is so curious:  she is always trying to find out how often Mr. Cunliffe or Mr. Tudor comes to see you, or if you go to the vicarage; and she said one day that she thought you preferred gentlemen’s society to ladies’, as they could never induce you to come up to Gladwyn, but of course you saw plenty of her cousin Giles in the village.’

I felt my cheeks burn at this unwarrantable accusation, but Jill begged me not to disturb myself.

‘She won’t make those sort of speeches to me again,’ she said calmly.  ‘She had a piece of my mind then that will last her for a long time.’

‘I hope you were not rude, Jill?’

’Oh no!  I only flew into a passion, and asked her how she dared to imply such a thing?—­that my cousin Ursula was the best and the dearest woman in the world, and that no one else could hold a candle to her.  “Ursula care for gentlemen’s society!” I exclaimed:  “why, at Hyde Park Gate we never could get her to remain in the drawing-room when those stupid officers were there:  she never would talk to any of them, except old Colonel Trevanion, who is nearly blind!  You do not understand Ursula:  she is a perfect saint:  she is the simplest, most unselfish, grandest-hearted creature; and you make out that she is a silly flirt like Sara.”  And then I had to hold my tongue, though I was as red as a turkey-cock, for there was Mr. Hamilton staring at us both, and asking if I were in my senses, and why I was quarrelling about my cousin, for of course my voice was as gruff and cross as possible.’