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moulded features, or purify their ignoble outline. Her voice was against
her, certainly; perhaps this was the reason why, when she bemoaned
herself, so many irreverent and hardhearted reprobates called it
whining. It was very unfortunate; for few could be found, even in the
somewhat exacting class to which she belonged, more anxious and active
in enlisting sympathy. She was looking especially illtempered just
then, but Major Keene was not easily daunted, and he went in at her
straight and gallantlyabout the weather, it is needless to say, both
being English. While Mrs. Danvers was disagreeing with him, Cecil took
her turn at inspection. Royston's name was familiar to her, of course,
for no one ever talked to Mrs. Molyneux for ten minutes without hearing
it. Though she had scarcely glanced at him in the morning, she had
decided that the tall, erect figure and the enormous mustache, with its
_crocs a la mousquetaire_, could only belong to Fanny's Household Word.
It was very oddshe had not a shade of a reason for itbut neither had
_she_ mentioned that rencontre to her friend. Perhaps they had so many
other things to talk about. She could scan him now more narrowly, for
his face was turned away from her. The result was satisfactory: when
Major Keene stood up on his feet, not even his habitual laziness could
disguise the fair proportions and trained vigor of a stalwart
manatarms; and be it known that Cecil's eye, though not so
professional as that of Good Queen Bess, loved to light upon such
dearly.
Harry, Mrs. Molyneux observed, Mr. Fullarton called while I was at
the _Lion d'Or_ this morning, and staid half an hour. He is so very
anxious to get Cecil to lead the singing in church.
Yes; he has been, so to speak, throwing his hat up ever since he heard
you were coming, Miss Tresilyan, was the reply. I suppose he
calculated on your vocal talents; there's the nuisance of having an
European reputation, you are always expected to do something for
somebody's benefit. I hope you'll indulge him, in charity to us. You
have no idea what it has been. Two Sundays ago, for instance, a Mr.
Rolleston and his wife volunteered to give us a lead. He didn't look
like a racing man; and yet he must have been. I never saw any thing more
artistically done. He went off at score, and made the pace so strong
that he cut them all down in the first two verses; and then the wife,
who had waited very patiently, came and won as she likednothing else
near her.
Cecil thought the illustration rather irreverent, and did not smile.
Keene saw this as he turned round.
The turf slang has got into your constitution, I think, since you won
that Garrison Cup. It's very wrong of you not to cure yourself, when you

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