In the wealthier part of London--next door to the modern abomination of some new man or other who was destined to no succession, to no honour, and whose fate in the future would probably prove to be some gamble or other upon the Continent--next door to such a house, just round the corner, so that you could only see the Park sideways, lived an admirable woman. She was the wife of a Peer and the mother of numerous children, of whom the eldest now served as a soldier and was an expense to them, as was the youngest, from the traditions of his school, which was also expensive. It was her husband’s business, when that half of the politicians to which he belonged was not in office, to speak at meetings and to write lithographed letters imploring aid of the financial kind for institutions designed to relieve the necessities of the poor. He also shot both on his own land and on that of friends, and he would fish in Scotland, but as he had no land there, he had to hire the fishing. The same was true of his sport with the birds in that Northern Kingdom; so one way and another they were not rich for their position, and this admirable woman it was who made all things go well. She was strong in body, handsome in face, and of a clear, vivacious temper, which pleased all the world about her, and made it the better for her presence. But none of these attributes were so worthy, nor gave her so general an admiration, as the splendid and evident virtue of her soul. There was in her very gesture, and in every tone of her voice when she chose to be serious, that fundamental character of goodness which is at once the chief gift to mortals from Almighty God, and the chief glory and merit of those recipients who have used it well. She had done so, and the whole of her life was a sacrament and a support to all who were blessed with her acquaintance. Among these was the Man who was taking the House, for he had known her brother very well at college. She was much of the same rank as himself, though a little older. During many years of his youth he had so taken for granted her perfections and her companionship, that these had, as it were, made his world for him; he had judged the world by that standard. Now that he knew the world, he used that standard no more. It would not be just to say that at her early marriage he had felt any pain save a necessary loss of some companionship. He had never had a sister; he continued to receive her advice and to enter her house as a relative, for though he was not a relative, the very children would have been startled had they ever chosen to remember that he was not one, and his Christian name came as commonly upon their lips, upon hers, and upon her husband’s as any name under their own roof. He would not, of course, finally take this house until she had seen it.