Viscountess looked fatigued, as if with watching, and her face was
pale.

Miss Beatrix remarked these signs of indisposition in her mother and
deplored them. "I am an old woman," says my lady, with a kind smile; "I
cannot hope to look as young as you do, my dear."

"She'll never look as good as you do if she lives till she's a hundred,"
says my lord, taking his mother by the waist, and kissing her hand.

"Do I look very wicked, cousin?" says Beatrix, turning full round on
Esmond, with her pretty face so close under his chin, that the soft
perfumed hair touched it. She laid her finger-tips on his sleeve as she
spoke; and he put his other hand over hers.

"I'm like your looking-glass," says he, "and that can't flatter you."

"He means that you are always looking at him, my dear," says her mother,
archly. Beatrix ran away from Esmond at this, and flew to her mamma,
whom she kissed, stopping my lady's mouth with her pretty hand.

"And Harry is very good to look at," says my lady, with her fond eyes
regarding the young man.

"If 'tis good to see a happy face," says he, "you see that." My lady
said, "Amen," with a sigh; and Harry thought the memory of her dear lord
rose up and rebuked her back again into sadness; for her face lost the
smile, and resumed its look of melancholy.

"Why, Harry, how fine we look in our scarlet and silver, and our black
periwig," cries my lord. "Mother, I am tired of my own hair. When shall
I have a peruke? Where did you get your steenkirk, Harry?"

"It's some of my Lady Dowager's lace," says Harry; "she gave me this and
a number of other fine things."

"My Lady Dowager isn't such a bad woman," my lord continued.

"She's not so--so red as she's painted," says Miss Beatrix.

Her brother broke into a laugh. "I'll tell her you said so; by the Lord,
Trix, I will," he cries out.

"She'll know that you hadn't the wit to say it, my lord," says Miss
Beatrix.

"We won't quarrel the first day Harry's here, will we, mother?" said the
young lord. "We'll see if we can get on to the new year without a fight.
Have some of this Christmas pie. And here comes the tankard; no, it's
Pincot with the tea."

"Will the Captain choose a dish?" asked Mistress Beatrix.

"I say, Harry," my lord goes on, "I'll show thee my horses after
breakfast; and we'll go a bird-netting to-night, and on Monday there's a
cock-match at Winchester--do you love cock-fighting, Harry?--between
the gentlemen of Sussex and the