and John already near his end in the 'rambling old house' at
Weybridge, Alfred Austin and his wife were still a centre of much
intellectual society, and still, as indeed they remained until the
last, youthfully alert in mind. There was but one child of the
marriage, Anne, and she was herself something new for the eyes of
the young visitor; brought up, as she had been, like her mother
before her, to the standard of a man's acquirements. Only one art
had she been denied, she must not learn the violin - the thought
was too monstrous even for the Austins; and indeed it would seem as
if that tide of reform which we may date from the days of Mary
Wollstonecraft had in some degree even receded; for though Miss
Austin was suffered to learn Greek, the accomplishment was kept
secret like a piece of guilt. But whether this stealth was caused
by a backward movement in public thought since the time of Edward
Barron, or by the change from enlightened Norwich to barbarian
London, I have no means of judging.

When Fleeming presented his letter, he fell in love at first sight
with Mrs. Austin and the life, and atmosphere of the house. There
was in the society of the Austins, outward, stoical conformers to
the world, something gravely suggestive of essential eccentricity,
something unpretentiously breathing of intellectual effort, that
could not fail to hit the fancy of this hot-brained boy. The
unbroken enamel of courtesy, the self-restraint, the dignified
kindness of these married folk, had besides a particular attraction
for their visitor. He could not but compare what he saw, with what
he knew of his mother and himself. Whatever virtues Fleeming
possessed, he could never count on being civil; whatever brave,
true-hearted qualities he was able to admire in Mrs. Jenkin,
mildness of demeanour was not one of them. And here he found per