‘Isabel, Isabel!’ shrieked Virginia, who, with Louisa, had been roaming everywhere, ‘here is a discovery in the school-room!  Come!’

It was an old framed print of a large house, as much of a sham castle as the nature of things would permit; and beneath were the words ‘Cheveleigh, the seat of Roland Dynevor, Esquire.’

‘There!’ cried Virginia; ’you see it is a castle, a dear old feudal castle!  Think of that, Isabel!  Why, it is as good as seeing Sir Roland himself, to have seen Mr. Dynevor Frost disinherited.  Oh! if his name were only Roland, instead of that horrid James!’

‘His initials are J. R.,’ said Isabel.  ’It is a curious coincidence.’

‘It only wants an Adeline to have the castle now,’ said Louisa.  ’Oh! there shall be an heiress, and she shall be beautiful, and he shan’t go crusading—­he shall marry her.’

The sisters had not been aware that the school-room maid, who had been sent on to prepare, was busy unpacking in a corner of the room.  ‘They say, Miss Louisa,’ she interposed, ’that Mr. Frost is going to be married to a great heiress—­his cousin, Miss Ponsonby, at No. 7.’

Isabel requited the forwardness by silently leaving the room with the sisters, and Virginia apologized for not having been more cautious than to lead to such subjects.  ‘It is all gossip,’ she said, angrily; ‘Mr. Dynevor would never marry for money.’

‘Nay, let us find in her an Adeline,’ said Isabel.

The next day, Miss Mercy had hurried into No. 7, to declare that the ladies were all that was charming, but that their servants gave themselves airs beyond credence, especially the butler, who played the guitar, and insisted on a second table; when there was a peal of the bell, and Mary from her post of observation ’really believed it was Lady Conway herself;’ whereupon Miss Mercy, without listening to persuasions, popped into the back drawing room to effect her retreat.

Lady Conway was all eagerness and cordiality, enchanted to renew her acquaintance, venturing so early a call in hopes of prevailing on Mrs. Ponsonby to come out with her to take a drive.  She conjured up recollections of Mary’s childhood, declared that she looked to her for drawing Isabel out, and was extremely kind and agreeable.  Mary thought her delightful, with something of Louis’s charm of manner; and Mrs. Ponsonby believed it no acting, for Lady Conway was sincerely affable and affectionate, with great warmth and kindness, and might have been all that was excellent, had she started into life with a different code of duty.

So there was to be an intimacy.  For Fitzjocelyn’s sake, as well as for the real good-nature of the advances, Mrs. Ponsonby would not shrink back more than befitted her self-respect.  Of that quality she had less than Mrs. Frost, who, with her innate punctilious spirit, avoided all favours or patronage.  It was curious to see the gentle old lady fire up with all the dignity of the Pendragons, at the least peril of incurring an obligation, and, though perfectly courteous, easy, and obliging, she contrived to keep at a greater distance than if she had been mistress of Cheveleigh.  There, she would have remembered that both she and Lady Conway were aunts to Louis; at Northwold, her care was to become beholden for nothing that she could not repay.