lovers
would never be out of the house," answered the Baroness, who was quite
weary of Lady Castlewood's company.

"I wish I could be of any service to my aunt!" said the sentimental Lady
Maria, demurely.

"My good child, what can you do for me? You cannot play piquet so well
as my maid, and I have heard all your songs till I am perfectly tired of
them! One of the gentlemen might go with me: at least make the journey,
and see me safe from highwaymen."

"I'm sure, ma'am, I shall be glad to ride with you," said Mr. Will.

"Oh, not you! I don't want you, William," cried the young man's
aunt. "Why do not you offer, and where are your American manners, you
ungracious Harry Warrington? Don't swear, Will, Harry is much better
company than you are, and much better ton too, sir."

"Tong, indeed! Confound his tong," growled envious Will to himself.

"I dare say I shall be tired of him, as I am of other folks," continued
the Baroness. "I have scarcely seen Harry at all in these last days. You
shall ride with me to Tunbridge, Harry!"

At this direct appeal, and to no one's wonder more than that of his
aunt, Mr. Harry Warrington blushed, and hemmed and ha'd and at length
said, "I have promised my cousin Castlewood to go over to Hexton Petty
Sessions with him to-morrow. He thinks I should see how the Courts here
are conducted--and--and--the partridge-shooting will soon begin, and
I have promised to be here for that, ma'am." Saying which words, Harry
Warrington looked as red as a poppy, whilst Lady Maria held her meek
face downwards, and nimbly plied her needle.

"You actually refuse to go with me to Tunbridge Wells?" called out
Madame Bernstein, her eyes lightening, and her face flushing up with
anger, too.

"Not to ride with you, ma'am; that I will do with all my heart; but to
stay there--I have promised..."

"Enough, enough, sir! I can go alone, and don't want your escort," cried
the irate old lady, and rustled out of the room.

The Castlewood family looked at each other with wonder. Will whistled.
Lady Castlewood glanced at Fanny, as much as to say, His chance is over.
Lady Maria never lifted up her eyes from her tambour-frame.

CHAPTER XVII. On the Scent

Young Harry Warrington's act of revolt came so suddenly upon Madame
de Bernstein, that she had no other way of replying to it, than by the
prompt outbreak of anger with which we left her in the last chapter. She
darted two fierce glances at Lady Fanny an