within?  How would it keep its position over such a crowd of servants self-made in her honour?  Some of them were very devoted servants indeed, and seemed willing to proclaim their devotion.  Among these was Mr. Kingsland, who constituted himself her right-hand man in general; but Dr. Maryland was not far off, if less presuming.  Miss Hazel could not walk or ride or come into a room without some sort of homage from one or all of these.

‘Dear little thing! pretty little thing!’ exclaimed a lady, an old acquaintance of Mr. Falkirk’s, one evening.  ’Charming little creature!  How will she bear it?’

Mr. Falkirk was standing near by.

‘She wants a better guardian,’ the lady went on whispering.

‘I wish she had a mother,’ he said.

‘Or a husband!’

Mr. Falkirk was silent; then he said, ’It is too soon for that.’

‘Yes—­too soon,’ said the lady meditatively as she looked at Wych Hazel’s curls,—­’but what will she do?  Somebody will deceive her into thinking he is the right man, while it is too soon.’

‘Nobody shall deceive her,’ said Mr. Falkirk between his teeth.

It must be mentioned that an exception, in some sort, to all this adulation, was furnished by the friend of Miss Hazel’s morning walk.  Mr. Rollo, if the truth must be told, seemed to live more for his own pleasure than anybody else’s.  Why he had taken that morning’s scramble unless on motives of unwonted benevolence, remained known only to himself.  Since then he had not exerted himself in her or anybody’s service.  Pleasant and gay he was when anybody saw him; but nobody’s servant.  By day Mr. Rollo roamed the woods, for he was said to be a great hunter—­or he lay on the grass in the shade with a book—­or he found out for himself some delectable place or pleasure unknown previously to others, though as soon as known sure to be approved and adopted; and at evening the rich scents of his cigar floated in the air where the moonlight lay brightest or shadows played daintiest.  But he did not seem to share the universal attraction towards the daintiest thing of all at the Mountain.  He saw her, certainly; he was sometimes seen looking at her; but then he would leave the place where her presence held everybody, and the perfume of his cigar would come as aforesaid; or the distant notes of a song said that Mr. Rollo and the rocks were congenial society.  If he met the little Queen of the company indeed anywhere, he would lift his hat and stand by to let her pass with the most courtier-like deference; he would lift his hat to her shadow; but he never testified any inclination to follow it.  The more notable this was, because Rollo was a pet of the world himself; one of those whom every society welcomes, and who for that very reason perhaps are a little nonchalant towards society.