the family," and she laughingly told of many little schemes for bringing
the marriage about. She had given the girl a coronet and her nephew
a hundred thousand pounds. Of course she should be welcome to both of
them. She was delighted with the little Countess's courage and spirit
in routing the Dowager and Lady Fanny. Almost always pleased with pretty
people on her first introduction to them, Madame Bernstein raffled of
her niece Lydia's bright eyes and lovely little figure. The marriage was
altogether desirable. The old man was an obstacle, to be sure, and his
talk and appearance somewhat too homely. But he will be got rid of.
He is old and in delicate health. "He will want to go to America, or
perhaps farther," says the Baroness, with a shrug. "As for the child,
she had great fire and liveliness, and a Cherokee manner which is not
without its charm," said the pleased old Baroness. "Your brother had
it--so have you, Master George! Nous la formerons, cette petite. Eugene
wants character and vigour, but he is a finished gentleman, and between
us we shall make the little savage perfectly presentable." In this
way we discoursed on the second afternoon as we journeyed towards
Castlewood. We lay at the King's Arms at Bagshot the first night, where
the Baroness was always received with profound respect, and thence
drove post to Hexton, where she had written to have my lord's horses in
waiting for her; but these were not forthcoming at the inn, and after
a couple of hours we were obliged to proceed with our Bagshot horses to
Castlewood.

During this last stage of the journey, I am bound to say the old aunt's
testy humour returned, and she scarce spoke a single word for three
hours. As for her companion; being prodigiously in love at the time,
no doubt he did not press his aunt for conversation, but thought
unceasingly about his Dulcinea, until the coach actually reached
Castlewood Common, and rolled over the bridge before the house.

The housekeeper was ready to conduct her ladyship to her apartments. My
lord and lady were both absent. She did not know what had kept them, the
housekeeper said, heading the way.

"Not that door, my lady!" cries the woman, as Madame de Bernstein
put her hand upon the door of the room which she had always occupied.
"That's her ladyship's room now. This way," and our aunt followed, by
no means in increased good-humour. I do not envy her maids when their
mistress was displeased. But she had clea