"The prettiest woman in Essex would have a poor chance of getting much
admiration out of my friend, George Talboys," said Robert. "His heart is
at Southampton, where he has a curly-headed little urchin, about as high
as his knee, who calls him 'the big gentleman,' and asks him for
sugar-plums."

"I am going to write to my step-mother by to-night's post," said Alicia.
"She asked me particularly in her letter how long you were going to
stop, and whether there was any chance of her being back in time to
receive you."

Miss Audley took a letter from the pocket of her riding-jacket as she
spoke--a pretty, fairy-like note, written on shining paper of a peculiar
creamy hue.

"She says in her postcript, 'Be sure you answer my question about Mr.
Audley and his friend, you volatile, forgetful Alicia!'"

"What a pretty hand she writes!" said Robert, as his cousin folded the
note.

"Yes, it is pretty, is it not? Look at it, Robert."

She put the letter into his hand, and he contemplated it lazily for a
few minutes, while Alicia patted the graceful neck of her chestnut mare,
which was anxious to be off once more.

"Presently, Atalanta, presently. Give me back my note, Bob."