'That is my cousin, Miss Lake, and I think her very beautiful--don't
you?'

'Yes, she certainly is very handsome,' and I was going to say something
about her animation and spirit, but remembered just in time, that that
line of eulogy would hardly have involved a compliment to Miss Brandon.
'I know her brother, a little--that is, Captain Lake--Stanley Lake; he's
her brother, I fancy?'

'_Oh?_' said the young lady, in that tone which is pointed with an
unknown accent, between a note of enquiry and of surprise. 'Yes; he's her
brother.'

And she paused; as if something more were expected. But at that moment
the bland tones of Larcom, the solemn butler, announced the Rev. William
Wylder and Mrs. Wylder, and I said--

'William is an old college friend of mine;' and I observed him, as he
entered with an affectionate and sad sort of interest. Eight years had
passed since we met last, and that is something at any time. It had
thinned my simple friend's hair a little, and his face, too, was more
careworn than I liked, but his earnest, sweet smile was there still.
Slight, gentle, with something of a pale and studious refinement in his
face. The same gentle voice, with that slight, occasional hesitation,
which somehow I liked. There is always a little shock after an absence of
some years before identities adjust themselves, and then we find the
change is not, after all, so very great. I suspect it is, rather, that
something of the old picture is obliterated, in that little interval, to
return no more. And so William Wylder was vicar now instead of that
straight wiry cleric of the mulberry face and black leggings.