familiar to us all in sleep, when we recognise
yet cannot reconcile the anomalies and contradictions of a dream.

"Mr. Hartright?" said the lady interrogatively, her dark face lighting
up with a smile, and softening and growing womanly the moment she began
to speak. "We resigned all hope of you last night, and went to bed as
usual. Accept my apologies for our apparent want of attention; and
allow me to introduce myself as one of your pupils. Shall we shake
hands? I suppose we must come to it sooner or later--and why not
sooner?"

These odd words of welcome were spoken in a clear, ringing, pleasant
voice. The offered hand--rather large, but beautifully formed--was
given to me with the easy, unaffected self-reliance of a highly-bred
woman. We sat down together at the breakfast-table in as cordial and
customary a manner as if we had known each other for years, and had met
at Limmeridge House to talk over old times by previous appointment.

"I hope you come here good-humouredly determined to make the best of
your position," continued the lady. "You will have to begin this
morning by putting up with no other company at breakfast than mine. My
sister is in her own room, nursing that essentially feminine malady, a
slight headache; and her old governess, Mrs. Vesey, is charitably
attending on her with restorative tea. My uncle, Mr. Fairlie, never
joins us at any of our meals: he is an invalid, and keeps bachelor
state in his own apartments. There is nobody else in the house but me.
Two young ladies have been staying here, but they went away yesterday,
in despair; and no wonder. All through their visit (in consequence of
Mr. Fairlie's invalid condition) we produced no such convenience in the
house as a flirtable, danceable, small-talkable creature of the male
sex; and the consequence was, we did nothing but quarrel, especially at
dinner-time. How can you expect four women to dine together alone
every day, and not quarrel? We are such fools, we can't entertain each
other at table. You see I don't think much of my own sex, Mr.
Hartright--which will you have, tea or coffee?--no woman does think
much of her own sex, although few of them confess it as freely as I do.
Dear me, you look puzzled. Why? Are you wondering what you will have
for breakfast? or are you surprised at my careless way of talking? In
the first case, I advise you, as a friend, to have nothing to do with
that cold ham at your elbow, and to wait till t