hands. Nobody can do anything without her. There are so few
permanent inhabitants, and when people begin good works, they go
away, or marry, or grow tired, and then we can't let them drop!'

'Oh! what's that pretty spire, on the rise of the other hill?'

'My dear, that was the Kennel Mission Chapel, a horrid little hideous
iron thing, but Lady Flight mistook and called it St. Kenelm's, and
St. Kenelm's it will be to the end of the chapter.' And as she
exchanged bows with a personage in a carriage, 'There she is, my
dear.'

'Who? Did she build that church?'

'It is not consecrated. It really is only a mission chapel, and he
is nothing but a curate of Mr. Hablot's,' said Aunt Ada, Gillian
thought a little venomously.

She asked, 'Who?'

'The Reverend Augustine Flight, my dear. I ought not to say anything
against them, I am sure, for they mean to be very good; but she is
some City man's widow, and he is an only son, and they have more
money than their brains can carry. They have made that little place
very beautiful, quite oppressed with ornament---City taste, you know,
and they have all manner of odd doings there, which Mr. Hablot
allows, because he says he does not like to crush zeal, and he thinks
interference would do more harm than good. Jane thinks he ought not
to stand so much, but---'