Cherishing the hope that the patent consequences of his line of action might have already taught him moderation, Mrs Marshal, instead of going to chapel to hear Mr Masquar, had paid Mr Graham a visit, with the object of enlisting his sympathies if she could, at all events his services, in the combating of the scruples he had himself aroused in the bosom of her son. What had passed between them I do not care to record, but when Lady Clementina--unannounced of the landlady--entered, there was light enough, notwithstanding the non-reflective properties of the water-butt, to reveal Mrs Marshal flushed and flashing, Mr Graham grave and luminous, and to enable the chapel-business-eye of Mrs Marshal, which saw every stranger that entered “Hope,” at once to recognise her as having made one of the congregation the last Sunday evening. Evidently one of Mr Graham’s party, she was not prejudiced in her favour. But there was that in her manner which impressed her-- that something ethereal and indescribable which she herself was constantly aping, and, almost involuntarily, she took upon herself such honours as the place, despicable in her eyes, would admit of. She rose, made a sweeping courtesy, and addressed Lady Clementina with such a manner as people of Mrs Marshal’s ambitions put off and on like their clothes. “Pray, take a seat, ma’am, such as it is,” she said, with a wave of her hand. “I believe I have had the pleasure of seeing you at our place.” Lady Clementina sat down: the room was too small to stand in, and Mrs Marshal seemed to take the half of it. “I am not aware of the honour,” she returned, doubtful what the woman meant--perhaps some shop or dress-maker’s. Clementina was not one who delighted in freezing her humbler fellow-creatures, as we know; but there was something altogether repulsive in the would-be-grand but really arrogant behaviour of her fellow-visitor. “I mean,” said Mrs Marshal, a little abashed, for ambition is not strength, “at our little Bethel in Kentish Town! Not that _we_ live there!” she explained with a superior smile. “Oh! I think I understand. You must mean the chapel where this gentleman was preaching.” “That _is_ my meaning,” assented Mrs Marshal. “I went there to-night,” said Clementina, turning with some timidity to Mr Graham. “That I did not find you there, sir, will, I hope, explain----” Here she paused, and turned again to Mrs Marshal. “I see you think with me, ma’am, that a true teacher is worth following.” As she said this she turned once more to Mr Graham, who sat listening with a queer, amused, but right courteous smile. “I hope you will pardon me,” she continued, “for venturing to call upon you, and, as I have the misfortune to find you occupied, allow me to call another day. If you would set me a time, I should be more obliged than I can tell you,” she concluded, her voice trembling a little.