How much happiness was there in the large house at Russell Square?

The Misses Leaf could not tell; their sister never gave them an opportunity of judging.

        “My son’s my son till he gets him a wife,
        But my daughter’s my daughter all her life.”

And so, most frequently, is “my sister.”  But not in this case.  It could not be; they never expected it would.

When on here rare visits to town Hilary called at Russell Square she always found Mrs. Ascott handsomely dressed, dignified, and gracious.  Not in the slightest degree uncivil or unsisterly, but gracious—­perhaps a thought too gracious.  Most condescendingly anxious that she should stay to luncheon, and eat and drink the best the house afforded, but never by any chance inviting her to stay to dinner.  Consequently, as Mr. Ascott was always absent in the city until dinner, Hilary did not see him for months together, and her brother-in-law was, she declared, no more to her than any other man upon ’Change, or the man in the moon, or the Great Mogul.

His wife spoke little about him.  After a few faint, formal questions concerning Richmond affairs, somehow her conversation always recurred to her own:  the dinners she had been at, those she was going to give; her carriages, clothes, jewelry, and so on.  She was altogether a very great lady, and Hilary, as she avouched laughingly—­it was, in this case, better to laugh than to grieve—­felt an exceedingly small person beside her.

Nevertheless Mrs. Ascott showed no unkindness—­nay, among the various changes that matrimony had produced in her, her temper appeared rather to have improved than otherwise; there was now seldom any trace of that touchy sharpness which used to be called “poor Selina’s way.”  And yet Hilary never quitted the house without saying to herself, with a sigh, the old phrase, “Poor Selina!”

Thus, in the inevitable consequences of things, her visits to Russell Square became fewer and fewer; she kept them up as a duty, not exacting any return, for she felt that was impossible, though still keeping up the ghostly shadow of sisterly intimacy.  Nevertheless she knew well it was but a shadow; that the only face that looked honest, glad welcome, or that she was honestly glad to see in her brother-in-law’s house was the under house-maid, Elizabeth Hand.

Contrary to all expectations, Mrs. Ascott had consented to take Elizabeth into her service.  With many stipulations and warnings never to presume on past relations, never even to mention Stowbury, on pain of instant dismissal—­still, she did take her, and Elizabeth staid.  At every one of Miss Hilary’s visits, lying in wait in the bed chamber, or on the staircase, or creeping up at the last minute to open the hall door, was sure to appear the familiar face, beaming all over.  Little conversation passed between them—­Mrs. Ascott evidently disliked it; still Elizabeth looked well and happy, and when Miss Hilary told her so she always silently smiled.