nd with a white-trimmed straw hat,
was almost shoved into the little drawing-room by Mr. Dutton, though he
was himself invisible.

Her eyes were in such a daze of tears that she hardly saw more at first
than that some one was there with her mother on the sofa. 'Ah, there
she is!' she heard her mother cry, and both rose. Her mother's arm was
round her waist, her hand was put into another, Mrs. Egremont's voice,
tremulous with exceeding delight, said, 'Our child, our Ursula, our
Nuttie! Oh, this is what I have longed for all these years! Oh,
thanks, thanks!' and her hands left her daughter to be clasped and
uplifted for a moment in fervent thanksgiving, while Nuttie's hand was
held, and a strange hairy kiss, redolent of tobacco-smoking, was on her
forehead--a masculine one, such as she had never known, except her
cousin Mark's, since the old rector died, and she had grown too big for
Mr. Dutton's embraces. It was more strange than delightful, and yet
she felt the polish of the tone that said, 'We make acquaintance
somewhat late, Ursula, but better late than never.'

She looked up at this new father, and understood instantly what she had
heard of his being a grand gentleman. There was a high-bred look about
him, an entire ease and perfect manner that made everything he did or
said seem like gracious condescension, and took away the power of
questioning it at the moment. He was not above the middle size, and
was becoming unwieldy; but there was something imposing and even
graceful in his deportment, and his bald narrow forehead looked
aristocratic, set off between side tufts of white hair, white whiskers,
and moustaches waxed into sharp points, Victor Emmanuel fashion, and a
round white curly beard. His eyes were dark, and looked dull, with
yellow unwholesome corners, and his skin was not of a pleasant colour,
but still, with all Nuttie's intentions of regarding him with horror,
she was subdued, partly by the grand breeding and air of distinction,
and partly by the current of sympathy from her mother's look of perfect
happiness and exultation. She could not help feeling it a favour,
almost an undeserved favour, that so great a personage should say, 'A
complete Egremont, I see. She has altogether the family face.'

'I am so glad you think so,' returned her mother.

'On the whole it is well, but she might have done better to resemble
you, Edda,' he said caressingly; 'but perhaps that would have been too
much for t