talk of London doctors, and take Mary aside to warn her against
temptations from fashionable people.

Mary had been looking for the fashionable people ever since, and the
first sign of them she had seen, was the air and figure of her cousin
Fitzjocelyn. Probably good Aunt Melicent would distrust him; and yet
his odd startling talk, and the arch look of mischief in the corners
of his mouth and eyes, had so much likeness to the little Louis of
old times, that she could not look on him as a stranger nor as a
formidable being; but was always recurring to the almost monitorial
sense of protection, with which she formerly used to regard him, when
she shared his nursery.

Her mother had cultivated her love for Ormersfield, and she was
charmed by her visits to old haunts, well remembering everything.
She gladly recognised the little low-browed church, the dumpy tower,
and grave-yard rising so high that it seemed to intend to bury the
church itself, and permitted many a view, through the lattices, of
the seats, and the Fitzjocelyn hatchments and monuments.

She lingered after church on Sunday afternoon with Mrs. Frost to look
at Lady Fitzjocelyn's monument. It was in the chancel, a recumbent
figure in white marble, as if newly fallen asleep, and with the
lovely features chiselled from a cast taken after death had fixed and
ennobled their beauty.

'It is just like Louis's profile!' said Mrs. Frost, as they came out.

'Well,' said Louis, who was nearer than she was aware, 'I hope at
least no one will make me the occasion of a lion when I am dead.'