"I could not help it, dear," sighed Miss Brabazon at last, sinking into a
chair, and casting her deprecating, fainting eyes upon the hostess.

"It is witchcraft," said fat Mrs. Bruce, wiping her forehead.

"Witchcraft!" echoed Mrs. Poyntz; "it does indeed look like it. An
amazing and portentous exhibition of animal spirits, and not to be endured
by the Proprieties. Where on earth can that young savage have come from?"

"From savage lands," said I,--"so he says."

"Do not bring him here again," said Mrs. Poyntz. "He would soon turn the
Hill topsy-turvy. But how charming! I should like to see more of him,"
she added, in an under voice, "if he would call on me some morning, and
not in the presence of those for whose Proprieties I am responsible. Jane
must be out in her ride with the colonel."

Margrave never again attended the patrician festivities of the Hill.
Invitations were poured upon him, especially by Miss Brabazon and the
other old maids, but in vain.

"Those people," said he, "are too tamed and civilized for me; and so few
young persons among them. Even that girl Jane is only young on the
surface; inside, as old as the World or her mother. I like youth, real
youth,--I am young, I am young!"

And, indeed, I observed he would attach himself to some young person,
often to some child, as if with cordial and special favour, yet for not
more than an hour or so, never distinguishing them by the same preference
when he next met them. I made that remark to him, in rebuke of his