all unpleasant things occurred in the drawing-room after dinner.

Just as they had seated themselves, and Lady Theobald was on the point of
drawing toward her the little basket containing the gray woollen mittens
she made a duty of employing herself by knitting each evening, Dobson,
the coachman, in his character of footman, threw open the door, and
announced a visitor.

"Capt. Barold."

Lady Theobald dropped her gray mitten, the steel needles falling upon the
table with a clink. She rose to her feet at once, and met half-way the
young man who had entered.

"My dear Francis," she remarked, "I am exceedingly glad to see you at
last," with a slight emphasis upon the "at last."

"Tha-anks," said Capt. Barold, rather languidly. "You're very good, I'm
sure."

Then he glanced at Lucia, and Lady Theobald addressed her:--

"Lucia," she said, "this is Francis Barold, who is your cousin."

Capt. Barold shook hands feebly.

"I have been trying to find out whether it is third or fourth," he said.

"It is third," said my lady.