her niece thinks there can be no harm in yielding to Harry's gentle
pressure.

The horses are put to: Paradise is over--at least until the next
occasion. When my landlord enters with the bill, Harry is standing quite
at a distance from his cousin, looking from the window at the cavalcade
gathering below. Madame Bernstein wakes up from her slumber, smiling and
quite unconscious. With what profound care and reverential politeness
Mr. Warrington hands his aunt to her carriage! how demure and simple
looks Lady Maria as she follows! Away go the carriages, in the midst
of a profoundly bowing landlord and waiters; of country-folks gathered
round the blazing inn-sign; of shopmen gazing from their homely
little doors; of boys and market-folks under the colonnade of the
old town-hall; of loungers along the gabled street. "It is the famous
Baroness Bernstein. That is she, the old lady in the capuchin. It is
the rich young American who is just come from Virginia, and is worth
millions and millions. Well, sure, he might have a better horse." The
cavalcade disappears, and the little town lapses into its usual quiet.
The landlord goes back to his friends at the club, to tell how the great
folks are going to sleep at The Bush, at Farnham, to-night.

The inn dinner had been plentiful, and all the three guests of the inn
had done justice to the good cheer. Harry had the appetite natural to
his period of life. Maria and her aunt were also not indifferent to
a good dinner: Madame Bernstein had had a comfortable nap after hers,
which had no doubt helped her to bear all the good things of the
meal--the meat pies, and the fruit pies, and the strong ale, and the
heady port wine. She reclined at ease on her seat of the landau, and
looked back affably, and smiled at Harry and exchanged a little talk
with him as he rode by the carriage side. But what ailed the beloved
being who sate with her back to the horses? Her complexion, which was
exceedingly fair, was further ornamented with a pair of red cheeks,
which Harry took to be natural roses. (You see, madam, that your
surmises regarding the Lady Maria's conduct with her cousin are
quite wrong and uncharitable, and that the timid lad had made no such
experiments as you suppose, in order to ascertain whether the roses were
real or artificial. A kiss, indeed! I blush to think you should imagine
that the present writer could indicate anything so shocking!) Maria's
bright red cheeks, I say still, cont