Of the three breakfasting, Miss Tyrrell was certainly the one whose
presence would least allow itself to be overlooked. Her appetite was
hearty, but it scarcely interfered with the free flow of her airy
talk, which was independent of remark or reply from her companions.
Though it was not apparent in her demeanour, this young lady was
suffering under a Calamity; her second 'season' had been ruined at
its very culmination by a ludicrous _contretemps_ in the shape of an
attack of measles. Just when she flattered herself that she had
never looked so lovely, an instrument of destiny embraced her in the
shape of an affectionate child, and lo! she was a fright. Her
constitution had soon thrown off the evil thing, but Mrs. Tyrrell
decreed her banishment for a time to the remote dwelling of her
literary uncle. Once more Paula was lovely, and yet one could
scarcely say that the worst was over, seeing that she was
constrained to pass summer days within view of Helvellyn when she
might have been in Piccadilly.

Mr. Newthorpe seldom interrupted his niece's monologue, but his eye
often rested upon her, seemingly in good-natured speculation, and he
bent his head acquiescingly when she put in a quick 'Don't you think
so?' after a running series of comments on some matter which smacked
exceedingly of the town. He was not more than five-and-forty, yet
had thin, grizzled hair, and a sallow face with lines of trouble
deeply scored upon it. His costume was very careless--indeed, all
but slovenly--and his attitude in the chair showed, if not weakness
of body, at all events physical indolence.

Some word that fell from Paula prompted him to ask:

'I wonder where Egremont is?'