Mrs. Home (Home it seems was the name) had been a very pretty, but a
giddy, careless woman, who had neglected her child, and disappointed
and disheartened her husband. So far from congenial had the union
proved, that separation at last ensued--separation by mutual consent,
not after any legal process. Soon after this event, the lady having
over-exerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and died
after a very brief illness. Her husband, naturally a man of very
sensitive feelings, and shocked inexpressibly by too sudden
communication of the news, could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded
but that some over-severity on his part--some deficiency in patience
and indulgence--had contributed to hasten her end. He had brooded over
this idea till his spirits were seriously affected; the medical men
insisted on travelling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs.
Bretton had offered to take charge of his little girl. "And I hope,"
added my godmother in conclusion, "the child will not be like her
mamma; as silly and frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible man was
weak enough to marry. For," said she, "Mr. Home _is_ a sensible
man in his way, though not very practical: he is fond of science, and
lives half his life in a laboratory trying experiments--a thing his
butterfly wife could neither comprehend nor endure; and indeed"
confessed my godmother, "I should not have liked it myself."

In answer to a question of mine, she further informed me that her late
husband used to say, Mr. Home had derived this scientific turn from a
maternal uncle, a French savant; for he came, it seems; of mixed
French and Scottish origin, and had connections now living in France,
of whom more than one wrote _de_ before his name, and called
himself noble.

That same evening at nine o'clock, a servant was despatched to meet