That quiet old man, and keen reckoner, began quickly to put the
dilapidated Castlewood accounts in order, of which long neglect,
poverty, and improvidence had hastened the ruin. The business of the
old gentleman's life now, and for some time henceforth, was to
advance, improve, mend my lord's finances; to screw the rents up where
practicable, to pare the expenses of the establishment down. He could,
somehow, look to every yard of worsted lace on the footmen's coats, and
every pound of beef that went to their dinner. A watchful old eye noted
every flagon of beer which was fetched from the buttery, and marked
that no waste occurred in the larder. The people were fewer, but more
regularly paid; the liveries were not so ragged, and yet the tailor had
no need to dun for his money; the gardeners and grooms grumbled, though
their wages were no longer overdue: but the horses fattened on less
corn, and the fruit and vegetables were ever so much more plentiful--so
keenly did my lady's old grandfather keep a watch over the household
affairs, from his lonely little chamber in the turret.

These improvements, though here told in a paragraph or two, were the
affairs of months and years at Castlewood; where, with thrift, order,
and judicious outlay of money (however, upon some pressing occasions,
my lord might say he had none), the estate and household increased in
prosperity. That it was a flourishing and economical household no one
could deny: not even the dowager lady and her two children, who now
seldom entered within Castlewood gates, my lady considering them in the
light of enemies--for who, indeed, would like a stepmother-in-law? The
little reigning Countess gave the dowager battle, and routed her utterly
and speedily. Though educated in the colonies, and ignorant of polite
life during her early years, the Countess Lydia had a power of language
and a strength of will that all had to acknowledge who quarrelled with
her. The dowager and my Lady Fanny were no match for the young American:
they fled from before her to their jointure house in Kensington, and no
wonder their absence was not regretted by my lord, who was in the habit
of regretting no one whose back was turned. Could cousin Warrington,
whose hand his lordship pressed so affectionately on coming and parting,
with whom cousin Eugene was so gay and frank and pleasant when they
were together, expect or hope that his lordship would grieve at his
departure, at his death, at a