see in which direction the wind blew. Her nature, perhaps, was to hate
Puritans and all their ways, but, if necessary to her own well-being,
she would easily be able to love them and curse all Catholics. She was
not really bad at heart, but she was a strange companion for Barbara
Lanison.

Some few months ago Sir John Lanison, of Aylingford Abbey in Hampshire,
Lady Bolsover's brother and Barbara's uncle and sole guardian since the
death of her parents, had suggested that his sister should take charge
of his ward for a little while. Practically she knew nothing of London,
he said, and it was time she did. Sir John declared that he did not want
it to be said that he had hidden his niece away at the Abbey so that no
man should have a chance of seeing her. He had known prettier women, but
she was well enough, and where her face failed to attract her ample
fortune would.

"She's got more learning than is needful for a girl, to my mind," he
told his sister; "but that kind of nonsense will be knocked out of her
as soon as she understands her value as a woman. Send her back with all
the corners rounded, my dear Peggy--that is what I want."

Lady Bolsover had done her best, but the result was not very
satisfactory. Barbara had convictions which her aunt was powerless to
undermine, and seemed to set such a value upon herself that no man was
able to make the slightest impression on her. She had barely refrained
from laughing outright at the compliments of recognised wits, and half a
dozen gallants with amorous intentions had been baffled and put to
shame. Lord Rosmore, whose way with a woman was pronounced irresistible,
had declared her adorable, but impossible, and Judge Marriott had
promised Lady Bolsover a very handsome gratuity if she could persuade