But one morning, as he sat with Mr. Beresford, and the usual daily
conversation, or rather lecture, about some affairs connected with the
management of the estate was in full progress, a pony-carriage swept
past the windows and stopped at the door.

"It is Louisa," said Mr. Beresford, and the next minute the door of the
room opened, and a little woman came in. She was so very little, that if
she had chosen, she might have passed for a child; but she had no such
idea. On the contrary, she had a way of enveloping herself in sweeping
draperies and flowing robes that gave her a look of being much taller
and infinitely more dignified than Nature had intended. She came in, in
a kind of cloud, through which Maurice only distinguished an exceedingly
pretty bright face, and a quantity of fair hair, together with a sort of
soft feminine atmosphere which seemed all at once to brighten the dull
room as she went straight up to her grandfather's sofa, and bent down to
give him a kiss.

"So you are come back?" Mr. Beresford said. "But you see, I have
somebody else now. Here is your cousin Maurice."

Lady Dighton turned round and held out her hand. "I am very glad to see
my cousin," she said. "It was quite time you had somebody to take care
of you."

She had a gay, careless manner, but her smiling eyes took a tolerably
sharp survey of the stranger nevertheless, and she was not ill satisfied
with the result. "He is very good-looking," she said to herself, "and
looks _nice_. Of course he must be very countrified, but we will help
him to rub that off." So she took him under her patronage immediately.
She said no more to him, however, at present, but occupied herself with