CHAPTER XXII.
That evening I went to Mrs.Poyntz's; it was one of her ordinary "reception nights," and I felt that she would naturally expect my attendance as "a proper attention." I joined a group engaged in general conversation, of which Mrs.Poyntz herself made the centre, knitting as usual,--rapidly while she talked, slowly when she listened.
Without mentioning the visit I had paid that morning, I turned the conversation on the different country places in the neighbourhood, and then incidentally asked, "What sort of a man is Sir Philip Derval?
Is it not strange that he should suffer so fine a place to fall into decay ?" The answers I received added little to the information I had already obtained.

Mrs.Poyntz knew nothing of Sir Philip Derval, except as a man of large estates, whose rental had been greatly increased by a rise in the value of property he possessed in the town of L----, and which lay contiguous to that of her husband.

Two or three of the older inhabitants of the Hill had remembered Sir Philip in his early days, when he was gay, high-spirited, hospitable, lavish.

One observed that the only person in L---- whom he had admitted to his subsequent seclusion was Dr.Lloyd, who was then without practice, and whom he had employed as an assistant in certain chemical experiments.
Here a gentleman struck into the conversation.

He was a stranger to me and to L----, a visitor to one of the dwellers on the Hill, who had asked leave to present him to its queen as a great traveller and an accomplished antiquary.
Said this gentleman: "Sir Philip Derval?
I know him.