Isabel. 'You have made us take very deep root here.'

'Have you ever seen Cheveleigh, Mrs. Dynevor?'

'Never.'

'Poor Oliver! you and I think no place equal to our birthplace,' said
Mrs. Frost.

'I should think Mrs. Roland Dynevor would find it compensation. How
many beds did we make up, mother, the year my father was sheriff?'

'You must go to Jane for that,' said his mother, laughing. 'I'm sure
I never knew.'

'I believe it was twenty-seven,' said Oliver, gravely. 'I know there
were one hundred and eighty-five persons at the ball, and that the
room was hung with blue brocade, mother; and you opened the ball with
Lord Francis. I remember you had violet satin and white blonde.'

'My dear, how can you remember such things! You were a little bit of
a schoolboy!'

'I was sixteen' said Oliver. 'It was the year '13. I will have the
drawing-room hung with blue brocade, and I think Mrs. Roland Dynevor
will own that nothing can exceed it.'

'Very likely,' said Isabel, indifferently; and she escaped, beckoning
with her Clara, who was rather entertained with the reminiscences
over which granny and Uncle Oliver seemed ready to linger for ever;